Linguistic
Active member
Round 1.
Deadline: December 2, 2006 by midnight Central time.
2 RP Limit.
Deadline: December 2, 2006 by midnight Central time.
2 RP Limit.
Round 1: Celtic Assassins vs Irished/James Irish
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We fade in on the training facility for NAPW. New Alberta Pro Wrestling. In the ring right now are two up and coming young stars. ...
And sparring with them? Only the hottest team in NAPW! The number one contenders to the Tag Titles, "The Irish Adonis" Bobby O'Brady, and "The Scottish Wrecking Machine" Al Thoes! The camera zooms in as they double team one of their opponents. A slam later, and Thoes has the man in a Power Chinlock (outlawed in three federations throughout Canada) O'Brady goes to the corner, and notices the camera.
O'Brady: Oh, hello, didn't notice you lads there. Normally I'd spend more time concentrating on the action in the ring, but seeing as this is just a training session, and not a full blown match...
Thoes is dropkicked, forcing him to release the hold.
O'Brady: Good hustle there, Al, I'll be in if you need me.
Thoes: All right.
Thoes clotheslines the rookie nearly out of his boots, then grapples with the partner.
O'Brady: To those of you who don't know us, we are the Celtic Assassins. And for the past year, we have fought just about every team the NAPW has to offer. It was a rough start, but in the last six months we have been on a roll that has taken us to within one match of winning the Tag Titles. Something we hope to change This coming Tuesday. Right Al?
Thoes has one of his opponents tied up in the ropes, and is laying in some vicious chops.
Thoes: Bloody well right Bobby.
O'Brady: And from there? Well, there's this wee tournament being put up by MCW. The best and brightest of the wrestling world are going to battle it out. And we were invited! After everything we've been through this year. Humiliations. Heartbreak. All those early losses. We made enough of an impact to be invited to join.
Thoes: (after suplexing his opponent) Kind of does the heart good.
O'Brady: Now, we know the competition won't be as easy as this...
Rookie # 1: Hey!
O'Brady: Behind you.
The rookie turns around, and is grabbed by Thoes and gorilla press slammed to the mat.
O'Brady: (chuckles) They always turn around... James Irish. Irish Red. You don't know a lot about us. We don't know a lot about you. But the fact that we're here in this tournament means one thing: We'll all have a long road to travel before a winner is crowned in our match. Just remember one thing. We've become accustomed to winning.
Thoes hoists up his rookie opponent into the Haggis Buster (vertebreaker) and crashes the man to the mat.
O'Brady: And it'll be a hard habit for us to break. Hope you bring your A-game to this tournament. We'll give you boys nothing less.
O'Brady gets back into the ring, and nails the Tam O'Shanterslam on the other rookie. We fade to black as the Celtic Assassins survey the damage done to their opponents.
Thoes: (as we fade out) So it won't be this easy in the tournament?
O'Brady: We should be so lucky...
Blackout
And sparring with them? Only the hottest team in NAPW! The number one contenders to the Tag Titles, "The Irish Adonis" Bobby O'Brady, and "The Scottish Wrecking Machine" Al Thoes! The camera zooms in as they double team one of their opponents. A slam later, and Thoes has the man in a Power Chinlock (outlawed in three federations throughout Canada) O'Brady goes to the corner, and notices the camera.
O'Brady: Oh, hello, didn't notice you lads there. Normally I'd spend more time concentrating on the action in the ring, but seeing as this is just a training session, and not a full blown match...
Thoes is dropkicked, forcing him to release the hold.
O'Brady: Good hustle there, Al, I'll be in if you need me.
Thoes: All right.
Thoes clotheslines the rookie nearly out of his boots, then grapples with the partner.
O'Brady: To those of you who don't know us, we are the Celtic Assassins. And for the past year, we have fought just about every team the NAPW has to offer. It was a rough start, but in the last six months we have been on a roll that has taken us to within one match of winning the Tag Titles. Something we hope to change This coming Tuesday. Right Al?
Thoes has one of his opponents tied up in the ropes, and is laying in some vicious chops.
Thoes: Bloody well right Bobby.
O'Brady: And from there? Well, there's this wee tournament being put up by MCW. The best and brightest of the wrestling world are going to battle it out. And we were invited! After everything we've been through this year. Humiliations. Heartbreak. All those early losses. We made enough of an impact to be invited to join.
Thoes: (after suplexing his opponent) Kind of does the heart good.
O'Brady: Now, we know the competition won't be as easy as this...
Rookie # 1: Hey!
O'Brady: Behind you.
The rookie turns around, and is grabbed by Thoes and gorilla press slammed to the mat.
O'Brady: (chuckles) They always turn around... James Irish. Irish Red. You don't know a lot about us. We don't know a lot about you. But the fact that we're here in this tournament means one thing: We'll all have a long road to travel before a winner is crowned in our match. Just remember one thing. We've become accustomed to winning.
Thoes hoists up his rookie opponent into the Haggis Buster (vertebreaker) and crashes the man to the mat.
O'Brady: And it'll be a hard habit for us to break. Hope you bring your A-game to this tournament. We'll give you boys nothing less.
O'Brady gets back into the ring, and nails the Tam O'Shanterslam on the other rookie. We fade to black as the Celtic Assassins survey the damage done to their opponents.
Thoes: (as we fade out) So it won't be this easy in the tournament?
O'Brady: We should be so lucky...
Blackout
Road Trip!!!
Interstate 15 is packed with cars making the run from Vegas to LA. A huge 1976 Cadillac El Dorado moves its way among the pack of cars. It’s a car meant to own the road. The image cuts to a camera mounted on the dash of the car. In the passenger seat we see the current A1E World Champion James Irish leaned back with his bare feet resting on the dash. Mr. Irish is decked out in a Harrah’s Casino Complimentary T-shirt. Driving the beast on wheels is Irishred. Red has an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth. He is in his usual casual attire. Passed out in the backseat is James’ advisor Erin Flannagan. Erin has seen better days. She is covered in fast food wrappers. Coin cups from various casinos are littered around her in the huge backseat. James looks over at his partner in crime.
JI: Just look at the little angel back there. The gambling bug bit her right in the ass didn’t it. I can’t believe she went 36 hours straight on the slot machines. Hey what’s this do?
James pushes a button and the convertible top begins to fold down. Irishred reaches over and slaps James’ hand away and pushes the button again to raise the top. James pouts for a moment before reaching over and playing with the tuner knob on the radio. After a few moments of nothing but blurbs of music Irishred again reaches over and slaps James’ hand away and turns off the radio.
JI: Ouch! What do you do??
IR: Your short attention span is driving me crazier than this traffic. And if you keep quoting poorly translated video games, you're walking.
JI: ... I'll be good.
IR: Ladies and gentlemen allow me to introduce myself. I’m Eddie, the idiot next to me is Roger Rabbit and the little lass in the back is one Jessica Rabbit. For God’s sake Jimmy you make me want to get back on the pills. Calm yourself. We’ve got over two hundred miles to go yet and this is a rental. If you continue to irritate me you know I’m going to end up breaking something in the car, then Erin will wake up and then we’re both in trouble.
JI: Hey look at this…
James hand doesn’t even reach the newest object to attract his attention before a Billagio coin cup comes flying from the back seat and hits him square in the back of the head.
EF: For God’s sake keep your damn hands to yourself up there. I’m trying to get some sleep here!
IR: Now look what you did. Idiot…
JI: Well if you’re going to act like that maybe I will walk. I don’t think there’s any reason for name calling.
James slumps down in his seat as Irishred mutter to himself nearly biting through his cigar.
JI: So where are we headed again?
IR: Los Angeles James. We’re competing in the MCW invitational tag team tournament. We were invited to compete and we agreed.
JI: Oh yeah….and we’re fighting who?
IR: The Celtic Assassins.
JI: Why do they want to kill the Celtics? I mean I know they haven’t been great since the Larry Bird years but jeez…it just doesn’t make any sense to me to want to kill a whole NBA team.
IR: You really know nothing about sports do you Jimmy? The NBA team has a soft C sound at the start. While you were staring at the shiny lights in Vegas I was actually doing some research on our team. They’re nobodies…but angry nobodies. That’s dangerous in my book. They’ll be looking to make a name for themselves at our expense. We’re not going to let that happen now are we James.
The only reply that Irishred gets is the sound of the last bits of a 7-11 Big Gulp slurpee being sucked through a straw.
JI: Hey…we need to make another stop. I’m dry here.
IR: For Pete’s sake man…were you paying any attention at all to what I was saying?
JI: I heard the words and more my unshaven friend. Shall I recap?
IR: Oh please….I can’t wait for this.
JI: Well, for the record, when I was staring at the pretty lights, I was on Freemont Street. Those are pretty lights with an entertainment purpose... and a cheap-ass soundtrack. But, yes, angry nobodies. Angry men that hate Celtics that are looking to win this tournament. We’re not going to let this happen…more specifically I better not let this happen or you my violent traveling companion will beat me senseless and Erin back there will have me tarred and feathered yet again. Or at least that’s what I got out of it.
IR: Seriously…you don’t take any drugs at all?
Irishreds answer is a Whoosh of air as the passenger side window is suddenly down and James is hanging his head out the window.
JI: (Screaming) For the life of me I don’t get why dogs do this.
James is hit by a high heel repeatedly before getting the hint and rolling the window back up.
JI: Besides... with our names, we might get killed. I mean "Irishred and James Irish" against people who want to kill Celts?! That's like Monica Lewinsky at an anti-cigar rally!
IR: Point well taken. But we’re not going to let that happen are we James. We’re going to go in there and prove to the world why we were invited. We’re going to show the whole world why we are the best tag team in the world.
JI: Well technically we’re not a tag team. We’re more like two friends that happen to be in the same business and happen to be fighting together in this match and happen to wrestle for a couple of the same federations and have a very storied past together…in fact you tried to kill me the first time we met…really…you not only beat me up you stole my wallet…sure that’s all behind us now…but you never did say I’m sorry for that…I do have feelings you know…
IR: Jesus…breathe. What I don't get is why you weren’t this unfocused and... weird while I was in rehab?
JI: It's either talk crazy, or go crazy. Take your pick.
IR: Point to the defense. Oh…and for the record I’m sorry. You know how I get when I’m angry and trying to prove a point.
JI: Hey man…I understand. Frankly I’d rather have you crabby in the matches anyway. I mean I know the real you…I know how much you care…
EF: For God’s sake if you two hug I’m going to throw up.
JI and IR: Shut up back there!
JI: Hey look it’s a 7-11. Can we stop? Can we? Huh? Please? Please? Let’s stop? Mmmmmmm Nacho’s, hot dogs, Slurpees. Seriously…can we stop?
Irishred reaches to the dash and grabs a Zippo lighter. With a flick of his wrist a flame jumps from the lighter and his cigar is lit. After inhaling deeply Irishred looks at his partner.
IR: Sure kid…why not.
Interstate 15 is packed with cars making the run from Vegas to LA. A huge 1976 Cadillac El Dorado moves its way among the pack of cars. It’s a car meant to own the road. The image cuts to a camera mounted on the dash of the car. In the passenger seat we see the current A1E World Champion James Irish leaned back with his bare feet resting on the dash. Mr. Irish is decked out in a Harrah’s Casino Complimentary T-shirt. Driving the beast on wheels is Irishred. Red has an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth. He is in his usual casual attire. Passed out in the backseat is James’ advisor Erin Flannagan. Erin has seen better days. She is covered in fast food wrappers. Coin cups from various casinos are littered around her in the huge backseat. James looks over at his partner in crime.
JI: Just look at the little angel back there. The gambling bug bit her right in the ass didn’t it. I can’t believe she went 36 hours straight on the slot machines. Hey what’s this do?
James pushes a button and the convertible top begins to fold down. Irishred reaches over and slaps James’ hand away and pushes the button again to raise the top. James pouts for a moment before reaching over and playing with the tuner knob on the radio. After a few moments of nothing but blurbs of music Irishred again reaches over and slaps James’ hand away and turns off the radio.
JI: Ouch! What do you do??
IR: Your short attention span is driving me crazier than this traffic. And if you keep quoting poorly translated video games, you're walking.
JI: ... I'll be good.
IR: Ladies and gentlemen allow me to introduce myself. I’m Eddie, the idiot next to me is Roger Rabbit and the little lass in the back is one Jessica Rabbit. For God’s sake Jimmy you make me want to get back on the pills. Calm yourself. We’ve got over two hundred miles to go yet and this is a rental. If you continue to irritate me you know I’m going to end up breaking something in the car, then Erin will wake up and then we’re both in trouble.
JI: Hey look at this…
James hand doesn’t even reach the newest object to attract his attention before a Billagio coin cup comes flying from the back seat and hits him square in the back of the head.
EF: For God’s sake keep your damn hands to yourself up there. I’m trying to get some sleep here!
IR: Now look what you did. Idiot…
JI: Well if you’re going to act like that maybe I will walk. I don’t think there’s any reason for name calling.
James slumps down in his seat as Irishred mutter to himself nearly biting through his cigar.
JI: So where are we headed again?
IR: Los Angeles James. We’re competing in the MCW invitational tag team tournament. We were invited to compete and we agreed.
JI: Oh yeah….and we’re fighting who?
IR: The Celtic Assassins.
JI: Why do they want to kill the Celtics? I mean I know they haven’t been great since the Larry Bird years but jeez…it just doesn’t make any sense to me to want to kill a whole NBA team.
IR: You really know nothing about sports do you Jimmy? The NBA team has a soft C sound at the start. While you were staring at the shiny lights in Vegas I was actually doing some research on our team. They’re nobodies…but angry nobodies. That’s dangerous in my book. They’ll be looking to make a name for themselves at our expense. We’re not going to let that happen now are we James.
The only reply that Irishred gets is the sound of the last bits of a 7-11 Big Gulp slurpee being sucked through a straw.
JI: Hey…we need to make another stop. I’m dry here.
IR: For Pete’s sake man…were you paying any attention at all to what I was saying?
JI: I heard the words and more my unshaven friend. Shall I recap?
IR: Oh please….I can’t wait for this.
JI: Well, for the record, when I was staring at the pretty lights, I was on Freemont Street. Those are pretty lights with an entertainment purpose... and a cheap-ass soundtrack. But, yes, angry nobodies. Angry men that hate Celtics that are looking to win this tournament. We’re not going to let this happen…more specifically I better not let this happen or you my violent traveling companion will beat me senseless and Erin back there will have me tarred and feathered yet again. Or at least that’s what I got out of it.
IR: Seriously…you don’t take any drugs at all?
Irishreds answer is a Whoosh of air as the passenger side window is suddenly down and James is hanging his head out the window.
JI: (Screaming) For the life of me I don’t get why dogs do this.
James is hit by a high heel repeatedly before getting the hint and rolling the window back up.
JI: Besides... with our names, we might get killed. I mean "Irishred and James Irish" against people who want to kill Celts?! That's like Monica Lewinsky at an anti-cigar rally!
IR: Point well taken. But we’re not going to let that happen are we James. We’re going to go in there and prove to the world why we were invited. We’re going to show the whole world why we are the best tag team in the world.
JI: Well technically we’re not a tag team. We’re more like two friends that happen to be in the same business and happen to be fighting together in this match and happen to wrestle for a couple of the same federations and have a very storied past together…in fact you tried to kill me the first time we met…really…you not only beat me up you stole my wallet…sure that’s all behind us now…but you never did say I’m sorry for that…I do have feelings you know…
IR: Jesus…breathe. What I don't get is why you weren’t this unfocused and... weird while I was in rehab?
JI: It's either talk crazy, or go crazy. Take your pick.
IR: Point to the defense. Oh…and for the record I’m sorry. You know how I get when I’m angry and trying to prove a point.
JI: Hey man…I understand. Frankly I’d rather have you crabby in the matches anyway. I mean I know the real you…I know how much you care…
EF: For God’s sake if you two hug I’m going to throw up.
JI and IR: Shut up back there!
JI: Hey look it’s a 7-11. Can we stop? Can we? Huh? Please? Please? Let’s stop? Mmmmmmm Nacho’s, hot dogs, Slurpees. Seriously…can we stop?
Irishred reaches to the dash and grabs a Zippo lighter. With a flick of his wrist a flame jumps from the lighter and his cigar is lit. After inhaling deeply Irishred looks at his partner.
IR: Sure kid…why not.
Ravager
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The Celtic Assassins. "The Irish Adonis" Bobby O'Brady. "The Scottish Wrecking Machine" Al Thoes. On a plane to Las Angeles to take part in the MCW Tag Team Invitational.
Thoes: So what's up with our opponents? The whole "Why do you want to assassinate Celtics"?
O'Brady: Well Al, they are using the tried and true method of making light of your opponents name. A well used psychological ploy, that even we have found useful on many occasions. remember Stiff Competition?
Thoes: Aye. Can't fault Irish and... Irish for that. But aren't you a bit concerned that people may get the wrong impression about us?
O'Brady: What are you talking about?
Thoes: Well, this is a whole new audience for us. What if they think we're killers of some sort.
O'Brady: Al you daft bugger, they'll think we're killers once they see us in the ring. You worry too much.
Thoes: Aye, you're probably right...
Pilot: (over intercom) Ladies and gentlemen. We are experiencing some mechanical difficulties. We are being forced to make a brief stopover in Boston to get this fixed.
Thoes: Boston? That's way off course for this trip....
O'Brady: I don't like the sounds of this...
Cut to inside Boston's airport. We see Al and Bobby with a grim look on their faces. A quick pan of the camera reveals why. Several officers from the Department of Homeland Security are waiting for them.
O'Brady: Is there a problem?
Officer #1: ( who happens to have a thick Boston accent )Only with people who seek to assassinate our beloved Celtics. Take em away!
Thoes: Can we just explain...
Officer #2: ( also a Bostonian ) Explain it to the guy with the rubber glove, "Assassin"!
Cut to Al Thoes walking out of a guarded room. He has a look of pain and a bit of shame on his face. Inside the room we can see an officer peeling off a pair of rubber gloves.
Cut to an interrogation room Bobby O'Brady explains his case.
O'Brady: ... So you see officers, our team name is a reflection of our Celtic culture, as well as a play on our rough and tough wrestling personas...
The officer holds up a picture of Larry Bird.
Officer #3: What are your feelings about his man?
O'Brady: He's got a big nose. Is he someone important?
There is an audible gasp in the room. The officer's eyes narrow as he glares at O'Brady.
Cut to O'Brady's luggage being looked through. He grimaces as his nail clippers are confiscated. He winces when his cough syrup is tossed out. And he nearly weeps when his Jewel CD case is ripped open, then the CD broken in half.
Cut to Thoes. He just stares straight ahead as his lawyer tries to clear things up.
Cut to several hours later. The Celtic Assassins are back on their plane.
O'Brady: (angrily stares at the camera) And to think, we were ready to keep things civil.
Thoes: James Irish. Irish Red. ... Oh boys, be ready for the Celtic Crushing of a lifetime.
Pilot (over intercom): Ladies an gentlemen, we're experiencing a slight delay. While we wait, please enjoy this complimentary screening of "The Santa Clause 3"
O'Brady: Urge to kill, rising...
Fade to Black.
Thoes: So what's up with our opponents? The whole "Why do you want to assassinate Celtics"?
O'Brady: Well Al, they are using the tried and true method of making light of your opponents name. A well used psychological ploy, that even we have found useful on many occasions. remember Stiff Competition?
Thoes: Aye. Can't fault Irish and... Irish for that. But aren't you a bit concerned that people may get the wrong impression about us?
O'Brady: What are you talking about?
Thoes: Well, this is a whole new audience for us. What if they think we're killers of some sort.
O'Brady: Al you daft bugger, they'll think we're killers once they see us in the ring. You worry too much.
Thoes: Aye, you're probably right...
Pilot: (over intercom) Ladies and gentlemen. We are experiencing some mechanical difficulties. We are being forced to make a brief stopover in Boston to get this fixed.
Thoes: Boston? That's way off course for this trip....
O'Brady: I don't like the sounds of this...
Cut to inside Boston's airport. We see Al and Bobby with a grim look on their faces. A quick pan of the camera reveals why. Several officers from the Department of Homeland Security are waiting for them.
O'Brady: Is there a problem?
Officer #1: ( who happens to have a thick Boston accent )Only with people who seek to assassinate our beloved Celtics. Take em away!
Thoes: Can we just explain...
Officer #2: ( also a Bostonian ) Explain it to the guy with the rubber glove, "Assassin"!
Cut to Al Thoes walking out of a guarded room. He has a look of pain and a bit of shame on his face. Inside the room we can see an officer peeling off a pair of rubber gloves.
Cut to an interrogation room Bobby O'Brady explains his case.
O'Brady: ... So you see officers, our team name is a reflection of our Celtic culture, as well as a play on our rough and tough wrestling personas...
The officer holds up a picture of Larry Bird.
Officer #3: What are your feelings about his man?
O'Brady: He's got a big nose. Is he someone important?
There is an audible gasp in the room. The officer's eyes narrow as he glares at O'Brady.
Cut to O'Brady's luggage being looked through. He grimaces as his nail clippers are confiscated. He winces when his cough syrup is tossed out. And he nearly weeps when his Jewel CD case is ripped open, then the CD broken in half.
Cut to Thoes. He just stares straight ahead as his lawyer tries to clear things up.
Cut to several hours later. The Celtic Assassins are back on their plane.
O'Brady: (angrily stares at the camera) And to think, we were ready to keep things civil.
Thoes: James Irish. Irish Red. ... Oh boys, be ready for the Celtic Crushing of a lifetime.
Pilot (over intercom): Ladies an gentlemen, we're experiencing a slight delay. While we wait, please enjoy this complimentary screening of "The Santa Clause 3"
O'Brady: Urge to kill, rising...
Fade to Black.
JIrish780
League Member
Shot of a cloudy sky...
Voice 1: This is all your fault.
Voice 2: My fault? All I touched was the steering wheel, the clutch and the ignition! I barely had any chance to hit the gas!
Voice 2: Well, you have no idea how to handle a beauty like this, do you, Mr. "I only drive fuel-efficient cars"?
Pan down to find the '76 El Dorado with it's hood up, and smoke is coming out of the engine. James Irish and Irishred are standing beside it, while a visibly upset Erin Flanagan is in the background having a very pointed conversation on her cell phone. Right now she'd put the fear of God into an atheist. Numerous cars drive by, with nobody wanting to help.
JI: Well, at least now you can agree with me it was a bad idea to have her be the one to talk to the rental people, right?
IR: Yeah, I'll agree to that. Listen, we're still going to make it to our match on time so long as the rental firm gets their crap in gear. So tell me, for a minute here, James. Did you have anything to do with our opponents getting arrested by those two Bostonian police?
JI: No! For goodness sakes, I take my jokes pretty far, but wasting police money on something as silly as that? I'd sooner turn myself in for doing bad impressions. You know that's illegal in Branson.
IR: You're... okay, I'm going to just let that one slide.
Another car drives by, and we hear a slight thud as it passes.
JI: Now, on a somewhat more serious note, the Celtic Assassins did say one thing that stuck out to me. They're "accustomed" to winning. And you know what that really says? That their usual opponents must typically be pushovers, at least compared to them. But I think they'll find considerably more difficult-
James stops short, and sniffs the air.
JI: Uh-oh. I better get the clothespins.
IR: Clothespins? Now what are you up to?
JI: Code "Loudon Wainright III."
IR: What the hell is-
Red takes a whiff, and blanches.
IR: Oh. That.
JI: Yup. Dead skunk. In the middle of the road. And, yes it's stinking to high heaven. That must be what that "thud" sound was.
IR: Great. Now I'm stuck with skunk stink while having to listen to you talk strategy.
JI: Well, I'm serious (for once), because let's face it. These two guys seem like the most straightforward wrestlers I've encountered in a long time. Their personalities sparkle like a pile of rubber bands. I will give them this, though, they stared down adversity right in the face, and didn't flinch. There's not a damn thing wrong with being straightforward if you know what you're doing and do it well enough. I'd love to see if these guys are up to that standard.
IR: Now you're making sense. I don't know if that means I've been hanging around you too long, or if your craziness wears off after a while.
JI: Hey, I was hopped up on sugar and in a confined space. What did you expect from me?
IR: Well, I just know this can't get any worse.
The sound of thunder is heard in the background.
IR: I just had to say it.
JI: Well, on the bright side, it might make the skunk stench less offensive.
The two hurry into the car for shelter as the first drops of rain begin, while Erin makes her own beeline to the same. Fade out.
Voice 1: This is all your fault.
Voice 2: My fault? All I touched was the steering wheel, the clutch and the ignition! I barely had any chance to hit the gas!
Voice 2: Well, you have no idea how to handle a beauty like this, do you, Mr. "I only drive fuel-efficient cars"?
Pan down to find the '76 El Dorado with it's hood up, and smoke is coming out of the engine. James Irish and Irishred are standing beside it, while a visibly upset Erin Flanagan is in the background having a very pointed conversation on her cell phone. Right now she'd put the fear of God into an atheist. Numerous cars drive by, with nobody wanting to help.
JI: Well, at least now you can agree with me it was a bad idea to have her be the one to talk to the rental people, right?
IR: Yeah, I'll agree to that. Listen, we're still going to make it to our match on time so long as the rental firm gets their crap in gear. So tell me, for a minute here, James. Did you have anything to do with our opponents getting arrested by those two Bostonian police?
JI: No! For goodness sakes, I take my jokes pretty far, but wasting police money on something as silly as that? I'd sooner turn myself in for doing bad impressions. You know that's illegal in Branson.
IR: You're... okay, I'm going to just let that one slide.
Another car drives by, and we hear a slight thud as it passes.
JI: Now, on a somewhat more serious note, the Celtic Assassins did say one thing that stuck out to me. They're "accustomed" to winning. And you know what that really says? That their usual opponents must typically be pushovers, at least compared to them. But I think they'll find considerably more difficult-
James stops short, and sniffs the air.
JI: Uh-oh. I better get the clothespins.
IR: Clothespins? Now what are you up to?
JI: Code "Loudon Wainright III."
IR: What the hell is-
Red takes a whiff, and blanches.
IR: Oh. That.
JI: Yup. Dead skunk. In the middle of the road. And, yes it's stinking to high heaven. That must be what that "thud" sound was.
IR: Great. Now I'm stuck with skunk stink while having to listen to you talk strategy.
JI: Well, I'm serious (for once), because let's face it. These two guys seem like the most straightforward wrestlers I've encountered in a long time. Their personalities sparkle like a pile of rubber bands. I will give them this, though, they stared down adversity right in the face, and didn't flinch. There's not a damn thing wrong with being straightforward if you know what you're doing and do it well enough. I'd love to see if these guys are up to that standard.
IR: Now you're making sense. I don't know if that means I've been hanging around you too long, or if your craziness wears off after a while.
JI: Hey, I was hopped up on sugar and in a confined space. What did you expect from me?
IR: Well, I just know this can't get any worse.
The sound of thunder is heard in the background.
IR: I just had to say it.
JI: Well, on the bright side, it might make the skunk stench less offensive.
The two hurry into the car for shelter as the first drops of rain begin, while Erin makes her own beeline to the same. Fade out.
- Status