Post by Chris Casino on Jan 20, 2006 13:58:51 GMT -5
- Dale's Autobody Shop, Canada -
We open up on a small out of the way car repair shop and find Rat Pack members Chris Casino, Evan Cartwright and their manager Terry Brandon. All three men stand out from everyone else for the simple fact that they're (A) clean and (B) wearing expensive silk suits. Brandon is haggling over the price of something with a grease monkey with the name "Bo" stenciled on his jumpsuit. Casino and Cartwright stand as far away from the grease and grime as possible making idle chit chat.
Cartwright: I'm tellin' ya it's the honest to God's truth.
Casino: He was asking Static for...A mask?
Cartwright: Yeah, maybe he thinks he'll be less embarrassed when he loses at Joker's Wild if no one can see his face.
Casino: Doubtful. I'm thinking he finally wised up to the fact he's got a bad case of fugly.
Brandon walks over to his clients and shrugs his shoulders.
Brandon: It's not done yet champ. Says it'll be a few more minutes.
Casino: What the Hell? I knew I should have gotten this made in America and shipped up here to Canada. Damn dirty Canadians.
Brandon: Did Cartwright tell you about D! and his search for a mask?
Casino: Yeah. It's almost painful to hear. At one time D! was the end all, be all of NAPW and now he's off slumming it with another loser in Static. I hope his mask has blood absorbent material. Who wants to bet that his mask is yellow with a big "L" on the front?
Cartwright: What's the "L" stand for?
Brandon: Loser.
Cartwright: Oh. Right.
Casino: Look, since this is taking so damn long maybe we should check in with our crew and their special project?
Brandon: Sounds like a plan.
All three men stand around looking at each other for a moment.
Casino: When I said "we" I meant "you" Brandon.
Brandon: Oh! Yeah of course champ!
Brandon takes a step away from the duo and pulls out his cell phone. He punches in a few numbers and we go to a split screen image. On the left side is Terry Brandon, on the right side is a young man standing next to the busy highway that leads into Edmonton.
Brandon: Dave? How are you and your boys doing?
Dave: Almost done Mr. Brandon. We've put up maybe 20, 25 billboards all around Edmonton and we're on our last one. In fact we were wondering, since we're so close to the Baccarat maybe we could stop by and....
Brandon: Not a chance. No offense. Tell me, how do they look?
Dave looks over his shoulder and we pan up to see a large billboard next to the highway. It's brand new and it shows the image of a battered and bloodied D! laying prone in the ring as Chris Casino stands over him with the NAPW Title. It reads NAPW Presents Joker's Wild! Live At The Baccarat Casino On January 23rd!
Dave: Just like Mr. Casino wanted.
Brandon: Fantastic. Now get back to work, we want every available billboard in a hundred mile radius to show that picture of D! and Casino.
Dave: Gotcha.
Brandon hangs up the phone and spies Casino and Cartwright snickering and pointing a him like little children.
Brandon: What!
Casino: What. Is in that damn briefcase man? I think it's a collection of Juggs Magazines and Cartwright says it's an inflatable sheep.
Cartwright: Donkey, I said donkey.
Casino: Whatever, all those farm animals look alike.
Brandon holds his briefcase close to him and shoots the pair a wicked look.
Brandon: You two have better things to worry about then what I've got in this briefcase. In case you forgot you two have huge matches in a matter of days and...
Casino: Look, we're covered. We got it under control.
Bo from the garage steps over to the men and they take a step away from the grease covered man.
Bo: It's done eh!
Casino: About time. Bring it out and let's spy it.
Bo runs back inside the garage and quickly wheels out a custom made wheelchair. It's a beast. It has huge Mag like wheel with chrome spinner rims, a state of the art sound system attached to the back of the chair and to top it off, a pair of fuzzy dice hang from one of the chair's arms. The dice are not your regular kind. On these pair of dice, no matter which way you turn them you've got snake eyes.
Brandon: That. Is. Hideous.
Casino: Evan, take a seat and tell me how it feels.
Cartwright: Huh?
Casino: Bitch you heard me! get in the chair!
Cartwright sulks over and plants himself in the wheelchair. He smiles broadly.
Cartwright: Damn, this is tight. Leather seats and everything.
Casino: It's the least I can do. Once I take D! out of wrestling and make him a Christopher Reeve look alike he'll need a chair like this. Plus I even customized it to his newfound Mexican heritage. Go ahead Evan. Push some buttons.
Evan looks at the control panel on the arm rest and mashes a button. The song "La cucaracha" blasts out.
Casino: That soooooooooooo rocks. Press another button.
Evan mashes a green button and the chair jacks up and starts to bounce.
Brandon: You...Put hydraulics on a wheelchair?
Casino: Hey it's for the "MVP" of NAPW. Only the best for his ass.
Cartwright: Hey, uh, I'm getting sick. How do I turn this thing off?
Casino: Hang tight man, it's on a timer. I think.
Casino leads Brandon away as Cartwright is bounced around in the Wheelchair from Hell.
Casino: I want this shipped to D!'s home address. That is if you can fight the right street corner. And the right cardboard box and all.
Brandon: Look, I know you gotta have your fun but you act like this is going to be a cake walk. D! is tough champ!
Casino: NO. D! is weak. He doubts himself because he knows in his heart that he's going to lose. Again. He knows he'll never get another chance at the NAPW Title after I thrash him on Sunday. D! is garbage. Plain and simple. He doesn't deserve the NAPW title, he doesn't even deserve to be on the same card as me. You might think I'm taking him lightly, but all I dream about is ending his career. Making him the poster boy for what happens when you screw with Chris casino and the Rat Pack.
You've seen him. He's trying to hide behind masks now. He's lost. D! is a boy trying to play in a man's world Brandon. Hell, he outta thank me for this valuable lesson I'm about to bestow on him. He needs to know that stupidity NEVER conquers quality. No man who doubts himself as much as D! can beat me, hell he couldn't even beat J.C. Cook in the mindframe he's in now. As long as I'm here he'll always be a loser. Second best. if that.
A small child on crutches hobbles over to the Wheelchair from Hell and watches as Evan manages to get the demonic machine to stop bouncing.
Crippled Kid: Wow, that thing sure is swell. I wish I had one.
Casino spots the kid and hurries over.
Casino: Hey (BLEEP) off Tiny Tim, this is beyond your means. Go sell some pencils or something.
The crippled kid hobbles off at full steam. Which isn't that fast really.
Cartwright: My stomach feels...Funky.
Casino: Hey Brandon...I got a better idea. Get this thing packed up and ship it to The Baccarat. I want D! to see it on his way out to the ring. I want him to see his future.
Brandon: You got it.
Casino: Count your days as a healthy man D!. They'll be coming to an end shortly.
- cut to a commercial for Scott's Roster Breeding! We love our cocks! -
We open up on a small out of the way car repair shop and find Rat Pack members Chris Casino, Evan Cartwright and their manager Terry Brandon. All three men stand out from everyone else for the simple fact that they're (A) clean and (B) wearing expensive silk suits. Brandon is haggling over the price of something with a grease monkey with the name "Bo" stenciled on his jumpsuit. Casino and Cartwright stand as far away from the grease and grime as possible making idle chit chat.
Cartwright: I'm tellin' ya it's the honest to God's truth.
Casino: He was asking Static for...A mask?
Cartwright: Yeah, maybe he thinks he'll be less embarrassed when he loses at Joker's Wild if no one can see his face.
Casino: Doubtful. I'm thinking he finally wised up to the fact he's got a bad case of fugly.
Brandon walks over to his clients and shrugs his shoulders.
Brandon: It's not done yet champ. Says it'll be a few more minutes.
Casino: What the Hell? I knew I should have gotten this made in America and shipped up here to Canada. Damn dirty Canadians.
Brandon: Did Cartwright tell you about D! and his search for a mask?
Casino: Yeah. It's almost painful to hear. At one time D! was the end all, be all of NAPW and now he's off slumming it with another loser in Static. I hope his mask has blood absorbent material. Who wants to bet that his mask is yellow with a big "L" on the front?
Cartwright: What's the "L" stand for?
Brandon: Loser.
Cartwright: Oh. Right.
Casino: Look, since this is taking so damn long maybe we should check in with our crew and their special project?
Brandon: Sounds like a plan.
All three men stand around looking at each other for a moment.
Casino: When I said "we" I meant "you" Brandon.
Brandon: Oh! Yeah of course champ!
Brandon takes a step away from the duo and pulls out his cell phone. He punches in a few numbers and we go to a split screen image. On the left side is Terry Brandon, on the right side is a young man standing next to the busy highway that leads into Edmonton.
Brandon: Dave? How are you and your boys doing?
Dave: Almost done Mr. Brandon. We've put up maybe 20, 25 billboards all around Edmonton and we're on our last one. In fact we were wondering, since we're so close to the Baccarat maybe we could stop by and....
Brandon: Not a chance. No offense. Tell me, how do they look?
Dave looks over his shoulder and we pan up to see a large billboard next to the highway. It's brand new and it shows the image of a battered and bloodied D! laying prone in the ring as Chris Casino stands over him with the NAPW Title. It reads NAPW Presents Joker's Wild! Live At The Baccarat Casino On January 23rd!
Dave: Just like Mr. Casino wanted.
Brandon: Fantastic. Now get back to work, we want every available billboard in a hundred mile radius to show that picture of D! and Casino.
Dave: Gotcha.
Brandon hangs up the phone and spies Casino and Cartwright snickering and pointing a him like little children.
Brandon: What!
Casino: What. Is in that damn briefcase man? I think it's a collection of Juggs Magazines and Cartwright says it's an inflatable sheep.
Cartwright: Donkey, I said donkey.
Casino: Whatever, all those farm animals look alike.
Brandon holds his briefcase close to him and shoots the pair a wicked look.
Brandon: You two have better things to worry about then what I've got in this briefcase. In case you forgot you two have huge matches in a matter of days and...
Casino: Look, we're covered. We got it under control.
Bo from the garage steps over to the men and they take a step away from the grease covered man.
Bo: It's done eh!
Casino: About time. Bring it out and let's spy it.
Bo runs back inside the garage and quickly wheels out a custom made wheelchair. It's a beast. It has huge Mag like wheel with chrome spinner rims, a state of the art sound system attached to the back of the chair and to top it off, a pair of fuzzy dice hang from one of the chair's arms. The dice are not your regular kind. On these pair of dice, no matter which way you turn them you've got snake eyes.
Brandon: That. Is. Hideous.
Casino: Evan, take a seat and tell me how it feels.
Cartwright: Huh?
Casino: Bitch you heard me! get in the chair!
Cartwright sulks over and plants himself in the wheelchair. He smiles broadly.
Cartwright: Damn, this is tight. Leather seats and everything.
Casino: It's the least I can do. Once I take D! out of wrestling and make him a Christopher Reeve look alike he'll need a chair like this. Plus I even customized it to his newfound Mexican heritage. Go ahead Evan. Push some buttons.
Evan looks at the control panel on the arm rest and mashes a button. The song "La cucaracha" blasts out.
Casino: That soooooooooooo rocks. Press another button.
Evan mashes a green button and the chair jacks up and starts to bounce.
Brandon: You...Put hydraulics on a wheelchair?
Casino: Hey it's for the "MVP" of NAPW. Only the best for his ass.
Cartwright: Hey, uh, I'm getting sick. How do I turn this thing off?
Casino: Hang tight man, it's on a timer. I think.
Casino leads Brandon away as Cartwright is bounced around in the Wheelchair from Hell.
Casino: I want this shipped to D!'s home address. That is if you can fight the right street corner. And the right cardboard box and all.
Brandon: Look, I know you gotta have your fun but you act like this is going to be a cake walk. D! is tough champ!
Casino: NO. D! is weak. He doubts himself because he knows in his heart that he's going to lose. Again. He knows he'll never get another chance at the NAPW Title after I thrash him on Sunday. D! is garbage. Plain and simple. He doesn't deserve the NAPW title, he doesn't even deserve to be on the same card as me. You might think I'm taking him lightly, but all I dream about is ending his career. Making him the poster boy for what happens when you screw with Chris casino and the Rat Pack.
You've seen him. He's trying to hide behind masks now. He's lost. D! is a boy trying to play in a man's world Brandon. Hell, he outta thank me for this valuable lesson I'm about to bestow on him. He needs to know that stupidity NEVER conquers quality. No man who doubts himself as much as D! can beat me, hell he couldn't even beat J.C. Cook in the mindframe he's in now. As long as I'm here he'll always be a loser. Second best. if that.
A small child on crutches hobbles over to the Wheelchair from Hell and watches as Evan manages to get the demonic machine to stop bouncing.
Crippled Kid: Wow, that thing sure is swell. I wish I had one.
Casino spots the kid and hurries over.
Casino: Hey (BLEEP) off Tiny Tim, this is beyond your means. Go sell some pencils or something.
The crippled kid hobbles off at full steam. Which isn't that fast really.
Cartwright: My stomach feels...Funky.
Casino: Hey Brandon...I got a better idea. Get this thing packed up and ship it to The Baccarat. I want D! to see it on his way out to the ring. I want him to see his future.
Brandon: You got it.
Casino: Count your days as a healthy man D!. They'll be coming to an end shortly.
- cut to a commercial for Scott's Roster Breeding! We love our cocks! -