Post by Sarah on Mar 20, 2009 18:36:46 GMT -5
March 11, 2009 was a magical night for one Sarah "The Jobber Slayer." Helping out Hamster Girl during iMPLOSION 17? Nah, that was just another night of defending the defenseless. Not that Hamster Girl CAN'T defend herself. After all, she's really good at rolling out of harm's way. It's just…you can only avoid major hurtiness at the hands of Jerri Li and the Fetish Freaks for so long. No, the real goodness was in just a few words…
"I love you, too, Sarah!"
"He loves me, he loves me, he loves me," Sarah said playfully as she meandered down some dark Sin City street, totally oblivious to her surroundings. She was on her way to see her "husband," Scotty Whatbody to once again plead for a divorce over the stupid Super Bowl drinking bet. Now, surely on some level Sarah knew that The Great didn't say her name -- he was just responding automatically like so many other entertainers do when crazy women scream their professions of love at them.
Or, was it?
"Hold that thought, brain."
Sarah stopped dead in her tracks as she saw a figure exiting the front door of Scotty's apartment -- the building she affectionately referred to as "The Slum Zone." The building looked like it hadn't been painted in about 75 years or so…plus the prison bars really added to the ambience. And, for the point of this prose, the prison bars were quite fitting for Sarah's state of mind. But we're getting off track.
"Should I switch over to script style?"
Focus, Sarah, focus!
"Right. Who is that?"
The figure looked eerily familiar. But the lighting was so bad, it could've been any low life friend of Scotty Whatbody's. Or any low life employee of BOB. Or any low life inhabitant of Sin City. Really un-narrowing down the possibilities, brain. The figure shuffled away in the opposite direction from where Sarah was approaching. As she neared the front steps, a cloud of alcohol stench engulfed her, nearly making her gag. A drunk lowlife. Even better! Maybe it was Pigeon?
Then it hit her!
"Oww!"
A bottle of beer. Right in the head.
"Watch it, Stinkyshirtandpants Guy!"
A bum across the street shouted something indecipherable back at her. Then Sarah turned to her right and saw a large red target.
"Oh. My bad!" she shouted to the bum. Sarah ran into the Slum Zone before another bottle hit her. "Wait, what was I thinking about before I got hit in the head? Brain?"
The Great is totally a hottie?
"A world of duh! No, about that mysterious white male of below-average height who was walking away from here."
Maybe you should go ask Scotty?
"Oooh! I could go ask Scotty. But, wait. Then I'd have to talk to Scotty. This plan has uber flawage…"
Regardless, Sarah dug out a key from her leather jacket and unlocked the door. Pinching her nose, she made her way inside to find Scotty sitting in a leather desk chair playing some PS2 "NBA Street" to "research" March Mayhem 2009. Apparently he was taking his cues from The Great now. This disturbing parallel wasn't lost on Sarah.
"NO! Don't learn stuff from video games! Why don't you play 'Leisure Suit Larry'? That's definitely up your alley."
Scotty grunted. "Nice!" Scotty shouted, happy at something he just did. He glanced in Sarah's direction. "Didn't hear you come in."
"Get used to that. Who was here before? The stench of failure is just overwhelming."
"A new client of mine. You remember how I took Randall Mooby under my wing? And sort of managed Threedom for a while?"
"Honestly, no."
"Well, I've got a better client now. By which, I mean, he's agreed to pay me more than those three jackasses did. Grab me a beer."
"No."
"I'll consider that di-vorrrce…"
With a sigh, Sarah dropped the paper bag full of stuff she had been carrying on the floor and headed for the kitchen. She grabbed Scotty a can and handed it to him.
"Well?"
"Considered it. No."
"Grrrr! Scotty, this marriage is a sham. And a shame. It's a sham-shame. Scotty, I want somebody who won't be gasping for breather after five seconds of 'loving.' I want to run my hands through my lover's hair without feeling like I need to wash my hands in scalding water to get the ewww off. I want somebody who doesn't make my uterus run and hide up near my lungs!"
"Then you must be happy you're with me!"
Sarah dropped to her knees and moaned.
"Woohoo!"
Then Sarah quickly stood back up.
"Oh! All right. Look. Sarah, I'm not an idiot. I know that it's highly unlikely this year that you'll quit being a frigid bitch and spread those legs. But maybe if you do something for me on the next iMPLOSION, I'll really consider the divorce."
"Really?"
"Sure."
"What is it?"
"Well, I just got off the phone with Trey, and he OK'd a tag team match with you teaming up with my new client."
"All I have to do is accept a tag match? What's the catch?"
"It's against Christian St. Christian and…uh…"
"Jerri Li?"
"No."
"Tentacle Beast?"
"Nope."
"Zombie Mr. Fantastic? All of the Mr. Fantastics? No? Oh…crap…"
"That's right! Scatman. BWAHAHAHA!"
Sarah stared at him for a moment. "I want it down in writing that if I do this crapload of crap for you, that this divorce is officially going to get underway."
"Sure."
Sarah bent down and grabbed the paper bag. "As a bonus incentive to never come near any part of my anatomy ever ever ever ever ever ever again, I brought you a peace offering of sorts. Sort of like a house colding present, since I'll never be living in the same building with you. Ever. Evvvvveeeeerrrrrrrr–"
"I get it, I get it…Bitch." Scotty takes the bag and looks inside. "Porno DVDs? Porno mags? Is that a bag of…"
"Banana Kush."
"Did you get this from Joe Bananas?"
"Does it matter? Do you want it or what?"
"Weed and porno, and no nagging wife? Sounds like a perfect weekend to me! Woohoo!"
"Great, great, great."
"Oh, get him off your mind. He's married and you're old. And you bleed like a faucet when you're on the rag!"
Sarah kicks him in the face.
"Owwwww!"
"Say you're sorry."
"Blow me! See? I can demand unrealistic things from you, too!"
Ignoring him, Sarah asked one final question. "Now…who's your new client?"
"Axl."
"No, really. Who is it?"
"Axl."
Sarah laughed a little bit. "Nice one. No really. Who is it?"
"Axl!"
"You're joking, right? You HATE Axl."
"I do! But he's paying me. Can't I do both? Hate him AND take his money?"
"Seriously? Axl. Axl nee Van Halen? King Axl? Guy who you've ridiculed viciously and wished serious injury or death upon on every BOB show since his arrival Axl?"
"Yep."
"So, me and Axl vs. Scatman and Christian St. Christian?"
"Yep."
"You're SURE this isn't an early April Fool's joke?"
"Yep. Axl is my client. And I'm going to lead him to an ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS match!"
With that, Sarah lost total control. For five minutes, she laughed and she laughed. So hard, she actually peed herself, but she didn't even care. We're talking on the floor, banging her fist, gutbusting, rolling, violently shaking, uncontrollable laughter. Eventually, she got herself under control, dragged herself up using the doorknob, and laughed her way out of the Slum Zone. Hopefully for the last time.
"I love you, too, Sarah!"
"He loves me, he loves me, he loves me," Sarah said playfully as she meandered down some dark Sin City street, totally oblivious to her surroundings. She was on her way to see her "husband," Scotty Whatbody to once again plead for a divorce over the stupid Super Bowl drinking bet. Now, surely on some level Sarah knew that The Great didn't say her name -- he was just responding automatically like so many other entertainers do when crazy women scream their professions of love at them.
Or, was it?
"Hold that thought, brain."
Sarah stopped dead in her tracks as she saw a figure exiting the front door of Scotty's apartment -- the building she affectionately referred to as "The Slum Zone." The building looked like it hadn't been painted in about 75 years or so…plus the prison bars really added to the ambience. And, for the point of this prose, the prison bars were quite fitting for Sarah's state of mind. But we're getting off track.
"Should I switch over to script style?"
Focus, Sarah, focus!
"Right. Who is that?"
The figure looked eerily familiar. But the lighting was so bad, it could've been any low life friend of Scotty Whatbody's. Or any low life employee of BOB. Or any low life inhabitant of Sin City. Really un-narrowing down the possibilities, brain. The figure shuffled away in the opposite direction from where Sarah was approaching. As she neared the front steps, a cloud of alcohol stench engulfed her, nearly making her gag. A drunk lowlife. Even better! Maybe it was Pigeon?
Then it hit her!
"Oww!"
A bottle of beer. Right in the head.
"Watch it, Stinkyshirtandpants Guy!"
A bum across the street shouted something indecipherable back at her. Then Sarah turned to her right and saw a large red target.
"Oh. My bad!" she shouted to the bum. Sarah ran into the Slum Zone before another bottle hit her. "Wait, what was I thinking about before I got hit in the head? Brain?"
The Great is totally a hottie?
"A world of duh! No, about that mysterious white male of below-average height who was walking away from here."
Maybe you should go ask Scotty?
"Oooh! I could go ask Scotty. But, wait. Then I'd have to talk to Scotty. This plan has uber flawage…"
Regardless, Sarah dug out a key from her leather jacket and unlocked the door. Pinching her nose, she made her way inside to find Scotty sitting in a leather desk chair playing some PS2 "NBA Street" to "research" March Mayhem 2009. Apparently he was taking his cues from The Great now. This disturbing parallel wasn't lost on Sarah.
"NO! Don't learn stuff from video games! Why don't you play 'Leisure Suit Larry'? That's definitely up your alley."
Scotty grunted. "Nice!" Scotty shouted, happy at something he just did. He glanced in Sarah's direction. "Didn't hear you come in."
"Get used to that. Who was here before? The stench of failure is just overwhelming."
"A new client of mine. You remember how I took Randall Mooby under my wing? And sort of managed Threedom for a while?"
"Honestly, no."
"Well, I've got a better client now. By which, I mean, he's agreed to pay me more than those three jackasses did. Grab me a beer."
"No."
"I'll consider that di-vorrrce…"
With a sigh, Sarah dropped the paper bag full of stuff she had been carrying on the floor and headed for the kitchen. She grabbed Scotty a can and handed it to him.
"Well?"
"Considered it. No."
"Grrrr! Scotty, this marriage is a sham. And a shame. It's a sham-shame. Scotty, I want somebody who won't be gasping for breather after five seconds of 'loving.' I want to run my hands through my lover's hair without feeling like I need to wash my hands in scalding water to get the ewww off. I want somebody who doesn't make my uterus run and hide up near my lungs!"
"Then you must be happy you're with me!"
Sarah dropped to her knees and moaned.
"Woohoo!"
Then Sarah quickly stood back up.
"Oh! All right. Look. Sarah, I'm not an idiot. I know that it's highly unlikely this year that you'll quit being a frigid bitch and spread those legs. But maybe if you do something for me on the next iMPLOSION, I'll really consider the divorce."
"Really?"
"Sure."
"What is it?"
"Well, I just got off the phone with Trey, and he OK'd a tag team match with you teaming up with my new client."
"All I have to do is accept a tag match? What's the catch?"
"It's against Christian St. Christian and…uh…"
"Jerri Li?"
"No."
"Tentacle Beast?"
"Nope."
"Zombie Mr. Fantastic? All of the Mr. Fantastics? No? Oh…crap…"
"That's right! Scatman. BWAHAHAHA!"
Sarah stared at him for a moment. "I want it down in writing that if I do this crapload of crap for you, that this divorce is officially going to get underway."
"Sure."
Sarah bent down and grabbed the paper bag. "As a bonus incentive to never come near any part of my anatomy ever ever ever ever ever ever again, I brought you a peace offering of sorts. Sort of like a house colding present, since I'll never be living in the same building with you. Ever. Evvvvveeeeerrrrrrrr–"
"I get it, I get it…Bitch." Scotty takes the bag and looks inside. "Porno DVDs? Porno mags? Is that a bag of…"
"Banana Kush."
"Did you get this from Joe Bananas?"
"Does it matter? Do you want it or what?"
"Weed and porno, and no nagging wife? Sounds like a perfect weekend to me! Woohoo!"
"Great, great, great."
"Oh, get him off your mind. He's married and you're old. And you bleed like a faucet when you're on the rag!"
Sarah kicks him in the face.
"Owwwww!"
"Say you're sorry."
"Blow me! See? I can demand unrealistic things from you, too!"
Ignoring him, Sarah asked one final question. "Now…who's your new client?"
"Axl."
"No, really. Who is it?"
"Axl."
Sarah laughed a little bit. "Nice one. No really. Who is it?"
"Axl!"
"You're joking, right? You HATE Axl."
"I do! But he's paying me. Can't I do both? Hate him AND take his money?"
"Seriously? Axl. Axl nee Van Halen? King Axl? Guy who you've ridiculed viciously and wished serious injury or death upon on every BOB show since his arrival Axl?"
"Yep."
"So, me and Axl vs. Scatman and Christian St. Christian?"
"Yep."
"You're SURE this isn't an early April Fool's joke?"
"Yep. Axl is my client. And I'm going to lead him to an ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS match!"
With that, Sarah lost total control. For five minutes, she laughed and she laughed. So hard, she actually peed herself, but she didn't even care. We're talking on the floor, banging her fist, gutbusting, rolling, violently shaking, uncontrollable laughter. Eventually, she got herself under control, dragged herself up using the doorknob, and laughed her way out of the Slum Zone. Hopefully for the last time.