|
|
THE MOVIES . ..PULP BOOKERMAN . ..RASSELIN' WAR DOGS THE MUSIC . .."BENOIT WILL SURVIVE" . .."HI! MY NAME IS. . ." . .."THE STYLE AND THE PROFILE" . .."BOBBY BRAIN" THE NOTES FROM THE ROSS REPORT . ..OLD . ..CURRENT THE MAILBAG . ..OLD BAGS . ..CURRENT THE MADLIBS . ..DIESEL TURNS TWEENER . ..HIT MY MUSIC THE MEGASITES . ..WRESTLEWHINE . ..CRANKSYLVANIA THE OTHER . ..2000; YEAR IN NOTES . ..THE JF'N SHOPZONE . ..HUNK OF THE WEEK . ..BANNERS . ..LIST OF LINKS |
We enter a conversation around a table backstage at some wrestling show, where eight men are having breakfast, being served by prelim wrestlers working the ring crew. One of the men around the table, a really bloated fellow with a distinct Southern accent and blonde hair, is looking through a little black book. This is the big fat former booker Dusty Rhodes. The others are feverishly debating something. One guy has long blonde hair, set up in a strange-looking type of ponytail, and a wierd goatee. . . He is Chris Jericho, or as he is otherwise known; Mr. Blonde. Next to him sits a roundish guy with blue hair, blue cut-off jeans, a bWo T-shirt, and blue paint around his eyes. This is, fittingly, Mr. Blue, otherwise known as the Blue Meanie. Then, a guy with greasy brown hair and a really depressed look on his face, wearing blue jeans and a pink and black Calgary Hitmen jersey. He is muttering about being screwed by McMahon. This is "Mr. Pink", Bret Hart. Continuing around the table: a guy who looks a lot like Dusty except not as old and not quite as sea-cowish, it's Nice Guy Dustin, Dusty's son. Dustin is sitting on his father's right hand side, and on the other side of the sphere-shaped Southerner sits Mr. Wight, who's over seven feet tall, has a crewcut, and looks to weight in the region of 550 pounds. Next to Mr. Wight, there is an older gentleman wearing a yellow tank top with "Hulkster" on it in red. He's nearly bald, and his skin is a dark shade of orange. He is, of course, Hulk "Mr. Orange" Hogan. The eighth guy is the one currently doing the talking. He's dark-skinned, dressed in some strange Indian outfit, and wears a turban on his head which is bobbing to and fro. He is Mr. Brown; D'Lo. Mr. Brown: Let me tell you what Mark Henry's sex addict storyline was about. It's all about this Ruse who digs angles with allusions to dicks. The entire angle, it’s a metaphor for the booker’s love of dicks. Mr. Blonde: SHUT. . . the HELL. . . UP! It's about an out-of-shape guy who's very vulnerable. He's been jobbed around a couple of times, and then he gets an angle which will elevate him. . . Mr. Brown: Whoa-whoa-whoa. Time out, millennium boy, tell that fucking bullshit to the marks. Dusty (reading in his little black book): 'Tony'? Who de heyll ish Tony? Mr. Brown: The Mark Henry sex addict storyline was not about "getting an angle that will elevate an out-of-shape guy who's been jobbed around". That's what the fat-assed-Samoan-dude-dances-with-white-guys angle was about, granted, no argument about that. Mr. Orange: Which fat-assed Samoan? Dustin: Oh, you ain't seen Rikishi Phatu? Shit, I'm not even following WWF TV nowadays, and I've seen him. Mr. Orange: I wasn't saying I ain't seen him, brutha, I was just wondering which fat-assed Samoan we were talking about. There are a bunch, you know. Excuse me for not being the world's biggest fat-assed Samoan fan. Mr. Wight: Personally, I could do without them. Mr. Blue: I used to like the early ones. Wild Samoans. . . But when it entered the year long title reign for Yokozuna phase, I tuned out. . . Mr. Brown: You better recognize that you're making me lose my train of thought here! I was saying something. What the fuck was it? Dusty: Oh, Tony dat dere Nitro announcer fellah. Whad waff his lasht name-uh? Mr. Wight: What's that? Dusty: Juth an old address-book ah found in a coat ah haven't worn since ah waff wit de mothasheeeip. Mr. Brown: What the fuck was I talkin' about? Mr. Pink: You said that the Rikishi storyline was about ahm. . . the Rikishi storyline was about elevating an overweight midcarder, but Mark Henry's sex addict storyline was a vehicle for Russo's obsession with dicks. Mr. Brown: OK. Let me tell you what Mark Henry's sex addict storyline was about. It's all about this booker, who's a regular T & A machine. I'm talking morning, day, night, afternoon: tits, ass, tits, ass, tits, ass, tits, ass, tits! Mr. Blue: How much T & A is that? Mr. Wight: Well it's a big amount of T & A. Mr. Brown: Then one day, he meets this Ed Ferrera motherfucker, and he's like "Whoa, Incest Boy!" Now this guy is like Dr. Ruth gone nympho, he's constantly thinking of perverse sex. So now they're doing something they dreamed of doing since forever: making a living writing dick jokes! Dusty: Zbyzsko? Tony Zbyzsko? Mr. Brown: It gets them excited. It shouldn't be getting them excited, 'cause you know, they are over twelve years old, but when these guys write dick-angles, it excites them. It excites them so much, almost all angles revolve around dicks. Hence; Mark Henry's sex addict angle. Dusty: Schiavone! Mr. Wight takes the little black book from him. Mr. Wight: Give me that fucking thing! Dusty: Whut de heyll do ya think you're doin'? Give me mah book bayuck, if you wheeeyll! Mr. Wight: I'm sick of fucking hearing it. I'll give it back to you when we leave. Dusty: Whut do ya mean "when we leave"? Give me id bayuck now! Mr. Wight: For the past fifteen minutes now, you've been droning on about names. "Tony? Tony? Tony. . . Tony Zbyzsko? Tony Zbyzsko? Tony Zbyzsko. . . Tony Schiavone. . ." Fucking Jason Hervey! I've got Vince Russo's dick obsession coming out of my left ear, and Tony the-announcer-I-don't-know-what coming out of my right! Dusty: Give me dat dere book. Mr. Wight: Are you gonna put it away? Dusty: Ah'm gonna do whutevah de fuck ah want wiff id. Mr. Wight: Well, then I'm afraid I'm gonna have to keep it. Mr. Blonde (jokingly): Hey Dusty, want me to Lionsault this guy? Mr. Wight: You lionsault me in a dream, you'd better wake up and apologize. The guys around the table laugh. Nice Guy Dustin: Have you guys been listening to those "WWF The Music" CDs? Mr. Pink: Oh yeah, man, it's great. On a related note, Vince McMahon screwed me. Nice Guy Dustin: Hear the songs they have on there? Mr. Pink: You know what I heard the other day? "Just a Sexy Boy" by Shawn Michaels and his Clique. Shawn helped Vince screw me. Nice Guy Dustin (ignoring Mr. Pink): When I was coming down here, "Real Man's Man" came on. I haven't heard that one since it was big, but when it was big, I must have heard it a million trillion fucking times. This is the first time I've ever realized that the guy they're singing about is the one who shot on Goldberg. Mr. Brown: Wait a minute, you didn't recognize that Stephen Regal shot on Goldberg? Nice Guy Dustin: I thought it was Bobby Eaton who shot on Goldberg! Mr. Blonde: But they say that at the end of the song. Nice Guy Dustin: Yeah I know, motherfucker. I just heard it, that's what I'm talking about! The people around the table laugh. Nice Guy Dustin: I must've gotten into Shamrock's zone during that part before. Dusty stands up, holding the check. Dusty: Alrightee. Ah'll take care of de check. You boyth can get de tip, if you wheeeyyll. Should be abouf a buck a pieshe. He turns to Mr. Wight. Dusty: And you! When ah come bayuck, ah want mah book. Mr. Wight: Well it's a big sorry. It's my book now. Dusty (to Mr. Blonde): Ah changeyud mah mind. Lionsault dis pieshe of shit, if you wheeeyyll! The guys around the table laugh. Mr. Blonde jokingly pretends to go for his deadly finisher. Dusty walks away to go pay the check. Nice Guy Dustin: OK, everybody cough up some green for the prelim workers who're working the ring crew. Everyone throws a buck each at the table, except for Mr. Pink. Nice Guy Dustin: Come on, throw in a buck. Mr. Pink: Uh-uh, I don't tip. Nice Guy Dustin: You don't tip? Mr. Pink: No, I don't believe in it. Like jobbing. Nice Guy Dustin: You don't believe in jobbing? Mr. Blue: You know how often these jobbers get wins? They get shit! Mr. Pink: Don't give me that. If he's tired of working prelim, he can quit. Unless he has a boss who's the personification of EVIL!! VINCE SCREWED ME!! BASTARD!! Nice Guy Dustin: I don't think even Shane Douglas would have the balls to say that. You don't ever job? Mr. Pink: I don't job because McMahon says I have to. Alright, I mean, I'll job if somebody really deserves a job, if they really put forth the effort I'll give them something extra. Unless it's in Canada. I'll never job or tip in my own home country, and I don't think it's fair to expect it of me. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, they're here to do the job. Mr. Blue: Hey, this guy was nice. Mr. Pink: He was OK. But he wasn't anything special. Mr. Blue: What's "special"? Giving you the Ross Report Blowjob of the Week? The gang laugh. Nice Guy Dustin (somewhat sad): I'd go over twelve per cent for that. . . Life without Terri is lonely. Mr. Pink: Look, I ordered coffee, alright. Now we've been here for a long screwing time, he's only filled my cup three times. I mean, when I order coffee, I want it filled at least six times. Mr. Blonde: Six times, well, you know, what if he's too fucking busy? Mr. Pink: The words "too screwing busy" shouldn't even be in a prelim wrestler who're working the ring crew's vocabulary. Nice Guy Dustin: Excuse me, Mr. Pink, but the last fucking thing you need is another cup of coffee. Mr. Pink: Jesus Castillo, man, these guys aren't starving to death. They make minimum wage, and they’re not getting screwed by EVIL, EVIL, EVIL!!! bosses. You know, I used to work maximum wage, but then Vince McMahon, who is EVIL! by the way, decided that I should no longer have that job, and he screwed me! MCMAHON SCREWED ME! THE BASTARD!!! Mr. Blue: We know, we know. . . Don't you care they're are counting on your tips to live? Mr. Pink forms his fingers into a variation of the "devil" sign, with his pinkie and index finger up and the two middle ones connecting with his thumb. Mr. Pink: You know what this is? It's a sign I invented, and then Shawn Michaels, the EVIL BASTARD!, and his pals stole it from me and made it the EVIL Clique sign! I'm pretty sure Vince had a part in it as well. BASTARD! VINCE SCREWED ME!! Mr. Wight (getting irritated): You don't have any idea what you're talking about. All that about how Vinny Mac screwed you has nothing to do with this. These guys bust their ass. This is a hard job. Mr. Pink: So's working for WCW, but you didn't feel the need to tip me, did you? Well why not, just because I made millions and millions of dollars? I was still wrestling against no-talent stiffs, but no. McMahon says: "Don't tip these guys over here, but tip these guys over here". It's bullshit. VINCE SCREWED ME!! Mr. Wight: Well it's a big fact that being a prelim wrestler jobbing day out and day in is the number one occupation for male non-college graduates who never made it to the NFL, in this country. It's the one job basically any steroid freak can get, and make a living on. The reason is because of the additional work in the ring crew and their tips. Mr. Pink: Screw all that. Vince screwed me. Various of the wrestlers laugh at this statement. Mr. Brown: Jesus Castillo. . ! Mr. Pink: I mean, I'm very sorry the bookers take a share out of their tips, that's screwed up. That ain't my fault. I mean, it would appear that prelim wrestlers are one of the many groups in pro-wrestling the bookermen screw in the ass on a regular basis. I mean, show me a piece of paper that says the bookermen shouldn't do that, I'll sign it. Put it to a vote, and I'll vote for it. But what I won't do it play ball. And this non-college bullshit you're giving me, I got two words for that:. . . Everyone around the table: SUCK IT!!! Mr. Pink (confused): Huh? What. . . No, I meant "learn to screwing type". . . If you're expecting me to help out with the rent, you're in for a big screwin' surprise! I don't even do that for my family. Mr. Orange: He's convinced me, brutha. If tipping is like jobbing, give me my dollar back. Nice Guy Dustin: Hey! Leave the dollars there. Dusty comes back to the table. Dusty: Alrightee rambelahs, letsh geff rambelen'. He picks up the money from the table and counts them. Dusty: Hey, who didn't frow in, if ya wheeeyyll? Mr. Orange: Mr. Pink, brutha. Dusty: Mr. Pink? Why not? Mr. Orange: He don't tip, brutha. Dusty: You don't tip? Waddya mean "you don't tip"? Mr. Orange: He don't believe in it. Says it's like jobbing. Dusty: Shut up, if ya wheeeyyll! Waddya mean ya don't believe in 'em? Come on, cough up a buck, ya cheap bathurd, ah paid foh ya breakfasht. Mr. Pink: Alright, 'cause you paid for the breakfast I'll put in, but normally I would never do this. Dusty: Ah don't mind waff ya normally would do, jusht cough in ya buck like everybodee else. Fank you. They all get up and leave. |
|
All material on this website © 2001 JF Productions. All material written by Jerry “Mr. JF” Flynn unless otherwise noted. Protected by International Patent Law #666. All rights left. This shite is not affiliated with the WWF, WCW, ECW, WXO, IKEA or Bob Ryder. No material herein may be copied, reproduced, recopied, re-reproduced, distributed, attributed, sold or told without the express written consent of The Man. Violating this rule will lead to me violating your sister. No exceptions made. |