LQJT86C
Where's my money, Chad?
Post all RP here. Deadline is Friday, January 8th at 11:55 PM EASTERN TIME. Standard 48 hour stack rules apply.
'The Watertown Wrecking Ball' Vic Gravender v. 'The Main Event' Matt Ford
- Thread starter LQJT86C
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- Feb 4, 2005
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(IN LIKE FLYNN, *****ES!)
(It had been at least a year and a half since he decided to get off his ass doing something other than his job as a fry cook at Olive Garden. Following that, it had been at least a month since he tried to muster up the strength to pry his fat, lazy cottage cheese ass off his couch just long enough to get some ring time back in. But the moment that Vic Gravender read his name on the line-up for the first-ever Friday Night Vulgar show coming out of the new Next Level Wrestling, the feeling that it was all worth it washed over him.)
(…Okay, so it was more so the two-liter of Diet Pepsi he dropped exploding all over him in a mess of carbonated, syrupy piss water. Cursing under his breath, he scans the vicinity looking for a towel. He just got through hitting his signature move on Triple H’s big-nosed Jew ass in Smackdown vs Raw 2010 and couldn’t afford to blow the opportunity… again. This **** was Legend difficulty!)
Vic: OH, ****ING LORD! YOU WILL NOT BEAT ME, JEW DEMON!
(Eyeing the vicinity of his ratty-ass two-bedroom apartment, the filth and garbage sprawled out before him wasn’t helping his cause. There was no way in hell he would be getting his security deposit back in June since the walls were filled with holes from various failed attempts at him being a professional dart player. Finally looking back at his TV screen, he’s finally noticed that he’s horribly lost. After a Pedigree. On Legend difficulty. Again.)
Vic: ****ITY-****-****!
(Throwing down his X-Box 360 controller down in frustration, the man known once upon a time as the “Watertown Wrecking Ball” let out a sigh. He creaks back in his sofa, the springs straining to keep his hefty ass off the ground, sinking through the floor. Resting his arms back behind his ugly, unkempt “bald-guy-letting-it-grow-back-a-little” hairdo, Vic sighs to himself before he notices the red light glaring at him. Peeking an eye up, he sighs again.)
Vic: Oh, crap, I forgot you guys were gonna be here today… and this place is a ****hole the likes of a post-meltdown Three Mile Island. Awesome. (rolling eyes around, sheepishly) Man, I wish I knew you guys were gonna be here earlier. I was gonna make chocolate chip cookies and lay them out on the table.
(The camera pans down to the coffee table. Littered with various chip bags and candy bar wrappers, it picks up on a tray that has nothing but crumbs on it. Then back up to Vic Gravender, whose black “Sick My Duck” t-shirt had the same mysterious crumbs. He looks offended.)
Vic: Eff you guys. Cookies go cold. Cold and eaten. But anyway, I wish I had some more time to prepare. I had this whole ten-page manifesto written about how I was going to make my triumphant return to wrestling after a near two-year hiatus, breaking the necks of scrawny Asian guys overseas for a couple tours. I had this entire spiel going where I would compare my opponent, “The Main Event” Matt Ford to some guy I’ve never heard of. Seriously, man… a regular “Who’s on first” kind of thing that’d have you pissing yourselves.
No? Okay, fine. Well, guess I’m gonna have to improve a little. Tell these folks a little something about me. (taking a bite of a donut. Where he got it from, we’re not sure) Whaw do Ah buh-gin? (swallowing the bite)
So my name’s Vic Gravender.
Thirty-six years young.
I’m called “The Watertown Wrecking Ball” clearly because of my very svelte frame.
I am what you may call a pro-eater…
And uh… I once got into a barfight with five other men and broke each and every one of their legs cause they were ****ing with me. I then broke the leg of a sixth guy as he tried to get away. Later, he’d asked me why I’d only broken one of his legs. I told him it was because I’m a pretty ****ing generous guy!
(He lets out an ugly-sounding boisterous laugh, but when nobody’s really around to laugh with him, he frowns. Looking around sheepishly, Vic Gravender shrugs a little bit, taking a sip of beer, scratching himself.)
Vic: All right, all right, so that little tidbit above was the only thing I could really remember from my story that I was going to make him cry. Usually, I’m a little more prepared than this, but, really, in the grand scheme of things, I’ve got nothing too horrible to say about Matt Ford. I understand once upon a time, he was some bigwig somewhere, someplace, in a galaxy far, far away and now he’s competing down on “our level.” I generally have no hard feelings for the guy. He’s been through some **** and he’s just like the rest of us competing in a strange new world, wanting to make ourselves known… or known again, in his case. So, uh, yeah… look forward to a good clean fight, and I’ll see him in the ring.
(Before he can continue any further, he hears a knock at the door.)
Vic: IT’S OPEN!
(The door opens to reveal a very portly man, shorter, but in much worse looking shape than Vic. Sweating to death in a black XXXL polo shirt and grey sweat pants, the man tries to catch what little air he can get into his lungs. Wiping beads of sweat off an ugly patch of curly brown hair, the other fat man sighs while Vic looks to the camera.)
Vic: My brother, Scott, ladies and germs.
Scott: God damn it, dude, I’m so sick… of your… ****ing stairs!
(Vic holds out a tall boy, to which Scott takes before he comes crashing his weight into a gray recliner across the way. One COULD possibly hear the creaking of the sudden weight being pushed on it, but Scott gets out another annoyed grunt before any speculation could be had.)
Vic: What’s up, dude?
Scott: You said you were gonna help me… with my car, remember?
Vic: Your car?
Scott: Yeah… that POS Ford Explorer that you talked me into buying. Barely fits my fat ass let alone BOTH of ours!
(Vic shakes his head.)
Vic: You know, Scott, ever since you started driving, you’ve had this insane and sometimes irrational hatred of For. Why does Ford bother you so much, anyway?
Scott: I’ll tell you why Ford ****ing bothers me! Ford is an overrated piece of ****! Sure, Ford’s been around a long time and there may some people here who are impressed with what Ford’s done, but in the grand scheme of things, Ford is no better than anything else out there.
(Chuckling to himself, Vic takes another sip of beer and rests a fat, grubby hand behind his bald head.)
Vic: So it’s feasible to say that Ford is a completely overrated, useless, no-good, talentless name?
Scott: ****ing right, dude! I STILL don’t know why you talked me into it! You know what? I’d even go so far as to say if Ford were a person, I’d challenge that ***** to a fight and he wouldn’t even show up! And if he did? He probably run away at the sight of me! That’s how much of a worthless chicken**** that Ford is!
(Shrugging his shoulders, Vic Gravender – albeit with great effort – nearly blows out his back getting up from his couch. Picking up some of the garbage off his table, he stuffs the garbage in a bag that appears to be already topped off with trash and throws it to the side.)
Vic: Dude, I’ll be right back. Gotta go take a quick shower, then I’ll help with the car. Why don’t you play a video…
(Before he could even get the words out, Scott was bafflingly engrossed in a game of Smackdown vs. Raw 2010, nearly breaking the controller in half from the pressure of his thumbs.)
Vic: …game.
(Shrugging, he walks out of sight as the camera fades in on Scott Gravender, focusing intently on this game.)
Scott: Matt Hardy? Pfft. **** Matt. Matt’s a stupid ***** that wouldn’t DARE show his face to a fight! Stupid candyass! Vic would beat the **** outta him, too!
(FADE TO WHITE…
THAT’S THE NEW BLACK.)
(It had been at least a year and a half since he decided to get off his ass doing something other than his job as a fry cook at Olive Garden. Following that, it had been at least a month since he tried to muster up the strength to pry his fat, lazy cottage cheese ass off his couch just long enough to get some ring time back in. But the moment that Vic Gravender read his name on the line-up for the first-ever Friday Night Vulgar show coming out of the new Next Level Wrestling, the feeling that it was all worth it washed over him.)
(…Okay, so it was more so the two-liter of Diet Pepsi he dropped exploding all over him in a mess of carbonated, syrupy piss water. Cursing under his breath, he scans the vicinity looking for a towel. He just got through hitting his signature move on Triple H’s big-nosed Jew ass in Smackdown vs Raw 2010 and couldn’t afford to blow the opportunity… again. This **** was Legend difficulty!)
Vic: OH, ****ING LORD! YOU WILL NOT BEAT ME, JEW DEMON!
(Eyeing the vicinity of his ratty-ass two-bedroom apartment, the filth and garbage sprawled out before him wasn’t helping his cause. There was no way in hell he would be getting his security deposit back in June since the walls were filled with holes from various failed attempts at him being a professional dart player. Finally looking back at his TV screen, he’s finally noticed that he’s horribly lost. After a Pedigree. On Legend difficulty. Again.)
Vic: ****ITY-****-****!
(Throwing down his X-Box 360 controller down in frustration, the man known once upon a time as the “Watertown Wrecking Ball” let out a sigh. He creaks back in his sofa, the springs straining to keep his hefty ass off the ground, sinking through the floor. Resting his arms back behind his ugly, unkempt “bald-guy-letting-it-grow-back-a-little” hairdo, Vic sighs to himself before he notices the red light glaring at him. Peeking an eye up, he sighs again.)
Vic: Oh, crap, I forgot you guys were gonna be here today… and this place is a ****hole the likes of a post-meltdown Three Mile Island. Awesome. (rolling eyes around, sheepishly) Man, I wish I knew you guys were gonna be here earlier. I was gonna make chocolate chip cookies and lay them out on the table.
(The camera pans down to the coffee table. Littered with various chip bags and candy bar wrappers, it picks up on a tray that has nothing but crumbs on it. Then back up to Vic Gravender, whose black “Sick My Duck” t-shirt had the same mysterious crumbs. He looks offended.)
Vic: Eff you guys. Cookies go cold. Cold and eaten. But anyway, I wish I had some more time to prepare. I had this whole ten-page manifesto written about how I was going to make my triumphant return to wrestling after a near two-year hiatus, breaking the necks of scrawny Asian guys overseas for a couple tours. I had this entire spiel going where I would compare my opponent, “The Main Event” Matt Ford to some guy I’ve never heard of. Seriously, man… a regular “Who’s on first” kind of thing that’d have you pissing yourselves.
No? Okay, fine. Well, guess I’m gonna have to improve a little. Tell these folks a little something about me. (taking a bite of a donut. Where he got it from, we’re not sure) Whaw do Ah buh-gin? (swallowing the bite)
So my name’s Vic Gravender.
Thirty-six years young.
I’m called “The Watertown Wrecking Ball” clearly because of my very svelte frame.
I am what you may call a pro-eater…
And uh… I once got into a barfight with five other men and broke each and every one of their legs cause they were ****ing with me. I then broke the leg of a sixth guy as he tried to get away. Later, he’d asked me why I’d only broken one of his legs. I told him it was because I’m a pretty ****ing generous guy!
(He lets out an ugly-sounding boisterous laugh, but when nobody’s really around to laugh with him, he frowns. Looking around sheepishly, Vic Gravender shrugs a little bit, taking a sip of beer, scratching himself.)
Vic: All right, all right, so that little tidbit above was the only thing I could really remember from my story that I was going to make him cry. Usually, I’m a little more prepared than this, but, really, in the grand scheme of things, I’ve got nothing too horrible to say about Matt Ford. I understand once upon a time, he was some bigwig somewhere, someplace, in a galaxy far, far away and now he’s competing down on “our level.” I generally have no hard feelings for the guy. He’s been through some **** and he’s just like the rest of us competing in a strange new world, wanting to make ourselves known… or known again, in his case. So, uh, yeah… look forward to a good clean fight, and I’ll see him in the ring.
(Before he can continue any further, he hears a knock at the door.)
Vic: IT’S OPEN!
(The door opens to reveal a very portly man, shorter, but in much worse looking shape than Vic. Sweating to death in a black XXXL polo shirt and grey sweat pants, the man tries to catch what little air he can get into his lungs. Wiping beads of sweat off an ugly patch of curly brown hair, the other fat man sighs while Vic looks to the camera.)
Vic: My brother, Scott, ladies and germs.
Scott: God damn it, dude, I’m so sick… of your… ****ing stairs!
(Vic holds out a tall boy, to which Scott takes before he comes crashing his weight into a gray recliner across the way. One COULD possibly hear the creaking of the sudden weight being pushed on it, but Scott gets out another annoyed grunt before any speculation could be had.)
Vic: What’s up, dude?
Scott: You said you were gonna help me… with my car, remember?
Vic: Your car?
Scott: Yeah… that POS Ford Explorer that you talked me into buying. Barely fits my fat ass let alone BOTH of ours!
(Vic shakes his head.)
Vic: You know, Scott, ever since you started driving, you’ve had this insane and sometimes irrational hatred of For. Why does Ford bother you so much, anyway?
Scott: I’ll tell you why Ford ****ing bothers me! Ford is an overrated piece of ****! Sure, Ford’s been around a long time and there may some people here who are impressed with what Ford’s done, but in the grand scheme of things, Ford is no better than anything else out there.
(Chuckling to himself, Vic takes another sip of beer and rests a fat, grubby hand behind his bald head.)
Vic: So it’s feasible to say that Ford is a completely overrated, useless, no-good, talentless name?
Scott: ****ing right, dude! I STILL don’t know why you talked me into it! You know what? I’d even go so far as to say if Ford were a person, I’d challenge that ***** to a fight and he wouldn’t even show up! And if he did? He probably run away at the sight of me! That’s how much of a worthless chicken**** that Ford is!
(Shrugging his shoulders, Vic Gravender – albeit with great effort – nearly blows out his back getting up from his couch. Picking up some of the garbage off his table, he stuffs the garbage in a bag that appears to be already topped off with trash and throws it to the side.)
Vic: Dude, I’ll be right back. Gotta go take a quick shower, then I’ll help with the car. Why don’t you play a video…
(Before he could even get the words out, Scott was bafflingly engrossed in a game of Smackdown vs. Raw 2010, nearly breaking the controller in half from the pressure of his thumbs.)
Vic: …game.
(Shrugging, he walks out of sight as the camera fades in on Scott Gravender, focusing intently on this game.)
Scott: Matt Hardy? Pfft. **** Matt. Matt’s a stupid ***** that wouldn’t DARE show his face to a fight! Stupid candyass! Vic would beat the **** outta him, too!
(FADE TO WHITE…
THAT’S THE NEW BLACK.)
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