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Post by @xL on Aug 28, 2007 15:57:20 GMT -5
:: Tuesday, August 28th, 2007 - 2:00 p.m. ::
~ Location: Jimmothy's Bar N' Grill - Nowhere, Oklahoma ~
[We open outside of Jimmothy Hankzarian's Bar and Grill, on the Main Street of Nowhere, OK. A man is just about to walk inside the tavern, when he hears the sounds of a tape deck playing from the roof of the establishment... A deep toned woman's voice is heard...]
Some Chick: When a man's heart dies... he withers up and... dies. And he's dead. But when a GOD's heart dies, he becomes black... not douja black, but more like Death black. All evil and shit. And when a METAL God's heart dies? Well... that's when you're really fucked. From the ashes of the greatest man to ever walk the Earth, there comes a Savior. A Savior in spandex, hair coated in spray, and face covered in make-up. As we look to the skies for our champion, we find him playing his guitar... strumming away with the force of a thousand Paul Stanleys. And as he slams the guitar into the ground, sending plastic and string all over the damn place, he lifts his title into the sky... ready to strike down the same gnarly dude that created him. It has begun... The battle between good and evil... right and wrong... radical and totally-reeking-of-heinosity. Leading his followers... his sons... he comes riding upon a steel horse. He's a cowboy. And yes, he IS wanted... dead or alive. With a voice of the angels, and the body of Brad Pitt, Fabio, and Keeanu Reeves combined... This... is... Axl.
[The sounds of "Hide and Seek and Destroy" by GwarTellica plays, and the man at the bar's door looks up to the roof... where there is a fishing pole. And attached to the fishing pole's hook ; Axl VanHalen. Only he's clad in a hot pink trenchcoat, hair dyed lime green, and his face... covered in paint, resembling a certain "Showman". ... You know... the "Scorpion". No, not the band. And not that guy from Mortal Kombat. ... "The Crow"? ... NO, NOT THE MOVIE! UGH, Sting! ... NOT THE SINGER! Aw screw it...]
[Joey Dio slowly lowers Axl to the ground, where the would-be customer is beginning to become a bit worried. And you would be too if you were about to come face to face with a man covered in more make-up than Keira Knightley at the Oscars!!! ... *rim shot* ... Ahem... Suddenly, the fishing line breaks and Axl falls right on top of the man, who let's out a yell. Axl stands up and pulls an aluminum baseball bat out from the back of his trenchcoat.]
Axl: Riddle me this, Riddle me that... who's afraid... of the Aluminum Bat!
Man: GET OFF! You're standing RIGHT on top of me!
Axl: I've been up and down that lonely road of faith. And all I know for sure is... nothing's for sure!
Man: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!
Axl: [cups mouth with his hands] WHOOO!
Man: HELP ME! Somebody... get this FREAK off of me!
Axl: It's SHHHHOWTIME... FOLKS!!!
[Axl gets off, and as soon as he does the man lets out a groan.]
Man: My pancreas... yugh.
[Axl walks off camera, and after a few minutes pass the man makes it to his feet. Suddenly, Axl rushes back in with a bat shot to the gut, which drops the man to his hands and knees. Axl smashes the bat into the guy's back, which brings him down on his stomach. Having heard the comotion outside, the bar pours out, with the customers, waitresses, and even the bar tender coming out to see what all the fuss is about. But as they do, Axl drops them all one by one with bat shots to the stomach, head, legs, back, and every other unprotected part of their bodies. And in the end, the sidewalk is littered with the near comatose bodies of nearly a dozen defenseless women and middle-aged men. Good thing for Axl, Jimmothy's doesn't really attract that much of a tough crowd.]
[Axl walks into the bar, and right there, standing in front of him, is young Timmy McJellin', the 5-year-old, blue haired sprout that brought down Axl a few weeks back. And standing alongside is his grumpy old friend, Francis, Death's Jewish cousin.]
Axl: Oh Me... it can't be! I'M OUT OF HERE!!!
[Axl runs out of the bar and grill, as Timmy looks up at Francis.]
Timmy: You fink we scay-ood him, Uncka Francis?
Francis: [lifts a bony hand over his face... er... skull...] Oy vey...
~ rock on ~
\oo/_ OvO _\oo/
~ rock on
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Post by Dr. Silaconne M. Plants on Aug 29, 2007 9:00:40 GMT -5
[The camera pans around a Katrina ravaged looking stretch of land with uprooted trees, shanty houses with watermarks (THEY'RE REAL ONES!), and other numerous shots of destruction, decay, and ruin. The camera then lifts to a sign that reads "DepressionTown, USA".
Under that sign, a disheveled character sits, wearing tattered clothes, a soiled, 1920's era hat and a scraggly week's growth of facial hair. In his right hand is a bottle, hidden inside a paper bag. It's safe to assume its contents are about 98 proof.
All of a sudden, Bo Diddley's "I'm a Man" begins to play in the background....]
"This is the lowest point of my life...
How could a talentless bum win the one title I've wanted so badly before I could win it, wins it. Shit.
How could a talentless bum win the one title I've wanted my entire career, even though I said I didn't, before I could. Did? Dammit, that's not sounding right.
How could this piece of shit win the ONLY WORLD TITLE THAT MATTERS before I could? He doesn't even pronounce it correctly...
Then he burns it, trashes it in a can of flames. And renames it. Kinda.
He metamorphs three times in the following days, maybe more... I lost count.
He introduces ANOTHER shitty federation with shitty characters nobody cares about even MORE, or perhaps LESS, then they cared about the other ones.
On a good note, two of his flunkies were banished, but more soon followed. At least these guys are cooler, although I think Vince Leppard, Bret Winger, and Jani Dokken would be EVEN cooler."
[He takes a large swig.]
"This is the lowest point, the darkest of days...
Please, somebody pinch me and tell me it's all just a very bad dream."
[He finishes off the bottle and chucks it to the side]
"Of all your sins, you committed the Queen Mother... You disregarded the advice of others... You bit the hand that fed you...
..and for that, when the depression lifts, you will most certainly die."
["I'm a Man" becomes louder as ZZ Top's "AFTERBURNER" car pulls up, and out steps a skinny, crackwhore looking lass with brown curly hair and about double Ds choked inside a cheetah patterned halter. A zoom of the license plate reveals BIGMAMA.
The two enter the car, it speeds off, and two guys with long ass beards make a circular motion with their right arms to send it on its way.]
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Post by @xL on Aug 29, 2007 20:10:08 GMT -5
:: Wednesday, August 29th, 2007 - 3:40 p.m. ::
~ Location: Studio G4 - NowhereWood ~
[We open inside one of the many studios in the NowhereWood filming area of Nowhere, OK. This particular studio, Studio G4, is being used for the taping of an infomercial to be aired on Nowhere Broadcasting Entertainment [NBE], Channel 4. On-set, a man stands in front of an audience, as he extends a hand toward two booths behind him. On a table nearby is a potato...]
Man: Hello folks, my name is Knott Hardly, and today, I'm going to be demonstrating my handy dandy new invention - The Telepor-TATER 3000! For years, people have been asking me, "Knott, what's the deal with always having to go to the kitchen to get a potato from the refrigerator? Why can't I just simply have a teleportation device built specificaly to switch myself with a potato already placed in a coresponding teleportation device, afterwards walking back to my original location so I can enjoy the potato that had just been teleported?" Well now, thanks to my invention, the millions and millions of people with this problem can rest easy!
[Suddenly, "U.S.Eh?" by the Canadian Americans plays on the studio speaker. The audience turn their heads to the door of the studio, at the back of the audience seats. A man walks through the door... a man that strikes a remarkable resemblence to the Only World Champion that Matters... Only, wearing hot pink, skin tight, wrestling spandex with lime green lines down the sides ... a lime green weight-lifting belt with the word "Axl-Ster" ... Lime green boots, hot pink shades with lime green lenses ... a black bandana with the word "NowhereWood" printed across the front... and a sleeveless shirt, with the words "The Rock-O-Lution is Runnin' Wild!" covering his manly, handsome, chiseled chest.]
[Walking down the aisle, "The Axl-Ster" shakes his forefinger in the air to the music, stopping once in a while to cup his hand to his ear, taking in the monumental apathetic response of this sold-out studio audience. Upon coming to the front of the stage, he grabs a microphone and speaks...]
Axl-Ster: Well lemme tell ya somethin' Mean Gene!
Knott: Uhm... my name is-
Axl-Ster: IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOUR- ... Whoops, wrong rip-off. Erm... oh yeah! Dude, I've seen the toughest, baddest, no-goodiest guys come, and I've watched 'em fall, brother, right at the hands of these 250 inch pythons, brother, and brother, lemme tell ya dude, those dudes may have been a bunch of instoppable forces, but I'm the red, white, and yellow irrimovable object!!!~11one ... BROTHER! And when the largest tree in the largest forest falls, the next man in that line picks up the pieces, brother! And dude, when that brother meets his sister, their mother and father have to kick out their cousin, because that's one solid gran-pappy, JACK!!!
Knott: What in the blue fuck did you just say?
Axl: I just wanna let the little VanHalenManiacs out there know, that the Axl-Ster dude ISN'T gonna just give up on the red, white, and yellow come White Trash at the Beach!
Knott: White... Beach? ... Wha- ... What in the hell does this have to do with anything? Dammit, is security anywhere in the area? Is there even any security HERE?
Axl: The GaYY World Order can keep askin' dudes and brothers and brothers of dudes, but the Axl-Ster is gonna keep eatin' his pills, drinkin' his piss, and takin' his poops like a good little boy, and in the end, WHATCHA GONNA DO?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? ... WHEN THE ROCK-O-LUTION ... RUNS ... WILD ... ON ... YOOOOUUUU?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!~11one - !!!
Knott: ... Huh? [looks at the audience... well, where there WAS an audience] DAMMIT! You chased off my audience! And do you know how long it took me to ATTRACT an audience for this shitty piece of junk? It doesn't even work! I just use smoke and mirrors for the "example" at the end. Hell, why ANYONE would want something like this... I mean, you have to actually PLACE the damn potato in the other transporter, and then, what's the damn point! You're basically wasting more time doing what you could do in half as much! I mean... GOD, I don't even know why the fuck I made this thing in the first place! I'm not a genius! I'm a loser! A loser, ya hear me, A LOSER!
[Knott takes a gun out of his pocket, lifts it to his head, and-]
Speakers: GaYY-GaYY-GaYY World Order.
["Voodoo Chili Dog" by GwarTellica plays, as Joey Dio, Jonny Leppard, and Jimmy Whitesnake all come down the aisle, wearing lime green shirts with hot pink "GaYY" logos printed across the front...]
[Jonny, Jimmy, and Joey walk toward the Axl-Ster, menacingly... cunningly. The Axl-Ster doubles up his fists... Joey Dio goes for a punch, but the Axl-Ster grabs the right hand, before waggling a finger in front of Joey's face, letting him know he just made a yoooge mistake. The Axl-Ster throws punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After punch...]
[After- oh, ok, all three are laying down, coincidentally side-by-side-by-side. Evenly. God bless sports entertainment, the most realistic sport in the history of everything!]
[The Axl-Ster backs up a few steps, before running full speed, leaping in the air, and bringing a crushing leg drop down over all three men! And the crowd's gone- ... away. Yeah, forgot that part...]
[The Axl-Ster stands up before turning an eye to Knott Hardly. The Axl-Ster takes a look at the packed arena... perhaps there's a photo of MSG lying around in his back pocket? Anyway, Knott arches an eyebrow... before shrugging his shoulders and extending a hand. The Immortal One looks down at the hand... back up at Knott... before accepting the show of... uh... potentially selling a piece of crap infomercial product, I guess? ...]
[When suddenly, Joey, Jonny, and Jimmy pound away on Knott's back, bringing him to the ground. The trio smash and bash away on the fallen body of the poor, helpless, defenseless Transpor-TATER salesman. After a sound thrashing, they rip off his shirt, before the Axl-Ster slowly rips off his own... revealing the same GaYY shirt worn by his henchmen... er, well... you know. The Axl-Ster asks Jimmy for a can of spray-paint, but it seems like they forgot to bring it. "Well..." says the Axl-Ster, "I guess we'll just have to make due". And so, he grabs the gun dropped by Knott earlier. He aims it at the guy's back... and before long, the "GaYY" logo IS displayed prominently on Knott's backside... only instead of in the safe spray of paint... Knott's back is bloody with holes spelling out the logo of the Gunnzzz and YoYozzz.]
[The Axl-Ster takes off the bandana, and throws it to the floor, showing off his long, golden, and definitely NOT balding hair. I guess we can go ahead and call the man Axl now...]
Axl: Of course!
[Ok, well, Axl removes his sunglasses, and clips them on his shirt. He snaps his fingers, and his henchmen [now I can say that...] get on their hands and knees, side-by-side-by-side, before Axl rests on their backs. Our Champion, Savior, and Metal God Supreme lays with his head resting on his palm. He stares, coldly into the camera's lens... before smiling, eyes still cold as ice.]
Axl: Well, well, well... Mr. Plants. For some reason, you like to think that my grabbing hold of the OWTTM is some sort of sign of the Apocalypse. Oh contrair, my friend. In fact, it is QUITE the opposite.
[Axl sits up, on top of the middle stepstool, his follower by the name of Jonny. Axl sits cross-legged, as he calls for Joey to stand behind him, arms outstretched. He does so, and Axl uses him to lean backwards against, as he folds his arms behind his head.]
Axl: The ONLY thing my title victory is a sign of... is victory. Not only for myself, but for BoB itself. FINALLY... finally, that no-talent creep Zeno has lost his stranglehold on the championship. And finally... it's in the hands of a far more worthy champion...
[Axl tells Jimmy to grab something from off camera... he does and when he returns, he's holding Axl's proudest possesion... the Only World Title that Matters. Jimmy hands the title over to Axl, before getting back down on his hands and knees, this time in front of Axl's feet, as he props them up comfortably, still leaning his back against Joey, and resting his ass on Jonny.]
Axl: [holding the title over his shoulder... patting it a bit with his other hand] It's wonderful, isn't it? In fact, it's probably the only thing that's worth a damn in this entire company... besides my gorgeous ass, of course. And put the two of us together? [turns his gaze to the camera] We shall be... unstoppable. With me, the Savior of BoB and God of Metal, as the OWCTM, this company will no longer mean jack squat. In fact, right now... I'm just about the only guy that can pull BoB out of the gutter it's been in for the past 8 years. I mean, think about it. Even of all the past OWCTMs, out of ALL of them, who of you can honestly say that ANY of them actually HELPED BoB during their stay as champ?
Axl: Lord Lestat Von Sexbat... Premslwvk... douja... Jobber, Jobber, and, oh yeah, smoked-out, drugged-up, red-eyed J-O-B-B-E-R!!! Heh, ch'yeah, I said it douche-ah. Have a problem with it?
Axl: Then there's so-called 'legends' like Bobo Q. Fiendish. Oh, wait, who'd he lose the belt to again? Oh yeah, THAT'S RIGHT! Jobber #1 - Lord Lestat! Silly me, I guess he's not that much of a legend after all, huh? Oh, but what about Billy Polar? He's SURELY a BoB icon??? ... HA! First off, the guy SELLS the title. To SMP. Yeah, that REALLY looks like a guy looking out for the best interests of his company. And then, when he eventually gets the title back... what does he do? Does he redeem himself? HELL NO! That's not the BoB "tradition". He ends up making himself look even worse than the first reign did, as he drops the title to, who? COMA! The guy that probably doesn't even know how to tie his own damn wrestling boots! Do ANY of these guys sound like they made a positive impact on the promotion? I... Think... Not.
Axl: Kurt Angel? Chose to ditch the title just as he'd won it. Sure, it was to go to heaven, but the dude was sent right back down again, and he hasn't been CLOSE to taking the belt since! Hardcore JJ? DUDE'S A FIVE-YEAR-OLD! And what more, the kid ALSO dropped the title. Doesn't sound like much of a champion at all, if ya ask me.
Axl: Massive Man? Too massive to lead BoB to the top. Just way too massive for his own good. And Violent Pacifist? How can someone who can't even make up their own mind lead BoB to the promised land? I rest my case.
Axl: Sarah the Jobber Slayer... well, she's not a girl. But she's not yet a woman. And even if she WAS yet a woman? SHE'D BE A DAMN WOMAN!!! And woman just don't cut out to be good leaders. Just look at the Power Rangers. Have you ever seen a WOMAN lead the Power Rangers? No? WELL THERE YA GO!!!
Axl: And finally... Sir Zeno. ... Actually, I think it's pretty obvious that as soon as he became champion, BoB hit it's biggest low, and at the end of HIS reign? BoB was off tv, showing its shows via the internet, and even while it WAS on tv? Zeno led BoB to ratings even lower than those of WSX in its final days!!! And even TN-friggin'-A beat WSX!!!~1
Axl: Of course... there was ONE champion that managed to stand above the rest. Trey... Vincent. The only man I would ever, in a million years, agree to allow into the most prestigous stable ever; GaYY. Because when you're Trey? You're GaYY... 4 - Life. Trey, if you're out there... think about it. Just... think about it. Seth, Steve? They moved on without you. But I, Trey? I would NEVER leave you. Think about... getting GaYY. Get GaYY with me. Get GaYY with Joey, and Jonny, and Jimmy. But most importantly... get GaYY... for the kids. The kids would love you Trey! Kids across the nation are DYING to get GaYY with Trey! I can hear it now...
Axl: An entire crowd screaming: "Trey IS GaYY! Trey IS GaYY! Trey IS GaYY!" Ahh... can you feel it, Trey? That throbbing, thrusting, pulsating feeling deep down in your... heart? Do you want to feel it Trey? Let's do it Trey! Let's... be GaYY!
Axl: ...
Axl: Gunnzzz and YoYozzz, babay! The five of us, and Tifa, rocking BoB into the pinnacle of the sport. Because babe... I'm ALLL about the sports entertainment. And I know... you are. Call me Trey, babe. Kiss, kiss.
[Axl stands up from his throne constructed of Joey, Jonny, and Jimmy. Axl's flock also stand up and the four men walk up the aisle. But as Axl's men walk out the door, Axl turns to the camera, and smiles.]
Axl: SMP... in all honesty? I know you don't truly believe my winning the title is a bad thing. Because... well, I know you. You're a company man. You came back to try and help BoB, by putting on a trifecta of matches with Buckwheat. You thought... for whatever misguided reason, that such a series of matches would actually boost BoB to a higher plateau. But Sil... I hate to break it to ya, but- ... Well, actually, no. I LOVE breaking this to you. That whole series? Amounted to jack SHIT in the end. Quite poetic actually... the series of matches you wished to be your last, being just as pointless, and in the end, meaningless, as your washed-up, has-been, PATHETIC career. Truly appropriate... don't you think? So why are you REALLY mad at me? Why, after all of these months, are you still tossing names at me, and belittling my obviously growing legacy? Simple.
You're jealous.
Axl: Face it, M. Putz. You could never, EVER, in a MILLION years, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how many matches you won, or how much dick you SUCKED-
Axl: ... Ahem. SMP, no matter WHAT you have done or will do, you will NEVER... eeever, be able to call yourself the Only World Champion that Matters. Hell, you even tried BUYING your way to the belt, and what happened? You were stripped of it, and who ended up with it? BOHEMOTH! Ha, an even bigger jobber than douche-ah himself, and yet, why do I get the distinct impression that he made a MUCH better champion in whatever amount of time he was the title holder than you would in an entire 2 years time, give or take a month? Why SMP? Because, simply put, you're all talk...
Axl: And absolutely NO walk. While I on the other hand? Walk on the wild side every night I step into the ring, run with the devil, and send all of my opponents on the highway to hell! Because...
I am the OWCTM... I Am... the Metal God...
I AM...
yOuR sAvIoR..
~ rock on ~
\oo/_ OvO _\oo/
~ rock on~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "And lo, on the seventh day, he did rock. And the rock was good, and indeed they partied on. And so did their children party-eth on, and their children's children, and so on, and so forth, till the very end of days. For he WAS their Savior..." "And they WERE..." "His Flock." - GwarTellicus ; Chapter 10 - Rock-Elations Join me... or forever parish.~ to be continued... ~
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