Linguistic
Active member
Round 1.
Deadline: December 2, 2006 by midnight Central time.
2 RP Limit.
Deadline: December 2, 2006 by midnight Central time.
2 RP Limit.
Round 1: Silver & GOLD vs Sheffield Wednesday Lot
- Thread starter Linguistic
- Start date
- Status
(The Sheffield Wednesday Lot is careening down one of the highways and byways of America in a van. A production van, apparently, as there is what appears to be quite a haul of television equipment in the back. Mac rides shotgun, wrestling what appears to be a 5 star classic with a huge map while Nate sits in the back seat enjoying the scenery. Juen Lee is reading Tom Robbins' latest while seated behind the driver who grips the steering wheel with white-knuckled anxiety. He's intrepid MBE cameraman Charlie "Hustle" Charleston (real name). Charlie looks over his shoulder to the way back where it appears that MBE reporter Biff Bently is sleeping one off atop a pile of lighting gear and sandbags.)
Charlie Hustle: Are you guys sure this is OK?
Mac: Fer Christ's sake you bleeding twat, how many times do we have to go over this? What did Biff say?
Charlie Hustle: I don't really know, exactly. I wasn't even there. You guys just showed up at my house at 2AM with the van.
Mac: I told you what he said.
Charlie Hustle: Right. You said he said it was OK. But...
Mac: But nothing. What's got yer knickers twisted?
Charlie Hustle: Well...it's just that Mr. Bently doesn't really...seem...to be...in the right frame of mind...to make this kind of decision. Honestly, I'm not even sure he has the AUTHORITY to make this decision.
Mac: Ooooh, look who knows so much now. Nate, is it me or does it sound like Charlie here is casting dispersions?
Charlie Hustle: No. No that's not it. I just-
Mac: I wasn't talking to you Charlie, I was talking to Nate. Cause see, Nate, to me it sounds like Charlie here thinks we took some liberties with ol' Biff when he got a couple a pints in 'im, which would mean that The Sheffield Wednesday Lot ain't nothin more than a right bunch of pricks. Is that what you think we are, Charlie? Are you saying that me and Nate and Juen are nothing more than a right bunch of pricks?
(Nate leans forward and raises the visor on his motorcycle helmet.)
Charlie Hustle: That's not what I'm saying. I just...I just don't know that we're technically allowed to cover this...MCW thing with MBE equipment and I guess I'd like to hear from Bi...Mr. Bently directly that we're not going to get in trouble.
Mac: Caw, Charlie, you sound like Nate's sister you do. Get in trouble? And how in the hell could be possibly get in any trouble? All we're doin is going to win this tournament and bring more fame and notoriety to MBE for our trouble. Sounds like a noble enough cause to me and nothing that anyone back at the home pitch could possibly get cross over.
Charlie Hustle: I...I guess.
Mac: You guess...I know.
(Nate leans forward and whispers something into Mac's ear.)
Mac: Too bloody right, mate. Too bloody right. I'm sure no one could begrudge us a winner's purse either for our efforts. No come on, Charlie - you're not going to...
...GOD DAMN THIS BLEEDING **** OF A MAP~!...
...you're not going to ruin this for us are you? Look at poor Juen.
(Juen Lee looks up from his book and smiles broadly. His face tells the tale of a man who has been in far too many brawls lately while never actually training to fight.)
Mac: The poor nipper has his heart set on this tournament.
Juen: What tournament, Mac?
Mac: Shut yer gob Juen.
Charlie Hustle: There's a turnoff coming up...
(Mac is completely distracted with Juen now.)
Mac: You reading in the car, Juen?
Juen: Yeah.
Mac: Well quit it. Just thinking about that makes me want to toss all over the dash.
Juen: You can't read in the car?
Mac: Naw, makes me sick.
Charlie Hustle: It's Exit 74. Is that the exit you said to take?
(Nate starts to laugh.)
Mac: At least I can read you big goof!
(Nate stops laughing. He lowers his visor and sits back. Juen puts his head back in his book. Mac takes a swing and knocks it out of his hands.)
Mac: I told you to cut it out Juen.
(Juen takes a pathetic swing at Mac who jumps halfway into the backseat and starts pounding on the diminutive cornerman.)
Charlie Hustle: MAC! Is this the exit?!?!
Mac: Huh?
Charlie Hustle: Never mind. Too late.
(Nate reaches into the front seat and takes the map. He starts looking at it unaware that it is upside down. Mac returns to the front seat and slicks his hair back. In the rear of the van Biff Bently starts to stir.)
Mac: Not quite ready for our interview yet. Nate?
(Nate reaches into the back and conks Biff on the head, knocking him out again.)
Charlie Hustle: Hey!
Mac: Keep you eyes on the road Charlie. Exit should be coming up soon. Oh and Nate - post script - something interesting about this tournament. We've got a poof and a skirt with arms the size of Juen's legs in the first round.
(Nate lowers the map and looks at Mac.)
Mac: So it'll be just like goin home for the holidays for you.
(Nate drops the map and grabs Mac by the throat, dragging him into the back seat. A brawl erupts as the van swerves dangerously across 3 lanes and we fade out.)
Charlie Hustle: Are you guys sure this is OK?
Mac: Fer Christ's sake you bleeding twat, how many times do we have to go over this? What did Biff say?
Charlie Hustle: I don't really know, exactly. I wasn't even there. You guys just showed up at my house at 2AM with the van.
Mac: I told you what he said.
Charlie Hustle: Right. You said he said it was OK. But...
Mac: But nothing. What's got yer knickers twisted?
Charlie Hustle: Well...it's just that Mr. Bently doesn't really...seem...to be...in the right frame of mind...to make this kind of decision. Honestly, I'm not even sure he has the AUTHORITY to make this decision.
Mac: Ooooh, look who knows so much now. Nate, is it me or does it sound like Charlie here is casting dispersions?
Charlie Hustle: No. No that's not it. I just-
Mac: I wasn't talking to you Charlie, I was talking to Nate. Cause see, Nate, to me it sounds like Charlie here thinks we took some liberties with ol' Biff when he got a couple a pints in 'im, which would mean that The Sheffield Wednesday Lot ain't nothin more than a right bunch of pricks. Is that what you think we are, Charlie? Are you saying that me and Nate and Juen are nothing more than a right bunch of pricks?
(Nate leans forward and raises the visor on his motorcycle helmet.)
Charlie Hustle: That's not what I'm saying. I just...I just don't know that we're technically allowed to cover this...MCW thing with MBE equipment and I guess I'd like to hear from Bi...Mr. Bently directly that we're not going to get in trouble.
Mac: Caw, Charlie, you sound like Nate's sister you do. Get in trouble? And how in the hell could be possibly get in any trouble? All we're doin is going to win this tournament and bring more fame and notoriety to MBE for our trouble. Sounds like a noble enough cause to me and nothing that anyone back at the home pitch could possibly get cross over.
Charlie Hustle: I...I guess.
Mac: You guess...I know.
(Nate leans forward and whispers something into Mac's ear.)
Mac: Too bloody right, mate. Too bloody right. I'm sure no one could begrudge us a winner's purse either for our efforts. No come on, Charlie - you're not going to...
...GOD DAMN THIS BLEEDING **** OF A MAP~!...
...you're not going to ruin this for us are you? Look at poor Juen.
(Juen Lee looks up from his book and smiles broadly. His face tells the tale of a man who has been in far too many brawls lately while never actually training to fight.)
Mac: The poor nipper has his heart set on this tournament.
Juen: What tournament, Mac?
Mac: Shut yer gob Juen.
Charlie Hustle: There's a turnoff coming up...
(Mac is completely distracted with Juen now.)
Mac: You reading in the car, Juen?
Juen: Yeah.
Mac: Well quit it. Just thinking about that makes me want to toss all over the dash.
Juen: You can't read in the car?
Mac: Naw, makes me sick.
Charlie Hustle: It's Exit 74. Is that the exit you said to take?
(Nate starts to laugh.)
Mac: At least I can read you big goof!
(Nate stops laughing. He lowers his visor and sits back. Juen puts his head back in his book. Mac takes a swing and knocks it out of his hands.)
Mac: I told you to cut it out Juen.
(Juen takes a pathetic swing at Mac who jumps halfway into the backseat and starts pounding on the diminutive cornerman.)
Charlie Hustle: MAC! Is this the exit?!?!
Mac: Huh?
Charlie Hustle: Never mind. Too late.
(Nate reaches into the front seat and takes the map. He starts looking at it unaware that it is upside down. Mac returns to the front seat and slicks his hair back. In the rear of the van Biff Bently starts to stir.)
Mac: Not quite ready for our interview yet. Nate?
(Nate reaches into the back and conks Biff on the head, knocking him out again.)
Charlie Hustle: Hey!
Mac: Keep you eyes on the road Charlie. Exit should be coming up soon. Oh and Nate - post script - something interesting about this tournament. We've got a poof and a skirt with arms the size of Juen's legs in the first round.
(Nate lowers the map and looks at Mac.)
Mac: So it'll be just like goin home for the holidays for you.
(Nate drops the map and grabs Mac by the throat, dragging him into the back seat. A brawl erupts as the van swerves dangerously across 3 lanes and we fade out.)
QueenOfTheRing
AKA Mom
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 2,625
- Points
- 36
Silver and GOLD Inc. Present: Sonny's Masterpiece
(FADE-IN: A boardroom in heart of a Manhattan hotel building. We're not talking rinky-dink, fit-five-people-if-you're-lucky, we're talking Donald Trump "Apprentice" sized here. Sitting around the table are a few very young, entry-level reporters, who look bored as all get-out just sitting around waiting for this meeting to start. They're jostled to attention by a loud BANG! behind them, as the boardroom's doors are kicked in. In marches Sonny Silver, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME, with Lindsay Troy, the Queen of the Ring, following him, rolling her eyes the entire way.
Sonny struts right up to the front of the room and stands at the head of the table, surveying the mass of reporters (four) that have packed themselves (they're sitting quite comfortably) into the room. Troy, meanwhile, stands off to the side, knowing that this is going to, most likely, wind up a disaster.)
Silver: Thank you, thank you, thank you. Please, folks, let's settle down and get today's proceedings underway, lest you all wish to schedule an appointment with Dr. Pimphand.
(The reporters get uncomfortable quickly, knowing most likely that Sonny will do it. After all, this is the guy who once held a PPV hostage with racial slurs. Troy sighs quietly, wondering why he couldn't have waited until a couple minutes in before he opened up with the insanity. Silver takes a drink of water on the table and sets the glass down before he begins.)
Silver: Now on today's docket of Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME and The CHAIRwoman, Ms. Lindsay Troy, we discuss a future tag team bout against some smelly British people and their pet Asian, Karate Kid. MCW's PPV is right around the corner and in order to prepare for such an undertaking, we find that its absolutely necessary to discuss proper strategy in order to take on the team of the Sheffield Wednesday Lot.
Ms. Troy, you have the floor.
(She walks over to where Sonny's standing and waits for him to move. He doesn't.)
Troy: You going to move so I can do this?
(He folds his arms and lets out a heavy sigh. Finally, and with great hesitation, he moves over, but just a couple feet.)
Silver: Fine, but the second you're done, I get this whole space back. You're dangerously close to breaking my Personal Three Feet of Comfort Room Rule.
Troy: Oh, gee, far be it for me deny you your grand stage.
(Troy reaches down to a console panel built into the table and begins fiddling with a few buttons. A large screen begins to retract down from the ceiling and a projector rises up from underneath the table. She removes the lens cap and turns the device on, then walks to the back of the room to hit the lights.)
Troy (returning to the front): All yours, ****head.
(Sonny beams with pride as pushes a button, then looks on at the first clip of this presentation: SILVER AND GOLD OWN THE SHEFFIELD WEDNESDAY LOT IN THREE EASY STEPS. Slightly to Sonny's right and in her chair, Troy's got a hand over her forehead, still not believing she's going through with this travesty of a meeting and cursing herself for letting Sonny handle the presentation prep.)
Silver: Ladies, gentlemen, and Amazon to my right…
Troy: Piss off…
Silver: Love you, too, hon. I proudly bring to you the very plans that shall be placed into effect at the conclusion of this meeting, SILVER AND GOLD OWN THE SHEFFIELD WEDNESDAY LOT IN THREE EASY STEPS!
(The next slide is a picture of a flaming bag of you-know-what left upon a doorstep. Hovering above that is a flashy little 38-point Tahoma graphic marked "Step One.")
Silver: Step one. We leave a flaming bag of Wuh-We programming on their front doorstep. As you all know, THAT PLACE puts out nothing but literal commercialized crap. This, wrapped in a nice little paper bag, creates the perfect mixture of combustible elements necessary to distract the likes of these British bastards.
Troy: It's our hope that the overwhelming odor will disorient them enough that they fall off the island and into the sea. We'd prefer using the White Cliffs of Dover as their ledge of choice, given the possibility of them hitting some sharp rocks on the way down, but we're not going to be picky.
(Next slide: a picture of the stereotypical British man stomping out the bag of doody. Red royal guard uniform, crooked yellow teeth, and a teacup in one hand. Predictably, the picture depicts him having the remnants of the crap smeared all over his shoe. Some people chuckle, others gasp and look on offended. Guess which one Sonny is?)
Silver: Step Two. They come out and experience the horror of not being able to wash out ****e programming from their shoes. Cheap plug: We at the mega-conglomerate known as PRIME brings to you the greatest, purest, most exciting forms of sports entertainment and wrestling for all to see around the world. Plus, PRIME's got me, MISTER SILVER, CHAIRMAN!
(Troy clears her throat, which causes Sonny to look down at her and stare.)
Silver: What?
(A pause.)
Silver: Oh. Right. And I granted you your return last week.
(On-cue, Troy hits the eyeroll.)
Silver: Back to the plan, they get discomforted, get all depressed and stuff because their new crap-stomping shoes have been ruined.
(Once more, presentation moves on over to the last slide: a picture of Sonny Silver connecting with a brutal right hook directly into the breadbasket of a doubled-over British man with crap all over his shoe. Mr. Silver smirks proudly while some of the people look on, not truly believing that this bigotry is happening in front of them.)
Silver: And finally Step Three. As they are all depressed from having their new shoes ruined, I come in and save the day by punching the fags so hard in the stomach that they cough up whatever Tea and Crumpets they had the night prior.
(One slide takes us to the end of the clip with a crayon drawing of Lindsay Troy and Sonny Silver standing over a pile of what appear to be dead bodies while holding a banner marked "TOURNEY WINNERS!")
Silver: The end. Thank you for this presentation. Now… the floor is open for any questions you may have about today's presentation.
(All bodies in the room - save that of Troy and Sonny - have their hands raised. Sonny sighs, then presses on.)
Silver: …Bearing in mind that prior to today's conference, I've already explained in memo form that I actually harbor no feelings of prejudice towards the British and the Chinese, but merely harbor deep-seeded ill will towards both their kinds for making inferior tea, butchering the English language by replacing a lot of "R" letters, and for both of them not hailing from this country.
(All hands go down.)
Silver: Thank you for your time. You may leave now.
(The reporters file out of the room, stunned, leaving only Sonny and Lindsay.)
Troy: I'm so blaming you if we lose this match, ****head.
(Fade-out....thank God.)
(FADE-IN: A boardroom in heart of a Manhattan hotel building. We're not talking rinky-dink, fit-five-people-if-you're-lucky, we're talking Donald Trump "Apprentice" sized here. Sitting around the table are a few very young, entry-level reporters, who look bored as all get-out just sitting around waiting for this meeting to start. They're jostled to attention by a loud BANG! behind them, as the boardroom's doors are kicked in. In marches Sonny Silver, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME, with Lindsay Troy, the Queen of the Ring, following him, rolling her eyes the entire way.
Sonny struts right up to the front of the room and stands at the head of the table, surveying the mass of reporters (four) that have packed themselves (they're sitting quite comfortably) into the room. Troy, meanwhile, stands off to the side, knowing that this is going to, most likely, wind up a disaster.)
Silver: Thank you, thank you, thank you. Please, folks, let's settle down and get today's proceedings underway, lest you all wish to schedule an appointment with Dr. Pimphand.
(The reporters get uncomfortable quickly, knowing most likely that Sonny will do it. After all, this is the guy who once held a PPV hostage with racial slurs. Troy sighs quietly, wondering why he couldn't have waited until a couple minutes in before he opened up with the insanity. Silver takes a drink of water on the table and sets the glass down before he begins.)
Silver: Now on today's docket of Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME and The CHAIRwoman, Ms. Lindsay Troy, we discuss a future tag team bout against some smelly British people and their pet Asian, Karate Kid. MCW's PPV is right around the corner and in order to prepare for such an undertaking, we find that its absolutely necessary to discuss proper strategy in order to take on the team of the Sheffield Wednesday Lot.
Ms. Troy, you have the floor.
(She walks over to where Sonny's standing and waits for him to move. He doesn't.)
Troy: You going to move so I can do this?
(He folds his arms and lets out a heavy sigh. Finally, and with great hesitation, he moves over, but just a couple feet.)
Silver: Fine, but the second you're done, I get this whole space back. You're dangerously close to breaking my Personal Three Feet of Comfort Room Rule.
Troy: Oh, gee, far be it for me deny you your grand stage.
(Troy reaches down to a console panel built into the table and begins fiddling with a few buttons. A large screen begins to retract down from the ceiling and a projector rises up from underneath the table. She removes the lens cap and turns the device on, then walks to the back of the room to hit the lights.)
Troy (returning to the front): All yours, ****head.
(Sonny beams with pride as pushes a button, then looks on at the first clip of this presentation: SILVER AND GOLD OWN THE SHEFFIELD WEDNESDAY LOT IN THREE EASY STEPS. Slightly to Sonny's right and in her chair, Troy's got a hand over her forehead, still not believing she's going through with this travesty of a meeting and cursing herself for letting Sonny handle the presentation prep.)
Silver: Ladies, gentlemen, and Amazon to my right…
Troy: Piss off…
Silver: Love you, too, hon. I proudly bring to you the very plans that shall be placed into effect at the conclusion of this meeting, SILVER AND GOLD OWN THE SHEFFIELD WEDNESDAY LOT IN THREE EASY STEPS!
(The next slide is a picture of a flaming bag of you-know-what left upon a doorstep. Hovering above that is a flashy little 38-point Tahoma graphic marked "Step One.")
Silver: Step one. We leave a flaming bag of Wuh-We programming on their front doorstep. As you all know, THAT PLACE puts out nothing but literal commercialized crap. This, wrapped in a nice little paper bag, creates the perfect mixture of combustible elements necessary to distract the likes of these British bastards.
Troy: It's our hope that the overwhelming odor will disorient them enough that they fall off the island and into the sea. We'd prefer using the White Cliffs of Dover as their ledge of choice, given the possibility of them hitting some sharp rocks on the way down, but we're not going to be picky.
(Next slide: a picture of the stereotypical British man stomping out the bag of doody. Red royal guard uniform, crooked yellow teeth, and a teacup in one hand. Predictably, the picture depicts him having the remnants of the crap smeared all over his shoe. Some people chuckle, others gasp and look on offended. Guess which one Sonny is?)
Silver: Step Two. They come out and experience the horror of not being able to wash out ****e programming from their shoes. Cheap plug: We at the mega-conglomerate known as PRIME brings to you the greatest, purest, most exciting forms of sports entertainment and wrestling for all to see around the world. Plus, PRIME's got me, MISTER SILVER, CHAIRMAN!
(Troy clears her throat, which causes Sonny to look down at her and stare.)
Silver: What?
(A pause.)
Silver: Oh. Right. And I granted you your return last week.
(On-cue, Troy hits the eyeroll.)
Silver: Back to the plan, they get discomforted, get all depressed and stuff because their new crap-stomping shoes have been ruined.
(Once more, presentation moves on over to the last slide: a picture of Sonny Silver connecting with a brutal right hook directly into the breadbasket of a doubled-over British man with crap all over his shoe. Mr. Silver smirks proudly while some of the people look on, not truly believing that this bigotry is happening in front of them.)
Silver: And finally Step Three. As they are all depressed from having their new shoes ruined, I come in and save the day by punching the fags so hard in the stomach that they cough up whatever Tea and Crumpets they had the night prior.
(One slide takes us to the end of the clip with a crayon drawing of Lindsay Troy and Sonny Silver standing over a pile of what appear to be dead bodies while holding a banner marked "TOURNEY WINNERS!")
Silver: The end. Thank you for this presentation. Now… the floor is open for any questions you may have about today's presentation.
(All bodies in the room - save that of Troy and Sonny - have their hands raised. Sonny sighs, then presses on.)
Silver: …Bearing in mind that prior to today's conference, I've already explained in memo form that I actually harbor no feelings of prejudice towards the British and the Chinese, but merely harbor deep-seeded ill will towards both their kinds for making inferior tea, butchering the English language by replacing a lot of "R" letters, and for both of them not hailing from this country.
(All hands go down.)
Silver: Thank you for your time. You may leave now.
(The reporters file out of the room, stunned, leaving only Sonny and Lindsay.)
Troy: I'm so blaming you if we lose this match, ****head.
(Fade-out....thank God.)
Last edited:
Hida Yakamo
League Member
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2005
- Messages
- 29
- Points
- 0
Outside the Staples Center, the Lot prepares for their interview. Biff has been propped-up, semi-conscious, up against the building. His voice sounds oddly Korean, and his mouth isn't actually moving. Other than that, everything seems on the up and up.
"BIFF": Now, Mac, how do you plan to beat Silver and Gold at the MCW Tag Tournament...
CHARLIE: I don't know about this Mac.
MAC: Jeez, Chaz, you couldn't wait...I mean, you're breaking the fourth wall. You should know better than that. Now we have to start all over. And we don't have that many tapes left.
CHARLIE: Well, if you hadn't smashed all our extras over the head of those bikers in that Nevada diner.
MAC: Really now? And what would you have had me do, there, Charlie? Would you have just had me stand idly by while thouse foul-mouthed ruffians made fun of Nate because he drove a Vespa instead of some gas guzzling piggish motorbike. Would you have had me do that, Charlie. Some friend you are.
CHARLIE: I was just saying...
MAC: We wasted enough time scrubbing dishes at that diner, because someone didn't bring their credit card. I wasn't going to have to waste anymore time working off the cost of cutlery after I stabbed those yankee pigs in the thigh with my dinner fork.
CHARLIE: I just think Biff would be upset if he knew you were putting words in his mouth like that.
MAC: Why because he has a Master's in Broadcast Journalism from Syracuse. Well, deary me, what a fine hub of higher education.
CHARLIE: Well, yes. But how did you even know that?
MAC: Damn bugger wouldn't shut up about it at the bar. Every skirt that crossed his pass. Hi. I'm Biff Bentley, I have a master's from Syracuse and make my money prattling on backstage at wrestling shows. I didn't have the heart to tell the poor bastard that the girl looked like Nate's sister.
NATE clears his throat.
MAC: Sorry, like Nate's sister if she didn't have a glass eye. [/i]
NATE nods.
MAC: Terrible tragedy that. Anywhoo, we really should get back to this interview before we run out of tape.
CHARLIE: Fine, but you should probably address Silver and Gold's plan for you.
MAC: The hell, how would you know that. Are you one of those daft psychics, like Nate's aunt Hilda.
CHARLIE: No, but we wrestling cameramen all talk regularly. It's a small fraternity.
MAC: Excellent, you marvelous bastard. What is their secret plan for the Lot.
CHARLIE: Well, Rick was a bit sketchy on the details, but it involves getting **** all over your shoes.
MAC and NATE stare at each other quizzically.
MAC: Really now. That seems like the kind of juvenile antics we stopped back in primary school after Mr. Henderschmidt paddled the crap out of us for doing that to his niece, Wilma. What a nasty little biddy she was. How horrible though, you know how hard it is to get wrestling boots made that look like soccer cleats. A pretty penny, I'll tell ya. I don't want to be cleaning nobody's **** offa these beauts. Even if it is just the stuff that spews out of Troy's mouth.
Nate shoots a sidways glance
MAC: What, I hear things backstage, you know. I'm just saying. It don't matter a hoot anyway. The Sheffield Wednesday Lot is here to win.
CHARLIE: Mostly because we need the winner's purse for gas money.
MAC: Damn right....but there ya go again, Chaz. Interrupting our promo all like that. Do we still have room on the tape.
CHARLIE: Looks good to me.
MAC: Splendid. Let's get this underway.
MAC clears his throat.
CHARLIE: Okay in three...two...one...
The camera cuts out to black.
"BIFF": Now, Mac, how do you plan to beat Silver and Gold at the MCW Tag Tournament...
CHARLIE: I don't know about this Mac.
MAC: Jeez, Chaz, you couldn't wait...I mean, you're breaking the fourth wall. You should know better than that. Now we have to start all over. And we don't have that many tapes left.
CHARLIE: Well, if you hadn't smashed all our extras over the head of those bikers in that Nevada diner.
MAC: Really now? And what would you have had me do, there, Charlie? Would you have just had me stand idly by while thouse foul-mouthed ruffians made fun of Nate because he drove a Vespa instead of some gas guzzling piggish motorbike. Would you have had me do that, Charlie. Some friend you are.
CHARLIE: I was just saying...
MAC: We wasted enough time scrubbing dishes at that diner, because someone didn't bring their credit card. I wasn't going to have to waste anymore time working off the cost of cutlery after I stabbed those yankee pigs in the thigh with my dinner fork.
CHARLIE: I just think Biff would be upset if he knew you were putting words in his mouth like that.
MAC: Why because he has a Master's in Broadcast Journalism from Syracuse. Well, deary me, what a fine hub of higher education.
CHARLIE: Well, yes. But how did you even know that?
MAC: Damn bugger wouldn't shut up about it at the bar. Every skirt that crossed his pass. Hi. I'm Biff Bentley, I have a master's from Syracuse and make my money prattling on backstage at wrestling shows. I didn't have the heart to tell the poor bastard that the girl looked like Nate's sister.
NATE clears his throat.
MAC: Sorry, like Nate's sister if she didn't have a glass eye. [/i]
NATE nods.
MAC: Terrible tragedy that. Anywhoo, we really should get back to this interview before we run out of tape.
CHARLIE: Fine, but you should probably address Silver and Gold's plan for you.
MAC: The hell, how would you know that. Are you one of those daft psychics, like Nate's aunt Hilda.
CHARLIE: No, but we wrestling cameramen all talk regularly. It's a small fraternity.
MAC: Excellent, you marvelous bastard. What is their secret plan for the Lot.
CHARLIE: Well, Rick was a bit sketchy on the details, but it involves getting **** all over your shoes.
MAC and NATE stare at each other quizzically.
MAC: Really now. That seems like the kind of juvenile antics we stopped back in primary school after Mr. Henderschmidt paddled the crap out of us for doing that to his niece, Wilma. What a nasty little biddy she was. How horrible though, you know how hard it is to get wrestling boots made that look like soccer cleats. A pretty penny, I'll tell ya. I don't want to be cleaning nobody's **** offa these beauts. Even if it is just the stuff that spews out of Troy's mouth.
Nate shoots a sidways glance
MAC: What, I hear things backstage, you know. I'm just saying. It don't matter a hoot anyway. The Sheffield Wednesday Lot is here to win.
CHARLIE: Mostly because we need the winner's purse for gas money.
MAC: Damn right....but there ya go again, Chaz. Interrupting our promo all like that. Do we still have room on the tape.
CHARLIE: Looks good to me.
MAC: Splendid. Let's get this underway.
MAC clears his throat.
CHARLIE: Okay in three...two...one...
The camera cuts out to black.
QueenOfTheRing
AKA Mom
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 2,625
- Points
- 36
Silver and GOLD Inc. Present: Troy's Retort
"Did we fill the immaturity quota for the week yet?
"Yes?
"Good. Now I can talk."
Fade-in: Lindsay Troy, backstage, standing in front of an MCW Tag Tournament banner. Sonny Silver is nowhere to be seen, which is a blessing for once.
"I told Sonny that we weren't scheduled for camera-time for another fifteen minutes, which should give me plenty of time to be the one serious person in this entire match and say what I've got to say without interruption. The man's a hell of a wrestler, but **** if I can't get a word in edgewise when he's in MISTER SILVER mode. If you thought the board meeting was bad, you've never watched a ReVolution..."
She shakes her head.
"The Silver And GOLD Natural Good-Time Family-Band Solution/Reunion has successfully rolled into the MCW Invitational Tag Tournament after many thought the Tag Team of the Year was done teaming for good. After placing a stranglehold on the fWo World Tag Team titles, ruling the roost while the Little Green Man tried to hold us down, and, oh yeah, holding programming hostage, it's a wonder how we could ever top our successes in 2005.
"But, we're always up for the challenge.
"Which brings us to the MCW Tag Team Invitational, which then brings us to the Sheffield Wednesday Lot, which in turn brings us to some EDGY pieces of video-journalism in which a couple of soccer-ponce hooligans address us, but not really, while they take their dog-and-pony act on the road.
"Awesome. I'm waiting to see what trots out to Ring Number Three. Maybe the MCW officials were able to steal Wong Pei the Circus Trained Monkey Boy from EPW for a spell or two. I figure, y'know, it's the least they can do to try and salvage the impending bloodbath Sonny and I plan on inflicting on these blithering imbeciles.
"What will be the icing on the cake? Free soccer lessons? A reading of Wordsworth by the Highland Park Social Club Reject, Juen Lee? CAN'T WAIT, FELLAS! Between the Lot, the Thrillbillies and the Irishmen, we've got a regular melting pot going on. What's the next step, ethnic cleansing?
"In fact, I'm pretty sure Sonny's got that right at the top of his erasable "TO-DO" list.
"As for me, I'm just here for two reasons: one, to balance out Sonny's reprehensible ramblings and two, to add yet another accolade to my ever-growing list. I've carried men to tag gold before, and Sonny's no exception.
"You might as well just roll in the 2006 Tag Team of the Year nominations now."
Fade...
"Did we fill the immaturity quota for the week yet?
"Yes?
"Good. Now I can talk."
Fade-in: Lindsay Troy, backstage, standing in front of an MCW Tag Tournament banner. Sonny Silver is nowhere to be seen, which is a blessing for once.
"I told Sonny that we weren't scheduled for camera-time for another fifteen minutes, which should give me plenty of time to be the one serious person in this entire match and say what I've got to say without interruption. The man's a hell of a wrestler, but **** if I can't get a word in edgewise when he's in MISTER SILVER mode. If you thought the board meeting was bad, you've never watched a ReVolution..."
She shakes her head.
"The Silver And GOLD Natural Good-Time Family-Band Solution/Reunion has successfully rolled into the MCW Invitational Tag Tournament after many thought the Tag Team of the Year was done teaming for good. After placing a stranglehold on the fWo World Tag Team titles, ruling the roost while the Little Green Man tried to hold us down, and, oh yeah, holding programming hostage, it's a wonder how we could ever top our successes in 2005.
"But, we're always up for the challenge.
"Which brings us to the MCW Tag Team Invitational, which then brings us to the Sheffield Wednesday Lot, which in turn brings us to some EDGY pieces of video-journalism in which a couple of soccer-ponce hooligans address us, but not really, while they take their dog-and-pony act on the road.
"Awesome. I'm waiting to see what trots out to Ring Number Three. Maybe the MCW officials were able to steal Wong Pei the Circus Trained Monkey Boy from EPW for a spell or two. I figure, y'know, it's the least they can do to try and salvage the impending bloodbath Sonny and I plan on inflicting on these blithering imbeciles.
"What will be the icing on the cake? Free soccer lessons? A reading of Wordsworth by the Highland Park Social Club Reject, Juen Lee? CAN'T WAIT, FELLAS! Between the Lot, the Thrillbillies and the Irishmen, we've got a regular melting pot going on. What's the next step, ethnic cleansing?
"In fact, I'm pretty sure Sonny's got that right at the top of his erasable "TO-DO" list.
"As for me, I'm just here for two reasons: one, to balance out Sonny's reprehensible ramblings and two, to add yet another accolade to my ever-growing list. I've carried men to tag gold before, and Sonny's no exception.
"You might as well just roll in the 2006 Tag Team of the Year nominations now."
Fade...
- Status