Post by Deleted on Jul 23, 2014 21:53:56 GMT -6
The world heard from wrestling's most beloved odd couple in "The Revolutionary" Frank Washington and Robert "Badger" Garland. Okay, maybe not the world, but a fair portion of Missouri and some of the surrounding states for sure! Despite promises of keeping their union together by very thin weak threads in the name of getting through their match at Back 2 Basics against The Bonecrushing Phailous, actions spoke louder than promises. And besides, promises, much like faces, are very much meant to be broken.
Which leads us to today, a day like any other day, only with one important detail missing from the TBP calculation.
JBC - YP = ? ? ?
Today, a day like any other day, another video package starring everyone's favourite son of a bitch to the core, Canada's own Johnny B.! This is what many might call a vignette or even a promo. The Johnny is about to cut a promo.
But first! We have to set this thing up right!
Our story begins in a very country fried locale. Cowtown, Cowboy, USA, to be precise! Home of He Who Has Death Following Him, Yugo Phailous, aka the other side of The Bonecrushing Phailous planetary orbit. Some say the dark side of the BP Moon. Whatever you call him, just don't call him late for happy hour, lest you wish to raise the ire of The Destroyer of Hymens!
Now, seriously, this actually may or may not be Desoto, Texas, but try minding your business for a change, Captain Geography!
Sticking out like a sore thumb, The Johnny saunters through the small town. One could believe they travelled back in time to the Wild West once they entered Deso- erm, I mean, Cowtown. I mean, sure, there's cars and bikes and such, but there's also horses and carriages and saloons and yes, yes, JBC even saw a tumbleweed, if you could believe that!
The weather is hot, but luckily not humid. Dry. Arid. Still unbearable. The Johnny almost begs for a bead of sweat to form. There's hardly anywhere to stop for shade. Horse passersby kick up dust as they pass The Pre-Millenium Wrestler. He hacks a bit, before stopping on a dime, looking frustrated as all getout.
Johnny B.: "What is this, fuckin' Amish town?!"
He shouts this query out, his voice echoing and drawing the attention of some locals. The kind of locals that'd say something along the lines of "We don't like strangers in our town!" if given half a chance. They chomp down on toothpicks and cigars. They spit out chaw into spittoons. Men chase scantily-clad women around on balconies. The razor has yet to be invented here. Same with indoor plumbing. Man does it reek!
Johnny looks irritated, hot, tired, and a bit repulsed as he continues his journey through the merciless unwavering heat. If the sun showed it's fuck-face at Back 2 Basics, The Johnimant Species would have put it in every incarnation of The Johnny Special until it cooled off.
Shuffling through the streets and already regretting ever travelling this far south, he wonders if he'll ever find his quarry.
But then! Johnny spies a clue: a familiar horse tied up outside of a more modern-looking bar. The Sandy Lasso.
Johnny B.: "Pinto the Horse?! What're you doing here?! Is Yugo inside?!"
Pinto, being a horse, doesn't respond. He snorts and cocks his head up multiple times. The olde timey sign.
Johnny B.: "The Sandy Asshole, huh? Eh, fuck it, either way, I need a drink."
He starts to walk towards the bar like a bow-legged cowboy for a bit, before feeling perturbed eyes all over him. He shrugs, flips them all off double-finger British-style, and slips into the oasis.
OH MY GOD, THERE'S AIR CONDITIONING.
He feels a wave of refreshing loveliness wash over him, and the world is a good place again to live. The patrons inside look up for a split second before going back to their drinks and chats. The clientele is a bit less redneck and more blue collar. Same difference, am I right, ladies?! Huh?!
Hostess: "Wah, how kin ah haylp yew?"
Had it not been for the hostess' just right rack and borderline inappropriate work attire, The Johnny would have been utterly reviled at the thick accent. So much for being a Face, huh? Oh, whatever, you guys!
Johnny B.: "Uh, yeah, I just popped in for a quick drink."
Hostess: "Raht this way!"
She leads JBC to a secluded part of the bar, anticipating his desire to remain reclusive. She twists her face as if trying to figure something out. She points at our hero.
Hostess: "Yer not frum around heer, are yew?"
Johnny B.: "Nah, I'm from Ca-"
He reconsiders referring to himself as a Canadian, and thus a foreigner, just in case.
Johnny B.: "Missouri. I'm just here trying to hunt down my partner. Maybe you've heard of him? Yugo Phailous?"
Rreenk!
Rreenk!, the international sound of barstools being pulled back. In the red(neck) states, that's usually code for a severe beating about to commence. The Johnny's courage is matched only by his desire to spend as little time in Cowboy USA, aka The Fireball of the World as possible. He decides to not eyeball the other patrons, confident that they won't mess with him, that is, if they watch MSW, Legacy Wrestling, or USW!
The hostess, who is for some reason doubling as a waitress (I know you were wondering that, don't lie!) looks quite worrisome. She leans in and in a hushed voice, gives The Johnny the 411.
Hostess: "Mister, we don't sayuh thayt name 'round these parts."
Johnny looks somewhat confused. A part of him should have - or did - expect this; the way Yugo spoke and acted, it did make sense to the Canadian now. Washington might have treacherous notoriety, a legacy of villainy, doomed to have an evil recurrence, while Garland was a glutton for punishment, forever antagonizing his partner and loving it, but what The Phailer had, that je ne sais quoi, it was understated, and overwhelming. Naturally, it'd be more intense at its source, but never did JBC in his wildest dreams think Yugo was this infamous.
Johnny B.: "Okay, I'll bite, why not?"
The hostess looks around, as if concerned the wrong ears will pick up her words.
Hostess: "Leyuht's go out bayuck. Whatya wanna drink?"
Johnny B.: "A gin and tonic, hold the laughter."
She shrugs, as she heads behind the bar and fixes him a perfect gin and tonic. Yes, she's a bartender too, this yo' bidniz too?!
Handing The Johnny the drink and beckoning him to follow her to the employees-only area, she takes a seat and motions for Johnny to do the same. Looking around again, despite no one within earshot, she continues her story:
Hostess: "~~~~~~~~~"
Because this story is not for your eyes and ears. Know that what was said that day was a saga of madness and occult-level phantasmagoria. Cows and horses and enough rope to lasso the world! Scores of women and even greater scores of enemies piled up in the corners of saloons. Missing teeth and cash. Bloody knuckles and noses. Broken everything. Graves. Oh, the graves!!
Johnny's eyes widen, widen more, grow wider even still! His blood runs cold. He gulps. His drink-hand shakes, spilling just enough on his bare leg that the coolness of the drink contrasted the aforementioned metaphorical coldness of his blood and jars him back to reality. He takes a sip, a gulp, a swig, and it's gone. He exhales, satisfied at his refreshing beverage. He hands her back the ice-only glass and slowly stands up.
Johnny B.: "Well. ...Well! That sure was... educational. Doesn't really help me with my original inquiry though: do you actually know where Yugo Phailous is?"
The hostess, whose name is... oh, I don't know... let's say Wilhelmina? She looks shocked to say the least.
Hostess: "After awl I done tol' yew, yew wanna steell go lookin' fohr thayut gah?"
The Johnny was confused at her question for a moment, but then understands why her concern makes sense.
Johnny B.: "Well, yeah! He's my tag-partner after all! We got a match coming up at Back 2 Basics back in Kansas City this week! Us versus Frank Washington and Robert Garland? MSW Tag-Team Titles on the line for the first time ever? Any of that ring a bell? Hmm? Storied history between Washington and Garland going back many a year? Hated enemies, an even better tandem? Huh? And The Bonecrushing Phailous? The most dominant team in all of MSW? Oh, I mean, sure, Washington and Garland, that bastard, are a most deadly duo to say the least, but do you really think they can keep their hands off themselves and wrap those same hands around our necks, when there's sweet sweet neck flesh reeking with vengeful perspiration in their own corner? Do you truly, in your heart of hearts, fuckin', uh, Wilhelmina, do you think their unsteady might can stand up to our rock-solid unity? ARE YOU TRULY AS HIGH AS YOU LOOK RIGHT NOW, WOMAN?!
At Back 2 Basics, all the nay-sayers, the rubber-neckers, the hater-ade drinkers, and yes, even the Washington-lovers and Garland-not-dislikers will have their faith shaken, for the false idols shall be fit to crumbling-eth, and yea, they shall forsake-ded they who truly sensed their victory. Your senses failed you! Don't bo-lieve in The Bonecrushing Phailous, just bet on 'em and make everyone rich sick motherfucks! And-"
All of a sudden, there's a commotion back in the bar proper, the sounds of screams and a stampeding of feet can be heard. Both Wilhelmina and Mr. Bonecrusher rush onto the scene. A man goes flying into the bar from the entrance door. He whimpers and bleeds in the floor, looking on in horror at the entrance. The doors swing open with enough force to tear hurricanes apart! A shadowy figure holds both doors open. A godly stetson sits atop the being's head like a rodeo halo. Chaps you can bring home to mother. A lasso spun from gold! And Pinto the Horse trots into view, raised up on its back legs and neighs with a echoing neigh that causes all that hear it to shudder. Steam is released from its nostrils as it goes back on all fours.
He moves in, allowing the doors to slowly close behind him, the light from the outside world becoming dimmer and dimmer as the doors become less and less ajar. The countenance of the shadowy figure gains description beyond that previously stated: the form before all in attendance belongs to that of one man, a man whose reputation precedes him, a man-myth-legend wrapped up in one body, a frightening cowpoke if ever there was one...
...None other than... Yugo Phailous!
Wilhelmina swoons, and Johnny catches her, allowing her to ease to the ground. The bloodied man holds up his hands before him, yammering and blubbering. Johnny just shrugs.
Johnny B.: "Oh, there you are, Yugo! I've been looking all over for ya!"
Which leads us to today, a day like any other day, only with one important detail missing from the TBP calculation.
JBC - YP = ? ? ?
Today, a day like any other day, another video package starring everyone's favourite son of a bitch to the core, Canada's own Johnny B.! This is what many might call a vignette or even a promo. The Johnny is about to cut a promo.
But first! We have to set this thing up right!
Our story begins in a very country fried locale. Cowtown, Cowboy, USA, to be precise! Home of He Who Has Death Following Him, Yugo Phailous, aka the other side of The Bonecrushing Phailous planetary orbit. Some say the dark side of the BP Moon. Whatever you call him, just don't call him late for happy hour, lest you wish to raise the ire of The Destroyer of Hymens!
Now, seriously, this actually may or may not be Desoto, Texas, but try minding your business for a change, Captain Geography!
Sticking out like a sore thumb, The Johnny saunters through the small town. One could believe they travelled back in time to the Wild West once they entered Deso- erm, I mean, Cowtown. I mean, sure, there's cars and bikes and such, but there's also horses and carriages and saloons and yes, yes, JBC even saw a tumbleweed, if you could believe that!
The weather is hot, but luckily not humid. Dry. Arid. Still unbearable. The Johnny almost begs for a bead of sweat to form. There's hardly anywhere to stop for shade. Horse passersby kick up dust as they pass The Pre-Millenium Wrestler. He hacks a bit, before stopping on a dime, looking frustrated as all getout.
Johnny B.: "What is this, fuckin' Amish town?!"
He shouts this query out, his voice echoing and drawing the attention of some locals. The kind of locals that'd say something along the lines of "We don't like strangers in our town!" if given half a chance. They chomp down on toothpicks and cigars. They spit out chaw into spittoons. Men chase scantily-clad women around on balconies. The razor has yet to be invented here. Same with indoor plumbing. Man does it reek!
Johnny looks irritated, hot, tired, and a bit repulsed as he continues his journey through the merciless unwavering heat. If the sun showed it's fuck-face at Back 2 Basics, The Johnimant Species would have put it in every incarnation of The Johnny Special until it cooled off.
Shuffling through the streets and already regretting ever travelling this far south, he wonders if he'll ever find his quarry.
But then! Johnny spies a clue: a familiar horse tied up outside of a more modern-looking bar. The Sandy Lasso.
Johnny B.: "Pinto the Horse?! What're you doing here?! Is Yugo inside?!"
Pinto, being a horse, doesn't respond. He snorts and cocks his head up multiple times. The olde timey sign.
Johnny B.: "The Sandy Asshole, huh? Eh, fuck it, either way, I need a drink."
He starts to walk towards the bar like a bow-legged cowboy for a bit, before feeling perturbed eyes all over him. He shrugs, flips them all off double-finger British-style, and slips into the oasis.
OH MY GOD, THERE'S AIR CONDITIONING.
He feels a wave of refreshing loveliness wash over him, and the world is a good place again to live. The patrons inside look up for a split second before going back to their drinks and chats. The clientele is a bit less redneck and more blue collar. Same difference, am I right, ladies?! Huh?!
Hostess: "Wah, how kin ah haylp yew?"
Had it not been for the hostess' just right rack and borderline inappropriate work attire, The Johnny would have been utterly reviled at the thick accent. So much for being a Face, huh? Oh, whatever, you guys!
Johnny B.: "Uh, yeah, I just popped in for a quick drink."
Hostess: "Raht this way!"
She leads JBC to a secluded part of the bar, anticipating his desire to remain reclusive. She twists her face as if trying to figure something out. She points at our hero.
Hostess: "Yer not frum around heer, are yew?"
Johnny B.: "Nah, I'm from Ca-"
He reconsiders referring to himself as a Canadian, and thus a foreigner, just in case.
Johnny B.: "Missouri. I'm just here trying to hunt down my partner. Maybe you've heard of him? Yugo Phailous?"
Rreenk!
Rreenk!, the international sound of barstools being pulled back. In the red(neck) states, that's usually code for a severe beating about to commence. The Johnny's courage is matched only by his desire to spend as little time in Cowboy USA, aka The Fireball of the World as possible. He decides to not eyeball the other patrons, confident that they won't mess with him, that is, if they watch MSW, Legacy Wrestling, or USW!
The hostess, who is for some reason doubling as a waitress (I know you were wondering that, don't lie!) looks quite worrisome. She leans in and in a hushed voice, gives The Johnny the 411.
Hostess: "Mister, we don't sayuh thayt name 'round these parts."
Johnny looks somewhat confused. A part of him should have - or did - expect this; the way Yugo spoke and acted, it did make sense to the Canadian now. Washington might have treacherous notoriety, a legacy of villainy, doomed to have an evil recurrence, while Garland was a glutton for punishment, forever antagonizing his partner and loving it, but what The Phailer had, that je ne sais quoi, it was understated, and overwhelming. Naturally, it'd be more intense at its source, but never did JBC in his wildest dreams think Yugo was this infamous.
Johnny B.: "Okay, I'll bite, why not?"
The hostess looks around, as if concerned the wrong ears will pick up her words.
Hostess: "Leyuht's go out bayuck. Whatya wanna drink?"
Johnny B.: "A gin and tonic, hold the laughter."
She shrugs, as she heads behind the bar and fixes him a perfect gin and tonic. Yes, she's a bartender too, this yo' bidniz too?!
Handing The Johnny the drink and beckoning him to follow her to the employees-only area, she takes a seat and motions for Johnny to do the same. Looking around again, despite no one within earshot, she continues her story:
Hostess: "~~~~~~~~~"
Because this story is not for your eyes and ears. Know that what was said that day was a saga of madness and occult-level phantasmagoria. Cows and horses and enough rope to lasso the world! Scores of women and even greater scores of enemies piled up in the corners of saloons. Missing teeth and cash. Bloody knuckles and noses. Broken everything. Graves. Oh, the graves!!
Johnny's eyes widen, widen more, grow wider even still! His blood runs cold. He gulps. His drink-hand shakes, spilling just enough on his bare leg that the coolness of the drink contrasted the aforementioned metaphorical coldness of his blood and jars him back to reality. He takes a sip, a gulp, a swig, and it's gone. He exhales, satisfied at his refreshing beverage. He hands her back the ice-only glass and slowly stands up.
Johnny B.: "Well. ...Well! That sure was... educational. Doesn't really help me with my original inquiry though: do you actually know where Yugo Phailous is?"
The hostess, whose name is... oh, I don't know... let's say Wilhelmina? She looks shocked to say the least.
Hostess: "After awl I done tol' yew, yew wanna steell go lookin' fohr thayut gah?"
The Johnny was confused at her question for a moment, but then understands why her concern makes sense.
Johnny B.: "Well, yeah! He's my tag-partner after all! We got a match coming up at Back 2 Basics back in Kansas City this week! Us versus Frank Washington and Robert Garland? MSW Tag-Team Titles on the line for the first time ever? Any of that ring a bell? Hmm? Storied history between Washington and Garland going back many a year? Hated enemies, an even better tandem? Huh? And The Bonecrushing Phailous? The most dominant team in all of MSW? Oh, I mean, sure, Washington and Garland, that bastard, are a most deadly duo to say the least, but do you really think they can keep their hands off themselves and wrap those same hands around our necks, when there's sweet sweet neck flesh reeking with vengeful perspiration in their own corner? Do you truly, in your heart of hearts, fuckin', uh, Wilhelmina, do you think their unsteady might can stand up to our rock-solid unity? ARE YOU TRULY AS HIGH AS YOU LOOK RIGHT NOW, WOMAN?!
At Back 2 Basics, all the nay-sayers, the rubber-neckers, the hater-ade drinkers, and yes, even the Washington-lovers and Garland-not-dislikers will have their faith shaken, for the false idols shall be fit to crumbling-eth, and yea, they shall forsake-ded they who truly sensed their victory. Your senses failed you! Don't bo-lieve in The Bonecrushing Phailous, just bet on 'em and make everyone rich sick motherfucks! And-"
All of a sudden, there's a commotion back in the bar proper, the sounds of screams and a stampeding of feet can be heard. Both Wilhelmina and Mr. Bonecrusher rush onto the scene. A man goes flying into the bar from the entrance door. He whimpers and bleeds in the floor, looking on in horror at the entrance. The doors swing open with enough force to tear hurricanes apart! A shadowy figure holds both doors open. A godly stetson sits atop the being's head like a rodeo halo. Chaps you can bring home to mother. A lasso spun from gold! And Pinto the Horse trots into view, raised up on its back legs and neighs with a echoing neigh that causes all that hear it to shudder. Steam is released from its nostrils as it goes back on all fours.
He moves in, allowing the doors to slowly close behind him, the light from the outside world becoming dimmer and dimmer as the doors become less and less ajar. The countenance of the shadowy figure gains description beyond that previously stated: the form before all in attendance belongs to that of one man, a man whose reputation precedes him, a man-myth-legend wrapped up in one body, a frightening cowpoke if ever there was one...
...None other than... Yugo Phailous!
Wilhelmina swoons, and Johnny catches her, allowing her to ease to the ground. The bloodied man holds up his hands before him, yammering and blubbering. Johnny just shrugs.
Johnny B.: "Oh, there you are, Yugo! I've been looking all over for ya!"
THE END.