Post by Deleted on Apr 20, 2014 16:01:07 GMT -6
(The scene opens up to Schmoozer's Pub in nearby downtown Everclear County, Tennessee. 'The Confederate Icon' Chad Vargas sits on a barstool dragging off a Budwieser tallboy. "Roll on 18 Wheeler" by Alabama plays ironically in the background. Vargas as always - Dressed to the nines. Looking casual today though, rocking a pair of torn jeans, a black 'King of the Mountain' t-shirt, topped off with his signature pair of yellow tinted Ray ban sunglasses. Vargas eyes the bartender.)
Vargas: Shit, 'ey Butch why don't you hit me with somethin' stronger ahh?
(Butch the bartender comes into view and selects a bottle of Southern Comfort whiskey from behind the counter, pouring it into a glass with a couple cubes of ice. He slides the glass down to Vargas who takes a haul off the rocky whiskey.)
Butch the Bartender: Sheesh, Chad should you be drinking this hard and heavy two nights before your big match?
Vargas: Relax old boy it's just a glass of whiskey. Besides I've got this match well in the bag.
Butch the Bartender: I wouldn't be so sure Chad I mean it's Daryl Bingham
Vargas: Who?
Butch the Bartender: Daryl Bingham. He’s suppose to be some big up and comer out of Texas used to drive big rig across the country. I hear he’s a bad ass.
(Vargas takes another sip off the whiskey glass.)
Vargas: Are you doubting me Butch? Saying that as if this mother trucker is some sort of a threat to me?! I oughta smack the taste right outa your toothless mouth you know that old man?!
Butch: Relax god damn't. (sneaks a swig of the house’s SoCo bottle) I was just sayin' you've never taken on Daryl Bingham, and after suffering that lost to Yugo Phalious you can’t afford to slip any further down the MSW totem pole, Chad!
Vargas: Keep it up Butch and you'll swallow what little teeth you've got left in your head! Give me that computer.
(Butch grabs the bar's laptop and slides it over to Vargas. Vargas logs into YouTube and searches franticly trying to find any of Daryl Bingham’s latest promos. He finds one video of him threatening to head butt a 7 year old child standing ring side during one of his matches, looks like it took place a number of years ago in a seedy High school gymnasium.)
Vargas: That’s it? This cock’s only intimidation tactic is scaring the beejesus out of a toddler? Real impressive Bingham. Real impressive.
Butch the Bartender: Since when have you cared about the fans, Chad?
Vargas: Never, nor will I ever – but I sure as hell ain’t gonna threaten a child with a head butt and think I’m billy bad ass doing it. Now go get bent, Butch - and leave that bottle of Comfort.
(Butch shakes his head and walks to the other end of the bar to serve the other patrons while Vargas reaches over and grabs the bottle of Southern Comfort. He pours more in his glass and takes another big swig as he pulls his iPhone from his jeans pocket. Pulls it out in front of his face, smirks arrogantly as if to take a 'selfie' and then presses record on the phone, starting a video recording.)
Vargas: Hello internet geeks, while ya'll are tugging at your go-nads and searching up Lizzy Borden animal porn you've stumbled across this live-feed of Chad F'N Vargas. Since MSW is too fuckin' poor of a company to have television shows or any shit like that what-so-ever us wrestlers have to hire our own cameramen or improvise. Me and cameramen don't mix to say the least, so here I am via internet blogging - kinda fuckin' lame I know, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do ahh? Comin’ to you live from Everclear County Tennessee
I knew I was taking a few steps backwards when I signed on to compete here at Missouri State Wrestling, coming here is like going back to the basics. While many may say the Stevenson boys ain’t got two nickels to rub together to run a wrestling promotion adequately many of us REAL wrestlers love every minute of it. Brings us back to when we we’re starting out, working up that ladder rung by fuckin’ rung. I didn’t sign on to MSW for the fame or fortune, because let’s face it – I’ve got enough of both of those to make your fuckin’ heads spin. I can’t walk into a room without some jagoff recognizing me and wanting me to sign some piece of shit collectible he has with him. No, I came to MSW for two things: kicking that ass and racking up wins and championship belts. I could march backstage at the event this week and give Stevenson a piece of my mind, telling him how a fella of my caliber duddn’t fuckin’ belong in these “starter” matches. These matches are for nobodys like Neofrian or whatever the fuck he calls himself. Now you’re probably saying “But Chad, you lost last week to Yogi Paleass." Well maybe so, I’m not gonna sit here and bump my gums about how I should’ve won or why I didn’t win – little bitch beat me flat out. He got lucky, it is what it is. A blind squirrel always finds a nut sooner or later or so they say. I just gotta say one thing to Yogi before I put him behind me and never think nor speak of him again – I had the feeling he was hinting at me being racist in his pile of shit he called a promo last week. Well alls well that ends OK Yogi because the fact of the matter is I’m not racist. I just don’t like you and I think you are misplaced. You are Southern as Cool is to Justin Bieber. So again, take your belt buckle turn that sumbitch side ways and back around again and cram it up your ass until you can’t feel it. Everything may be bigger in Texas but that little hooker I saw you buy last week outsize Bozeman arena told me you’re as small as small can get bitch. You want to run your mouth about me again, than name the time and place and we’ll go for round two and I can guarantee you won’t get lucky twice. Until than, I’m not recognizing our match as a loss. You are that irrelevant. But again you little cockhead – the offer still stands, any time, any day, any place.
I lose one dark match only to be booked in another the following week. I don’t blame Stevenson he’s gotta feel his new signee’s out and see what they bring to the table. Sure I’ve been successful in every other promotion I’ve ever worked for, but that was then this is now. Front in center right smack dab in the middle of MSW. I guess ole Stevenson claims if we show some potential Wednesday night we’ll be thrown into the Best of the Best tournament. By way of him booking me to take out the trash this week. And by trash I mean the biggest pile of steaming stinking white trash by the name of Daryl Bingham. I wish I could spend SOME time talking about this guy, but there is simply nothing to know - nor is there anything anyone could possibly give a shit about him even if there was anything to know. However, I did hear he used to haul dildos across country to all the gay porn stores all the while living in a trailer park with his fat, ugly, hairy, rotten toothed ole lady in over there Podunk, Texas. I also heard some shit where he got busted with a teenage boy prostitute somewhere in Georgia. All this is hearsay but hell, with the looks of this guy I wouldn’t put it past him. Weather what I've heard through the grapevine is true or all bull shit one thing is certain - there is most definitely some serious inbreeding throughout the Bingham family tree I can assure you of that. Whatever your story is or isn't - I’ll be damn sure to get a Hepatitis shot after I smoke this guy Wednesday evening.
Listen Bingham – don’t get mad at me for tellin’ ya what I heard. Get mad at your pop for not pulling the fuck out! But hey, I don’t judge. I’m not here to judge you on your lifestyle choices. I’m here to put your fuckin’ nose down your throat, kick your chin in and win this match and show Stevenson and the rest of the MSW brass that I belong in the Best of the Best conversation. I could go on all night shit talking you Bingham, but I’ve got whiskey to guzzle and chances are you’re numbass don’t even know what the internet is to even be able to see this prized piece of artwork! So with that, Wednesday night you’re in for the biggest wake up call of your life – a downhome country fried southern ass kickin’ courtesy of your’s fuckin’ truly! Stick with haulin’ your dildos, Bingham – you ain’t cut out for this! Keep on truckin' hillbilly! Choke on that, cockrockets!
(Vargas thumbs the 'End Record' button on his iPhone and cuffs back the rest of the glass of whiskey, slamming it to the bar top as he slowly stands up. Vargas nods to Butch as he swipes the rest of the bottle of Southern Comfort as he slowly walks out of the pub as the scene fades to black.)
Vargas: Shit, 'ey Butch why don't you hit me with somethin' stronger ahh?
(Butch the bartender comes into view and selects a bottle of Southern Comfort whiskey from behind the counter, pouring it into a glass with a couple cubes of ice. He slides the glass down to Vargas who takes a haul off the rocky whiskey.)
Butch the Bartender: Sheesh, Chad should you be drinking this hard and heavy two nights before your big match?
Vargas: Relax old boy it's just a glass of whiskey. Besides I've got this match well in the bag.
Butch the Bartender: I wouldn't be so sure Chad I mean it's Daryl Bingham
Vargas: Who?
Butch the Bartender: Daryl Bingham. He’s suppose to be some big up and comer out of Texas used to drive big rig across the country. I hear he’s a bad ass.
(Vargas takes another sip off the whiskey glass.)
Vargas: Are you doubting me Butch? Saying that as if this mother trucker is some sort of a threat to me?! I oughta smack the taste right outa your toothless mouth you know that old man?!
Butch: Relax god damn't. (sneaks a swig of the house’s SoCo bottle) I was just sayin' you've never taken on Daryl Bingham, and after suffering that lost to Yugo Phalious you can’t afford to slip any further down the MSW totem pole, Chad!
Vargas: Keep it up Butch and you'll swallow what little teeth you've got left in your head! Give me that computer.
(Butch grabs the bar's laptop and slides it over to Vargas. Vargas logs into YouTube and searches franticly trying to find any of Daryl Bingham’s latest promos. He finds one video of him threatening to head butt a 7 year old child standing ring side during one of his matches, looks like it took place a number of years ago in a seedy High school gymnasium.)
Vargas: That’s it? This cock’s only intimidation tactic is scaring the beejesus out of a toddler? Real impressive Bingham. Real impressive.
Butch the Bartender: Since when have you cared about the fans, Chad?
Vargas: Never, nor will I ever – but I sure as hell ain’t gonna threaten a child with a head butt and think I’m billy bad ass doing it. Now go get bent, Butch - and leave that bottle of Comfort.
(Butch shakes his head and walks to the other end of the bar to serve the other patrons while Vargas reaches over and grabs the bottle of Southern Comfort. He pours more in his glass and takes another big swig as he pulls his iPhone from his jeans pocket. Pulls it out in front of his face, smirks arrogantly as if to take a 'selfie' and then presses record on the phone, starting a video recording.)
Vargas: Hello internet geeks, while ya'll are tugging at your go-nads and searching up Lizzy Borden animal porn you've stumbled across this live-feed of Chad F'N Vargas. Since MSW is too fuckin' poor of a company to have television shows or any shit like that what-so-ever us wrestlers have to hire our own cameramen or improvise. Me and cameramen don't mix to say the least, so here I am via internet blogging - kinda fuckin' lame I know, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do ahh? Comin’ to you live from Everclear County Tennessee
I knew I was taking a few steps backwards when I signed on to compete here at Missouri State Wrestling, coming here is like going back to the basics. While many may say the Stevenson boys ain’t got two nickels to rub together to run a wrestling promotion adequately many of us REAL wrestlers love every minute of it. Brings us back to when we we’re starting out, working up that ladder rung by fuckin’ rung. I didn’t sign on to MSW for the fame or fortune, because let’s face it – I’ve got enough of both of those to make your fuckin’ heads spin. I can’t walk into a room without some jagoff recognizing me and wanting me to sign some piece of shit collectible he has with him. No, I came to MSW for two things: kicking that ass and racking up wins and championship belts. I could march backstage at the event this week and give Stevenson a piece of my mind, telling him how a fella of my caliber duddn’t fuckin’ belong in these “starter” matches. These matches are for nobodys like Neofrian or whatever the fuck he calls himself. Now you’re probably saying “But Chad, you lost last week to Yogi Paleass." Well maybe so, I’m not gonna sit here and bump my gums about how I should’ve won or why I didn’t win – little bitch beat me flat out. He got lucky, it is what it is. A blind squirrel always finds a nut sooner or later or so they say. I just gotta say one thing to Yogi before I put him behind me and never think nor speak of him again – I had the feeling he was hinting at me being racist in his pile of shit he called a promo last week. Well alls well that ends OK Yogi because the fact of the matter is I’m not racist. I just don’t like you and I think you are misplaced. You are Southern as Cool is to Justin Bieber. So again, take your belt buckle turn that sumbitch side ways and back around again and cram it up your ass until you can’t feel it. Everything may be bigger in Texas but that little hooker I saw you buy last week outsize Bozeman arena told me you’re as small as small can get bitch. You want to run your mouth about me again, than name the time and place and we’ll go for round two and I can guarantee you won’t get lucky twice. Until than, I’m not recognizing our match as a loss. You are that irrelevant. But again you little cockhead – the offer still stands, any time, any day, any place.
I lose one dark match only to be booked in another the following week. I don’t blame Stevenson he’s gotta feel his new signee’s out and see what they bring to the table. Sure I’ve been successful in every other promotion I’ve ever worked for, but that was then this is now. Front in center right smack dab in the middle of MSW. I guess ole Stevenson claims if we show some potential Wednesday night we’ll be thrown into the Best of the Best tournament. By way of him booking me to take out the trash this week. And by trash I mean the biggest pile of steaming stinking white trash by the name of Daryl Bingham. I wish I could spend SOME time talking about this guy, but there is simply nothing to know - nor is there anything anyone could possibly give a shit about him even if there was anything to know. However, I did hear he used to haul dildos across country to all the gay porn stores all the while living in a trailer park with his fat, ugly, hairy, rotten toothed ole lady in over there Podunk, Texas. I also heard some shit where he got busted with a teenage boy prostitute somewhere in Georgia. All this is hearsay but hell, with the looks of this guy I wouldn’t put it past him. Weather what I've heard through the grapevine is true or all bull shit one thing is certain - there is most definitely some serious inbreeding throughout the Bingham family tree I can assure you of that. Whatever your story is or isn't - I’ll be damn sure to get a Hepatitis shot after I smoke this guy Wednesday evening.
Listen Bingham – don’t get mad at me for tellin’ ya what I heard. Get mad at your pop for not pulling the fuck out! But hey, I don’t judge. I’m not here to judge you on your lifestyle choices. I’m here to put your fuckin’ nose down your throat, kick your chin in and win this match and show Stevenson and the rest of the MSW brass that I belong in the Best of the Best conversation. I could go on all night shit talking you Bingham, but I’ve got whiskey to guzzle and chances are you’re numbass don’t even know what the internet is to even be able to see this prized piece of artwork! So with that, Wednesday night you’re in for the biggest wake up call of your life – a downhome country fried southern ass kickin’ courtesy of your’s fuckin’ truly! Stick with haulin’ your dildos, Bingham – you ain’t cut out for this! Keep on truckin' hillbilly! Choke on that, cockrockets!
(Vargas thumbs the 'End Record' button on his iPhone and cuffs back the rest of the glass of whiskey, slamming it to the bar top as he slowly stands up. Vargas nods to Butch as he swipes the rest of the bottle of Southern Comfort as he slowly walks out of the pub as the scene fades to black.)