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| [The scene opens in a dark bar, completely empty except for three men sitting on the bar stools and the bartender standing behind the counter drying out a glass. Two of the men on the stools are Last Resort.] Shayne: You know, Matt, there's something that's really been bugging me. Why the hell did you try to steal that guy's car? Matt: I dunno. I was drunk, y'know. Heh. Huheh. Heh. Stevens: Just like you are right now, you mean? Matt: Ey, man...I'm isn't drunk, y'know...you guys always accusin' me of being drunk. What up with dat... Shayne: Probably because you always are drunk. Every single time we go out, you get pissed drunk and then we have to help you get home. Stevens: Personally, I'm getting reeeaaall tired of it. Matt: Aww, man...f*$% you guys. F*$% you. You suck. Y'know. Ya do. Heh. Heheh...Not as good as your mommas, though...he..hehe... [Last Resort look at each other, look back at Matt, and suddenly spring off the bar stools and knock him clear out onto the floor, he throws his glass full of beer as he falls and it smashes against the back wall. Stevens gets up, grabs another beer on the counter, and dumps it down on Matt's wreathing face.] Stevens: Have another one, asshole. [They both turn around and begin to head out the door and onto the street. The sidewalk is dark, only lit up by the occasional streetlight. The buildings are all either in horrible contidion or just shut down and trashed.] Shayne: (turns his head to the camera) You see, they just don't learn. Every time that they come out, they act like smart asses. In case you didn't already know, we're not talking about Matt. We're talking about Brookyn Beatdown, Mr. Shittime and Fake Matthews. You seem to want to walk the walk but it seems to me that you're just all talk. You try to come out here and intimidate us, scare us, make us feel like we're going to lose. But obviously you just can't get it through your thick heads that you don't even play a small factor in this upcoming match. Stevens: But if you want, you can put up a fight. But methinks you just don't have the balls. You've already tasted Ashes, and if you're not careful, you'll get the beatdown again. You see, the thing is, the only way you're going to put us down in this match is if you lay a bigger ass kicking than us. And that is just not going to happen. Shayne: My turn again. Brooklyn Beatdown seems to be what you want to give. Now is that classy or what? Yeah, whatever. Anyway, in my mind, and in the mind of anyone else, a so-called "Broolklyn Beatdown" plays second fiddle to what we like to call, to quote Eminem, "good old-fashioned ass-whoopin' and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat taken." But of course, you're just too poor to afford any decent shoes, coats and hats, so we'll be fine with taking just your head. Your thick, empty head, which, of course, would take hours and hours to crack open, considering the thickness in there. Stevens: But since you think you're so smart, here's a little one for you: 2+2! And by the time you're finished that, you'll already have your back to the mat after feeling the pain. The worst pain you have ever, EVER felt. And all you'll hear and see after that is... [Stevens picks up a stone from the groud, and fires it up at a streetlamp, smashing the bulb to peices.] Stevens: ...lights...out. [The scene quickly fades to black.] |
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