Post by "Superstar" Deathrow on Jan 12, 2006 9:44:01 GMT -5
Scene opens up outside of a airport. Deathrow is seen walking around with his bags.
He had checked in and his suitcases which look more like duct tape and some blanket fabric were being 'carefully' handled by the airport workers. He had received his boarding pass from the desk and he was now ready to get out of the crowded atmosphere, that was the entrance to the airport. With his black thread bear rucksack on his back and a wallet full of notes, Tommy Deathrow headed for customs so he could be cleared into the next section of the airport where he would almost certainly go for a 'quick' drink. He walked into the highly secure section of the airport to greeted by a very old and wrinkly man with a security uniform on. On the right pocket of his blue blazer hang an I.D card with a picture of the same ugly face that was staring at him with bleak eyes. Deathrow whipped his bag around to the front and accessed the front pocket. He pulled his passport and boarding cards out for the very grumpy man to inspect. He gleamed over it with his eyes and handed them back.
Security: Thanks, everything's fine. If you'd care to walk on through to the x-ray check.
What Tommy Deathrow cared for was a drink and a cigarette. Definitely not some useless security check that he was going to pass. He walked up and was instructed by an older large woman in the same blue uniform to place his bag on the machine. He did; anything to get him out of the heated atmosphere.
Security 2: If you'd care to walk on through...
The security people kept telling Deathrow to care, when he really didn't. He walked to the end of the machine as it came out of it. He stared over at the African American man in the same uniform who was examining his bag on screen. Once again everything was fine and now Tommy Deathrow cared to head for the bar inside the terminal. He walked along the hard, cold floor while nudging through the thousands of people in the airport. He looked around for a bar and finally saw one. It was a typical airport bar he found out as he entered. Everything was in order. The tables were clean, the workers were clean. The prices were way too expensive and the beer and whiskey was way too watered down. He entered and took a seat in on a metal stool. He was uncomfortable; the bar was to upper-standard for him as he sat there in his sweat pant shorts and old black 'Animals' t-shirt. One of the smartly suited barmaids came to him. She had blonde hair tied back and was very pretty.
Barmaid: What can I get you sir?
Tommy thought for a second.
Deathrow: Anal beads… I mean A more appealing bar?
She smiled, cutely.
Barmaid: Sadly I can not get that for you sir, but how about something off the menu...
She pointed to a laminated piece of paper in the stand. He examined the list and finally saw something that slightly appealed to his taste buds.
Deathrow: The heavily watered whiskey that might as well be water....
She chuckled at his charisma. If only she knew what charismatic yet violent freak he was, if only. She knew what would be going on at his trailer when he returned to it She prepared his drink for him in a small plastic whiskey glass and then gave it to him.
Barmaid: That'll be six dollars please...
His mouth almost dropped as he reached for his wallet. He unfolded the black leather and handed her a ten dollar note.
Tommy Deathrow: Do you know how much candy for the children I could by for that? For fuk sakes Do I get the stool I'm sat on with that?
Yet again she produced a cute smile.
Barmaid: Sadly no, but enjoy your wat... I mean whiskey anyway...
The cynical creature Deathrow managed to crack a broken smile on his rugged face as he took his first sip of the watered down whiskey. It wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be but still not the strong drink a drunk of his standard would admire. He examined the barmaid's ass as she walked over to serve another man. The camera zoomed in on Tommy’s rugged face as his eyes were connected with the barmaid. He spoke.
Tommy Deathrow: She’s Cute for an old lady isn’t she? Far too old for me though..
The camera filmed the barmaid for a few second and then switched back to Tommy who took another sip of his small glass of whiskey. He then began to speak once again.
Tommy Deathrow: If I had my wicked way with her, I can tell you, she wouldn't be so damn cute. After all, appearances are just appearances. This woman could seem like a cute barmaid working to support herself when in reality this could be just a cover-up. For all we know, she could be a money grabbing whore who fuks and sucks guys to pass in life but then again that would be judging by appearance. So why are appearance's so important if we can get it wrong so easily? I'll tell you why. It's human nature to stereotype and base first impressions and opinions on physical appearance. It's instinct. I'm not going to criticize humans for doing it because I'm a culprit as well... She thought I was a nice guy. Good humor, reasonable looks. Hell of a sharp dresser. Maybe just maybe I had a chance but what if she really knew what I was like? What if she knew about the real Thomas? What if she could see what was inside the cute traveler at the bar...
He finished the rest of the glass and then whipped his bag around again. He unzipped it and took a lighter and a pack of Marlboro cigarettes out. He placed them on the table and continued to speak.
Tommy Deathrow: A wretched alcoholic who couldn't give a man what people thought of him. Smokes two dozen cigarettes a day and usually gets involved in a fight at least three times a week. Mostly with concerned fathers. A man with a short fuse, if provoked is very likely to lash out and break whatever is provoking him. A man who couldn't give three sh!ts about love but is only in it for sex. What if she knew what I was really like? Do you think she'd seem to interested. That's right, she wouldn't. See, I appear a soft easy going guy but in reality I'm an arsehole. A Vicious, built-up inside arsehole who don't take sh!t from no one. I'm as violent as the next murderer but sometimes looks can deceive. I've deceived her and from the start of my NAPW career- it appears I've deceived you. The general public.
He spoke like a man of knowledge and if you listen to his words, you'd realize, that's what he is. He is after all one half of the Doomriders and he is a man who is high on the pedestal, on his game and is always watching. He takes a cigarette from his packet and placed it gently into his mouth and lit it with his free bar matches. He took a long drag and then placed it down in the ashtray and continued.
Deathrow: Now people are starting to see what this man is really like they're opening their eyes and their fuking minds. I may seem the sick perverted collective character but if you turn your fuking back I may stick something in your ass then it's going to hurt, because when I strike... I strike with strength, power and intentions to kill…
He picks his cigarette up once more and took another long drag off it and then flicked the ember ashes off into the ashtray. He exhaled with a long sigh and then calls over the barmaid…
Camera fades out
He had checked in and his suitcases which look more like duct tape and some blanket fabric were being 'carefully' handled by the airport workers. He had received his boarding pass from the desk and he was now ready to get out of the crowded atmosphere, that was the entrance to the airport. With his black thread bear rucksack on his back and a wallet full of notes, Tommy Deathrow headed for customs so he could be cleared into the next section of the airport where he would almost certainly go for a 'quick' drink. He walked into the highly secure section of the airport to greeted by a very old and wrinkly man with a security uniform on. On the right pocket of his blue blazer hang an I.D card with a picture of the same ugly face that was staring at him with bleak eyes. Deathrow whipped his bag around to the front and accessed the front pocket. He pulled his passport and boarding cards out for the very grumpy man to inspect. He gleamed over it with his eyes and handed them back.
Security: Thanks, everything's fine. If you'd care to walk on through to the x-ray check.
What Tommy Deathrow cared for was a drink and a cigarette. Definitely not some useless security check that he was going to pass. He walked up and was instructed by an older large woman in the same blue uniform to place his bag on the machine. He did; anything to get him out of the heated atmosphere.
Security 2: If you'd care to walk on through...
The security people kept telling Deathrow to care, when he really didn't. He walked to the end of the machine as it came out of it. He stared over at the African American man in the same uniform who was examining his bag on screen. Once again everything was fine and now Tommy Deathrow cared to head for the bar inside the terminal. He walked along the hard, cold floor while nudging through the thousands of people in the airport. He looked around for a bar and finally saw one. It was a typical airport bar he found out as he entered. Everything was in order. The tables were clean, the workers were clean. The prices were way too expensive and the beer and whiskey was way too watered down. He entered and took a seat in on a metal stool. He was uncomfortable; the bar was to upper-standard for him as he sat there in his sweat pant shorts and old black 'Animals' t-shirt. One of the smartly suited barmaids came to him. She had blonde hair tied back and was very pretty.
Barmaid: What can I get you sir?
Tommy thought for a second.
Deathrow: Anal beads… I mean A more appealing bar?
She smiled, cutely.
Barmaid: Sadly I can not get that for you sir, but how about something off the menu...
She pointed to a laminated piece of paper in the stand. He examined the list and finally saw something that slightly appealed to his taste buds.
Deathrow: The heavily watered whiskey that might as well be water....
She chuckled at his charisma. If only she knew what charismatic yet violent freak he was, if only. She knew what would be going on at his trailer when he returned to it She prepared his drink for him in a small plastic whiskey glass and then gave it to him.
Barmaid: That'll be six dollars please...
His mouth almost dropped as he reached for his wallet. He unfolded the black leather and handed her a ten dollar note.
Tommy Deathrow: Do you know how much candy for the children I could by for that? For fuk sakes Do I get the stool I'm sat on with that?
Yet again she produced a cute smile.
Barmaid: Sadly no, but enjoy your wat... I mean whiskey anyway...
The cynical creature Deathrow managed to crack a broken smile on his rugged face as he took his first sip of the watered down whiskey. It wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be but still not the strong drink a drunk of his standard would admire. He examined the barmaid's ass as she walked over to serve another man. The camera zoomed in on Tommy’s rugged face as his eyes were connected with the barmaid. He spoke.
Tommy Deathrow: She’s Cute for an old lady isn’t she? Far too old for me though..
The camera filmed the barmaid for a few second and then switched back to Tommy who took another sip of his small glass of whiskey. He then began to speak once again.
Tommy Deathrow: If I had my wicked way with her, I can tell you, she wouldn't be so damn cute. After all, appearances are just appearances. This woman could seem like a cute barmaid working to support herself when in reality this could be just a cover-up. For all we know, she could be a money grabbing whore who fuks and sucks guys to pass in life but then again that would be judging by appearance. So why are appearance's so important if we can get it wrong so easily? I'll tell you why. It's human nature to stereotype and base first impressions and opinions on physical appearance. It's instinct. I'm not going to criticize humans for doing it because I'm a culprit as well... She thought I was a nice guy. Good humor, reasonable looks. Hell of a sharp dresser. Maybe just maybe I had a chance but what if she really knew what I was like? What if she knew about the real Thomas? What if she could see what was inside the cute traveler at the bar...
He finished the rest of the glass and then whipped his bag around again. He unzipped it and took a lighter and a pack of Marlboro cigarettes out. He placed them on the table and continued to speak.
Tommy Deathrow: A wretched alcoholic who couldn't give a man what people thought of him. Smokes two dozen cigarettes a day and usually gets involved in a fight at least three times a week. Mostly with concerned fathers. A man with a short fuse, if provoked is very likely to lash out and break whatever is provoking him. A man who couldn't give three sh!ts about love but is only in it for sex. What if she knew what I was really like? Do you think she'd seem to interested. That's right, she wouldn't. See, I appear a soft easy going guy but in reality I'm an arsehole. A Vicious, built-up inside arsehole who don't take sh!t from no one. I'm as violent as the next murderer but sometimes looks can deceive. I've deceived her and from the start of my NAPW career- it appears I've deceived you. The general public.
He spoke like a man of knowledge and if you listen to his words, you'd realize, that's what he is. He is after all one half of the Doomriders and he is a man who is high on the pedestal, on his game and is always watching. He takes a cigarette from his packet and placed it gently into his mouth and lit it with his free bar matches. He took a long drag and then placed it down in the ashtray and continued.
Deathrow: Now people are starting to see what this man is really like they're opening their eyes and their fuking minds. I may seem the sick perverted collective character but if you turn your fuking back I may stick something in your ass then it's going to hurt, because when I strike... I strike with strength, power and intentions to kill…
He picks his cigarette up once more and took another long drag off it and then flicked the ember ashes off into the ashtray. He exhaled with a long sigh and then calls over the barmaid…
Camera fades out