Post by Steve Studnuts on Jan 6, 2007 13:17:28 GMT -5
~~~Phoenix, Az. It’s hot here right now, but not as hot as it is in July. But it’s sure as hell hotter here than it is in Denver. Steve Studnuts is sprawled out on his black leather sectional, a 'Tom Collins' in his right hand, a “Monica’s Secret” brand cigar in his left. His head is surrounded by a plume of smoke that’s gently floating in the air above him. Steve wears nothing but a pair of leopard print silk boxers, obviously comfortable in his own home. Lee Corso and Kirk Herbstreit can be heard, slightly muffled as background noise. Connie Lingus, Steve’s live-in mooch that bares a resemblance to a horde of sexy bitches I have not the time nor patience to identify by name, appears on camera wearing a terrycloth, white robe (and probably nothing underneath)~~~
Connie: Steve? Did you know you were booked for an upcoming BOB show?
Steve: Huh? Does that shit come on after that Behrendt guy?
Connie: No, you know, B.O.B.… the wrestling promotion. Or is it B.O.a.B.? Whatever it is…
Steve: Ooooooh, THAT place. Pfffft. That dump hasn’t fuckin’ died yet? And here people say that cats have fuckin’ nine lives…
Connie: So, you didn’t know?
Steve: Know what?
Connie: That you were booked.
Steve: What was the question again? Did I know or did I care? Never mind, the answer to both is “No.”
Connie: But you’re in a Battle Royal to become Number One Seed for a pending tournament….
Steve: ~~~yawn~~~puff~~~
Connie: ….for the only world title that matters to someone.
Steve: What? There’s a tournament for that? What happened to Sarah?
Connie: Ummm, I think they stripped her of the belt after you whined about her having it.
Steve: Heh.
Connie: No wait, The BigBoss took it from her because too many of us strong willed and able bodied chicks were kicking ass and taking names over there and winning all the major titles…
Steve: ……….
Connie: Did you say something?
Steve: Not a fuckin’ peep. Just some dots.
Connie: So, am I supposed to book your flight or what? Are you going?
Steve: Hmmm, let me see. What are my options… stay here and continue living off of my vast wealth or go beat the shit out of some ass monkeys? Ahh, what the hell? I’ve never had that belt….
Connie: You do realize that you haven’t had a promo or kissed any corporate ass in awhile right? The card is probably already written and so this all, pretty much, will not increase your chances.
Steve: Connie, do I look like I give a fuck? Do I look like I care to entertain one fuckin’ person on this planet other than myself? And perhaps, my buds in the iAd? It’s all about me….
Connie: I certainly know about that….
Steve: Come again?
Connie: Might be nice to come the first time…
Steve: Say what?
Connie: egotisticalfuckingbastardthatonlycaresabouthimselfsayswhat.
Steve: Huh? What the fuck?
Connie: Oh NOTHING! Do you want me to get online with Travelocity or what?
Steve: Hell no! I thought you said it was BOB? I told that fuckin’ WCWF guy I wasn’t goin’ to work on that show.
~~~Enter Jizzabelle Cummins, naked, walking up to a drum set in the corner of the room, a digitalized mosaic or two covering her post puberty extra hair and bosom. She sits down, her supple ass sticking to the velour stool behind the bass drum. A two ting shot on the rim and a tap on the skin follow. Not her skin, as depressing as that is. She leaves~~~
Connie: I’m just going to book your flight then so you get out of here. Stay busy, leave on long road trips so Jizz and I can explore our lesbian curiosities.
Steve: FINE THEN, GAT DAMMIT! Who’s in this thing anyway? I need to know if I need to pack 50 or 100 rubbers. You know, if it’s goin’ to be a quick night or a long one in the ring. Ya dig?
Connie: Hmphf. Let’s see… Atomo the Living Robot.
Steve: Pussy.
Connie: Hey, he is pretty tough. He held that Pop Up Title for a long time, ya know?
Steve: I hold the real POP UP TITLE. ANY-way, I’ll just pour some water on his dumb ass or somethin' and then use the next guy you mention to beat the fuckin’ rust off him.
Connie: Coma…
Steve: Pffffft.
Connie: Death.
Steve: Okay, now Death’s cool. He should love me from all the bitches I kill every night, stabbin’ them dead as an Asian Tsunami Party with my pelvic meat Ginzu.
Connie: Whatever…
Steve: Who’s next?
Connie: douja.
Steve: Snappy whisker biscuit….
Connie: Hallucination Boy.
Steve: Bearded clam…
Connie: Jim “Totally Packaged”…
Steve: Total Packaged what? Fudge?
Connie: Kamikazie Ken.
Steve: He’ll kill himself getting to the fuckin’ ring…
Connie: Kurt Angel…
Steve: Vertical Smile…
Connie: Massive Man Rendition First…
Steve: WHO?
Connie: Pete Trable…
Steve: Deep Thigh Gash…
Connie: Pigeon…
Steve: What about him? ~~~snicker~~~
Connie: San Francisco Giant…
Steve: What the fuck? Barry Bonds is wrestling now? Are they callin’ him that because he played for them or because his steroid pumped, big ass head has reached the mythical, ‘giant’ proportions category?
Connie: Seth Harker.
Steve: SETH! My boy…
Connie: Sir Zeno.
Steve: Hair Pie.
Connie: Steve? Don’t you have anything else to say about these guys other than calling them childish slang terms for a vagina?
Steve: Hey, I call ‘em like I see ‘em.
Connie: There’s one more… Unit 5.
Steve: The fuckin’ washin’ machine? Yep, it’s definitely a BOB show.
~~~Connie, frustrated, grabs the remote to the SUPER SIZED, LIQUID CRYSTAL HIGH DEF BIG SCREEN and turns the channel. She hates ESPN. Then… this comes on. Steve watches, his mouth agape as if to hold a sign that reads “FLIES WELCOME”~~~
Axl: The Rock-O-Lution has begun. Are you ready?
Steve: What….. in the….. fuck? Who’s that dude that looks like Ziggy Stardust?
Connie: I don’t know, he’s in the one of the other battle royals anyway.
Steve: Good. That jerkweed looks like he’d be tryin’ to wrestle somebody’s dick out of his trunks all night long.
~~~whew~~~
Oh well. Book that gatdamn flight. I guess I’m goin’ back to stir up some more shit.
~~~Steve slowly gets up off the couch, scratches/adjusts his sack, and exits stage left.~~~
Connie: Steve? Did you know you were booked for an upcoming BOB show?
Steve: Huh? Does that shit come on after that Behrendt guy?
Connie: No, you know, B.O.B.… the wrestling promotion. Or is it B.O.a.B.? Whatever it is…
Steve: Ooooooh, THAT place. Pfffft. That dump hasn’t fuckin’ died yet? And here people say that cats have fuckin’ nine lives…
Connie: So, you didn’t know?
Steve: Know what?
Connie: That you were booked.
Steve: What was the question again? Did I know or did I care? Never mind, the answer to both is “No.”
Connie: But you’re in a Battle Royal to become Number One Seed for a pending tournament….
Steve: ~~~yawn~~~puff~~~
Connie: ….for the only world title that matters to someone.
Steve: What? There’s a tournament for that? What happened to Sarah?
Connie: Ummm, I think they stripped her of the belt after you whined about her having it.
Steve: Heh.
Connie: No wait, The BigBoss took it from her because too many of us strong willed and able bodied chicks were kicking ass and taking names over there and winning all the major titles…
Steve: ……….
Connie: Did you say something?
Steve: Not a fuckin’ peep. Just some dots.
Connie: So, am I supposed to book your flight or what? Are you going?
Steve: Hmmm, let me see. What are my options… stay here and continue living off of my vast wealth or go beat the shit out of some ass monkeys? Ahh, what the hell? I’ve never had that belt….
Connie: You do realize that you haven’t had a promo or kissed any corporate ass in awhile right? The card is probably already written and so this all, pretty much, will not increase your chances.
Steve: Connie, do I look like I give a fuck? Do I look like I care to entertain one fuckin’ person on this planet other than myself? And perhaps, my buds in the iAd? It’s all about me….
Connie: I certainly know about that….
Steve: Come again?
Connie: Might be nice to come the first time…
Steve: Say what?
Connie: egotisticalfuckingbastardthatonlycaresabouthimselfsayswhat.
Steve: Huh? What the fuck?
Connie: Oh NOTHING! Do you want me to get online with Travelocity or what?
Steve: Hell no! I thought you said it was BOB? I told that fuckin’ WCWF guy I wasn’t goin’ to work on that show.
~~~Enter Jizzabelle Cummins, naked, walking up to a drum set in the corner of the room, a digitalized mosaic or two covering her post puberty extra hair and bosom. She sits down, her supple ass sticking to the velour stool behind the bass drum. A two ting shot on the rim and a tap on the skin follow. Not her skin, as depressing as that is. She leaves~~~
Connie: I’m just going to book your flight then so you get out of here. Stay busy, leave on long road trips so Jizz and I can explore our lesbian curiosities.
Steve: FINE THEN, GAT DAMMIT! Who’s in this thing anyway? I need to know if I need to pack 50 or 100 rubbers. You know, if it’s goin’ to be a quick night or a long one in the ring. Ya dig?
Connie: Hmphf. Let’s see… Atomo the Living Robot.
Steve: Pussy.
Connie: Hey, he is pretty tough. He held that Pop Up Title for a long time, ya know?
Steve: I hold the real POP UP TITLE. ANY-way, I’ll just pour some water on his dumb ass or somethin' and then use the next guy you mention to beat the fuckin’ rust off him.
Connie: Coma…
Steve: Pffffft.
Connie: Death.
Steve: Okay, now Death’s cool. He should love me from all the bitches I kill every night, stabbin’ them dead as an Asian Tsunami Party with my pelvic meat Ginzu.
Connie: Whatever…
Steve: Who’s next?
Connie: douja.
Steve: Snappy whisker biscuit….
Connie: Hallucination Boy.
Steve: Bearded clam…
Connie: Jim “Totally Packaged”…
Steve: Total Packaged what? Fudge?
Connie: Kamikazie Ken.
Steve: He’ll kill himself getting to the fuckin’ ring…
Connie: Kurt Angel…
Steve: Vertical Smile…
Connie: Massive Man Rendition First…
Steve: WHO?
Connie: Pete Trable…
Steve: Deep Thigh Gash…
Connie: Pigeon…
Steve: What about him? ~~~snicker~~~
Connie: San Francisco Giant…
Steve: What the fuck? Barry Bonds is wrestling now? Are they callin’ him that because he played for them or because his steroid pumped, big ass head has reached the mythical, ‘giant’ proportions category?
Connie: Seth Harker.
Steve: SETH! My boy…
Connie: Sir Zeno.
Steve: Hair Pie.
Connie: Steve? Don’t you have anything else to say about these guys other than calling them childish slang terms for a vagina?
Steve: Hey, I call ‘em like I see ‘em.
Connie: There’s one more… Unit 5.
Steve: The fuckin’ washin’ machine? Yep, it’s definitely a BOB show.
~~~Connie, frustrated, grabs the remote to the SUPER SIZED, LIQUID CRYSTAL HIGH DEF BIG SCREEN and turns the channel. She hates ESPN. Then… this comes on. Steve watches, his mouth agape as if to hold a sign that reads “FLIES WELCOME”~~~
Axl: The Rock-O-Lution has begun. Are you ready?
Steve: What….. in the….. fuck? Who’s that dude that looks like Ziggy Stardust?
Connie: I don’t know, he’s in the one of the other battle royals anyway.
Steve: Good. That jerkweed looks like he’d be tryin’ to wrestle somebody’s dick out of his trunks all night long.
~~~whew~~~
Oh well. Book that gatdamn flight. I guess I’m goin’ back to stir up some more shit.
~~~Steve slowly gets up off the couch, scratches/adjusts his sack, and exits stage left.~~~
~~~Static~~~