Post by @xL on May 17, 2009 14:50:37 GMT -5
|Judgement Day is upon us...|
|Tickets are Souled Out|
["The Next Big Bum", Gruel Renshaw, is standing atop a mountain of trash... Swiss Army title held aloft. Surrounding him are beggars, vagabons, and other low-life of the streets. All competitors of Ultimate Hobo Fighting (UHF)... all on their hands and knees, bowing before their king. The King of the Trash Heap. Gruel refers to this belt not as the "Swiss Army Title", for he knows nothing about a "BOB" or the title's true holder, Axl.]
[He refers to himself as UHF Champion... with this strap of gold as the quote, unquote, "official" UHF Title.]
[And he's not letting it go for ANYTHING.]
Gruel: I've faced each and every one ah yuz! I beat ya... I destroyed ya ALL!!! [pointing to different bums] I beat you... and I beat YOU... and I KNOW I beat YOU!!! You've all fallen... and I've been left standing alone! Is there nobody with the ability to take on a TRUE champion?! Nobody in this entire god forsaken city?! Come... SHOW YOURSELF!!!
Voice: Duuude... you're grass hombre, and I'm about to thrash you down with my most excellent board!
Gruel: The hell... ?
[Gruel turns... and finds Chester "Sk8er Boi" Poinkington standing before the hill of garbage... skateboard in hand.]
Gruel: ... Who the HELL are you?
Chester: The name's Chester Poinkington, but you, my man, can call me THE most bodacious Sk8er Boi this side of Tony Lavigne!
Gruel: Don't you mean Tony Haw -
Chester: AHEM!
Gruel: What?
Chester: Copyright issues.
Gruel: ... Huh? The name "Tony Hawk" isn't copyrighted! ... It's the guy's NAME!!!
Chester: Oh... well, the writer's too fuckin' lazy to go back and change it now, so Tony Lavigne it is.
Gruel: Apathy... It kills.
Chester: The iAd killed alot of jobbers. Just ask the sWo. ... Oh, wait. THEY'RE DEAD!!!
Gruel: This rant DOES have a point... right?
Chester: Well, the writer's pretty much making this shit up as he goes along. The planned ending to this series of rants has changed since the first part was posted... numerous times in fact. He's thinking about just having all of this crap end up being one of Axl's demented dreams.
Gruel: Oh you're KIDDING! Not the tired old "Newhart" cop-out! He already did that once with a Jerri Li dream a couple of weeks back!
Chester: I know, I know... How about this. I'll challenge you to a skateboard race, down that GIANT mountain of trash, and whoever wins keeps the belt.
Gruel: The writer stayed up for two days straight again, didn't he?
Chester: ... It's that noticeable?
Gruel: When he starts having ideas that stupid... ch'yeah, it's more than obvious.
Chester: Ok, ok, just accept the stupid stip so we can rush things toward the crappy, hastily thrown together culmination of this shoddily constructed story arc.
Gruel: Huh... well... uh... ok. ... YOU'RE ON!!! ... That work?
Chester: Totally. ... Uh, dude. And stuff.
|Chester is at the top of the tras mountain|
Chester: We're REALLY rushing things, aren't we?
Gruel: I know! The guy didn't even take the time to put the 'h' in 'trash'!
Chester: Meh... probably just a typo. HEY, LOOK OVER THERE! It's... uh... something... SOMETHING! IT'S SOMETHING!!!
Gruel: Something?
Chester: Just look!
Gruel: Uhm... no. Not gonna fall for that.
Chester: It's a GOOGLE FLIP!!!
Gruel: ... The FUCK's a "Google Flip"?
Chester: THIS!
[Chester begins speeding forward on his board... kickflips into the air... and falls on top of a broken tv... and then rolls the rest of the way down the mountain... well, until he makes it to the VERY bottom... and he crashes onto his head, right at the last stretch of the "course". He's so close to the finish line that he can almost barely touch it with his fingers...]
Gruel: ... There's something wrong with that kid.
[Gruel simply walks the whole way down the mountain of litter, and when he makes it to the beaten and bruised "Sk8er Boi", Gruel lifts his foot... and crushes Chester's hand into pieces of broken glass and some shards of scrap metal. The nearly unconcious Chester shakes violently... and Gruel easily crosses the finish line. Gruel hocks up a loogie, before spitting it right square onto the back of Chester's head.]
Gruel: Sorry kiddo... you LOSE!!!
[Gruel turns around, smiling at his legion of followers.]
Gruel: JUST like the rest of you! You're ALL losers! EVERYONE's a loser when compared to ME... for I am the mighty... I Am the Powerful... I AM THE GREAT -
[Suddenly, a figure trudges through the murky sewer water river nearby, onto the shore of the junkyard, where Gruel looks like he's ready for a fight...]
Axl: You say you're "The Great"?
Gruel: I was GOING to say the Great Gruel RENSHAW!
Axl: ... Oh. Damn... I thought I was going to be able to beat the crap out of my opponent for iMPLOSION 21, so I can focus on my awesome 33rd birthday.
Gruel: You're going to be 33?! HA! I'd tear you UP, old timer!
Axl: OLD TIMER?! How old are YOU, huh?!
Gruel: Thirty ONE! BOO-YAH!
Axl: ...
Gruel: Choke on it!
Axl: HEY! THERE IT IS!
Gruel: There's what?
Axl: The Swiss Army Title! You have MY Swiss Army title! Hand it over, right-friggin'-NOW!!!
Gruel: Oh you geezers and your silly alzheimers disease!
Axl: I AM NOT A GEEZER!!!
Gruel: If you would have been following along with the recent developments in this rant series, you'd KNOW that this is the UHF TITLE!!!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: Yes it is!
Gruel: No it's not!
Axl: HAHAHA!
Gruel: FUCK!
Axl: I got that trick from Tax.
Gruel: Who?
Axl: Dude from Dave's WSE show. Tax had this feud with Sid Viscuous in the short, two show span of Dave's Egg-Stream Show. He did the EXACT same thing to Sid.
Gruel: Coulda sworn you got that from Looney Tunes...
Axl: I don't watch cartoons! ... Well, except for [adult swim]. Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Number One in the Hood, G!
Gruel: ... ANYWAY. Until someone beats me for this belt, it IS the Ultimate Hobo Fighting Championship!
Axl: UHFC?
Gruel: Keep on track, dammit!
Axl: Sorry.
Gruel: Ugh... When the bum living in a heap of trash, who fights other bums in a junkyard, is the one with the most sense out of two individuals... you just KNOW the other guy is crazier than a pet coon.
Axl: Channeling the spirit of Jim Ross?
Gruel: JR isn't dead!!!
Axl: But I thought he was shot?
Gruel: Who shot him?
Axl: NOBODY KNOWS!!! ;D
Gruel: ...
Axl: Ok, enough padding, time to wrap this up. You say you won't give up the belt without a fight. ... Well, since John doesn't want me to have matches in my rants, and seeing as WSE already has the monopoly on crappy matches written by my writer...
Gruel: Who's John?
Axl: Huh?
Gruel: And for that matter, who's "Dave"?
Axl: ... Do you want a laptop?
Gruel: SURE!
Axl: Maybe you can use it to find a job and get yourself out of this place. You take it, and I'll take the title, alrighty?
Gruel: OK!
Axl: Here ya go.
Gruel: And here YOU go!
[The switch is made. Axl wraps the title back around his waist, and makes a hasty retreat before Gruel changes his mind. Gruel stares at the laptop in his hands... smile plastered across his face.]
Gruel: Goodbye Ultimate Hobo Fighting... HELLO Ultimate Writing Championship! It's been so long since I was in a professional e-fed... the sport is calling me... AND I'M ANSWERING!!!
[Gruel logs on... and leaves his homeless reality in the background, as he returns to the only thing he's truly Great at... e-fedding.]
|later|
[Axl walks toward his apartment... when he glances down at the title wrapped around his waist.]
Axl: Wait a minute... this belt's made of CARDBOARD!!! What in the hell happened to MY title?!
|meanwhile|
[The scene... Doc Taco's All You Can Eat Mexican Buffet and Regional Hospital. The Doc is rushing a gourney toward the surgery room, where he quickly whips out a saw and a blowtorch. After some excavating... and a loss of a homeless bum's life... Taco holds within his blood soaked hands a mass of guts and organs... along with the Swiss Army Title. The homeless bum's last words ring through the hospital...]
HB: So... so hungry... the belt... tasted... just like... CHICKEN... Unngghh...
[Doc Taco hoses off the title, and removes his surgical mask... revealing a sick smile.]
Doc Taco: Eet look like dee spesh-hull on dee house is el BELTO del grande!!! A little bean, some chili pepper, few or so cheeses and such... she ees taste MAGNIFICO!!!
[Taco lays the title down on a table... and lifts the chainsaw high up in the air, roaring it to life...]
Doc Taco: Time to chop her into pieces!!!
|suddenly|
[Axl wakes up on his couch... with the final episode of "Newhart" playing on the tv.]
Axl: ... Thank GOD!!!
[Axl's cell phone rings... he answers...]
Axl: Hello? ... Scotty? ... You want to have a business lunch at Doc Taco's? Sure man! I love their "Burrito Del Grande". I'll meet you there in half an hour. ... Later.
[Axl shuts the phone... before thinking about the dream. And how it might be more than just a dream...]
[... or something...]
[FORESHADOWING~!!!1a]
|to be concluded...|
|Tickets are Souled Out|
["The Next Big Bum", Gruel Renshaw, is standing atop a mountain of trash... Swiss Army title held aloft. Surrounding him are beggars, vagabons, and other low-life of the streets. All competitors of Ultimate Hobo Fighting (UHF)... all on their hands and knees, bowing before their king. The King of the Trash Heap. Gruel refers to this belt not as the "Swiss Army Title", for he knows nothing about a "BOB" or the title's true holder, Axl.]
[He refers to himself as UHF Champion... with this strap of gold as the quote, unquote, "official" UHF Title.]
[And he's not letting it go for ANYTHING.]
Gruel: I've faced each and every one ah yuz! I beat ya... I destroyed ya ALL!!! [pointing to different bums] I beat you... and I beat YOU... and I KNOW I beat YOU!!! You've all fallen... and I've been left standing alone! Is there nobody with the ability to take on a TRUE champion?! Nobody in this entire god forsaken city?! Come... SHOW YOURSELF!!!
Voice: Duuude... you're grass hombre, and I'm about to thrash you down with my most excellent board!
Gruel: The hell... ?
[Gruel turns... and finds Chester "Sk8er Boi" Poinkington standing before the hill of garbage... skateboard in hand.]
Gruel: ... Who the HELL are you?
Chester: The name's Chester Poinkington, but you, my man, can call me THE most bodacious Sk8er Boi this side of Tony Lavigne!
Gruel: Don't you mean Tony Haw -
Chester: AHEM!
Gruel: What?
Chester: Copyright issues.
Gruel: ... Huh? The name "Tony Hawk" isn't copyrighted! ... It's the guy's NAME!!!
Chester: Oh... well, the writer's too fuckin' lazy to go back and change it now, so Tony Lavigne it is.
Gruel: Apathy... It kills.
Chester: The iAd killed alot of jobbers. Just ask the sWo. ... Oh, wait. THEY'RE DEAD!!!
Gruel: This rant DOES have a point... right?
Chester: Well, the writer's pretty much making this shit up as he goes along. The planned ending to this series of rants has changed since the first part was posted... numerous times in fact. He's thinking about just having all of this crap end up being one of Axl's demented dreams.
Gruel: Oh you're KIDDING! Not the tired old "Newhart" cop-out! He already did that once with a Jerri Li dream a couple of weeks back!
Chester: I know, I know... How about this. I'll challenge you to a skateboard race, down that GIANT mountain of trash, and whoever wins keeps the belt.
Gruel: The writer stayed up for two days straight again, didn't he?
Chester: ... It's that noticeable?
Gruel: When he starts having ideas that stupid... ch'yeah, it's more than obvious.
Chester: Ok, ok, just accept the stupid stip so we can rush things toward the crappy, hastily thrown together culmination of this shoddily constructed story arc.
Gruel: Huh... well... uh... ok. ... YOU'RE ON!!! ... That work?
Chester: Totally. ... Uh, dude. And stuff.
|Chester is at the top of the tras mountain|
Chester: We're REALLY rushing things, aren't we?
Gruel: I know! The guy didn't even take the time to put the 'h' in 'trash'!
Chester: Meh... probably just a typo. HEY, LOOK OVER THERE! It's... uh... something... SOMETHING! IT'S SOMETHING!!!
Gruel: Something?
Chester: Just look!
Gruel: Uhm... no. Not gonna fall for that.
Chester: It's a GOOGLE FLIP!!!
Gruel: ... The FUCK's a "Google Flip"?
Chester: THIS!
[Chester begins speeding forward on his board... kickflips into the air... and falls on top of a broken tv... and then rolls the rest of the way down the mountain... well, until he makes it to the VERY bottom... and he crashes onto his head, right at the last stretch of the "course". He's so close to the finish line that he can almost barely touch it with his fingers...]
Gruel: ... There's something wrong with that kid.
[Gruel simply walks the whole way down the mountain of litter, and when he makes it to the beaten and bruised "Sk8er Boi", Gruel lifts his foot... and crushes Chester's hand into pieces of broken glass and some shards of scrap metal. The nearly unconcious Chester shakes violently... and Gruel easily crosses the finish line. Gruel hocks up a loogie, before spitting it right square onto the back of Chester's head.]
Gruel: Sorry kiddo... you LOSE!!!
[Gruel turns around, smiling at his legion of followers.]
Gruel: JUST like the rest of you! You're ALL losers! EVERYONE's a loser when compared to ME... for I am the mighty... I Am the Powerful... I AM THE GREAT -
[Suddenly, a figure trudges through the murky sewer water river nearby, onto the shore of the junkyard, where Gruel looks like he's ready for a fight...]
Axl: You say you're "The Great"?
Gruel: I was GOING to say the Great Gruel RENSHAW!
Axl: ... Oh. Damn... I thought I was going to be able to beat the crap out of my opponent for iMPLOSION 21, so I can focus on my awesome 33rd birthday.
Gruel: You're going to be 33?! HA! I'd tear you UP, old timer!
Axl: OLD TIMER?! How old are YOU, huh?!
Gruel: Thirty ONE! BOO-YAH!
Axl: ...
Gruel: Choke on it!
Axl: HEY! THERE IT IS!
Gruel: There's what?
Axl: The Swiss Army Title! You have MY Swiss Army title! Hand it over, right-friggin'-NOW!!!
Gruel: Oh you geezers and your silly alzheimers disease!
Axl: I AM NOT A GEEZER!!!
Gruel: If you would have been following along with the recent developments in this rant series, you'd KNOW that this is the UHF TITLE!!!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: No it's not!
Gruel: Yes it is!
Axl: Yes it is!
Gruel: No it's not!
Axl: HAHAHA!
Gruel: FUCK!
Axl: I got that trick from Tax.
Gruel: Who?
Axl: Dude from Dave's WSE show. Tax had this feud with Sid Viscuous in the short, two show span of Dave's Egg-Stream Show. He did the EXACT same thing to Sid.
Gruel: Coulda sworn you got that from Looney Tunes...
Axl: I don't watch cartoons! ... Well, except for [adult swim]. Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Number One in the Hood, G!
Gruel: ... ANYWAY. Until someone beats me for this belt, it IS the Ultimate Hobo Fighting Championship!
Axl: UHFC?
Gruel: Keep on track, dammit!
Axl: Sorry.
Gruel: Ugh... When the bum living in a heap of trash, who fights other bums in a junkyard, is the one with the most sense out of two individuals... you just KNOW the other guy is crazier than a pet coon.
Axl: Channeling the spirit of Jim Ross?
Gruel: JR isn't dead!!!
Axl: But I thought he was shot?
Gruel: Who shot him?
Axl: NOBODY KNOWS!!! ;D
Gruel: ...
Axl: Ok, enough padding, time to wrap this up. You say you won't give up the belt without a fight. ... Well, since John doesn't want me to have matches in my rants, and seeing as WSE already has the monopoly on crappy matches written by my writer...
Gruel: Who's John?
Axl: Huh?
Gruel: And for that matter, who's "Dave"?
Axl: ... Do you want a laptop?
Gruel: SURE!
Axl: Maybe you can use it to find a job and get yourself out of this place. You take it, and I'll take the title, alrighty?
Gruel: OK!
Axl: Here ya go.
Gruel: And here YOU go!
[The switch is made. Axl wraps the title back around his waist, and makes a hasty retreat before Gruel changes his mind. Gruel stares at the laptop in his hands... smile plastered across his face.]
Gruel: Goodbye Ultimate Hobo Fighting... HELLO Ultimate Writing Championship! It's been so long since I was in a professional e-fed... the sport is calling me... AND I'M ANSWERING!!!
[Gruel logs on... and leaves his homeless reality in the background, as he returns to the only thing he's truly Great at... e-fedding.]
|later|
[Axl walks toward his apartment... when he glances down at the title wrapped around his waist.]
Axl: Wait a minute... this belt's made of CARDBOARD!!! What in the hell happened to MY title?!
|meanwhile|
[The scene... Doc Taco's All You Can Eat Mexican Buffet and Regional Hospital. The Doc is rushing a gourney toward the surgery room, where he quickly whips out a saw and a blowtorch. After some excavating... and a loss of a homeless bum's life... Taco holds within his blood soaked hands a mass of guts and organs... along with the Swiss Army Title. The homeless bum's last words ring through the hospital...]
HB: So... so hungry... the belt... tasted... just like... CHICKEN... Unngghh...
[Doc Taco hoses off the title, and removes his surgical mask... revealing a sick smile.]
Doc Taco: Eet look like dee spesh-hull on dee house is el BELTO del grande!!! A little bean, some chili pepper, few or so cheeses and such... she ees taste MAGNIFICO!!!
[Taco lays the title down on a table... and lifts the chainsaw high up in the air, roaring it to life...]
Doc Taco: Time to chop her into pieces!!!
|suddenly|
[Axl wakes up on his couch... with the final episode of "Newhart" playing on the tv.]
Axl: ... Thank GOD!!!
[Axl's cell phone rings... he answers...]
Axl: Hello? ... Scotty? ... You want to have a business lunch at Doc Taco's? Sure man! I love their "Burrito Del Grande". I'll meet you there in half an hour. ... Later.
[Axl shuts the phone... before thinking about the dream. And how it might be more than just a dream...]
[... or something...]
[FORESHADOWING~!!!1a]
|to be concluded...|