Take Me to Your Dealer

.[Forward]. I have heard... Nothing. From anyone, really. Anyone that matters. Dirk Phoenix has spoken up about his match on Action. Oh joy. If I ever have to listen to something that pathetic again i’ll be tempted to shoot myself. Or him, one of the two. But, i’m not just gonna sit here and pick on Phoenix because he’s an idiot. I have better things to do. Like... Sit and stare. And I have nothing left to say... So that is what I shall do. .[take me to your dealer]. .[..its for my glaucoma. i swear..]. SCENE: School Gym DATE: October 1st, 2004 TIME: 5:52 P.M. LOCATION: San Diego, California The scene fades in to a familiar woman, sitting on the floor of a school gymnasium and solemnly staring at a flat burrito. Next to her is a latino man with long black hair, tied back in a ponytail. He's wearing a long black trench coat, along with black pants and an Ozzy Osbourne t-shirt. He's sitting with a blank look, clicking his lighter on and off while occasionally muttering something about nazis. Jalie Thomas: Dude, what’s burning? Adrian Feras I DIDN'T DO IT GOD DAMNIT! Adrian pauses, then reaches in his pocket. He cringes, then pulls out a Barbie doll head. The hair is lit on fire and melting in his hand. He tosses it to the floor and smiles. Adrian Feras: I knew i'd find you someday, my pretty. Jalie Thomas: You are one sick, twisted fucker. Adrian Feras: Me or him? Jalie Thomas: Who's him? Or do I even wanna know? Finally, Jalie pauses and glances up at the cameraman. Jalie Thomas: May I ask how the fuck you got past the alarms? Camera Dude: Magic. Adrian Feras: Dun, dun, DUN! He reaches in his pocket then pulls out a magical Ozzy Osbourne bobble head pen. He wiggles it, and Gary Coleman appears, looking pissed. Gary Coleman: Watchu talkin’ bout Ozzy?! Jalie Thomas: Damn... I needs to get me one a those... The little man kicks the magical camera dude in the shin, before disappearing into thin air. Or thick air. Who's to say airs thin? Anyway, yeah... Magical Camera Dude: Yeah, you have a match. With that wrestling thing I work for. Remember? Rico Suave? Meh, it doesn't sound cool when I say it. He shrugs. Jalie stares at him blankly. Suddenly she snatches (haha, i said snatch) the magical bobble head pen from him and shakes it. An alien appears, holding a lighter. Alien: Take me to your dealer. Jalie reaches down, grabs the alien, and takes off out the door. She then runs back in, grabs her burrito, then runs back out. Adrian slowly and casually gathers his lighter, matches, and six pocketknives setting on the ground beside them. He places them all in their secret compartment in his coat, then suddenly runs out the door. .Dos. The scene fades in to a darkened bedroom. Before we go any further- GET YOUR FUCKING MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER! Now, we see Jalie, lying across the bed in her pajamas, a pair of red plaid boxers, and a faded Ozzy Osbourne t-shirt. She's stretched out sideways, her leg twitching on occasion. As for which leg, well, it's random. But for the sake of being grammatically correct, we would still explain it in singular form, since only one leg is twitching at a time. See, there's another one. We glance to the left as the bedroom door swings open. In walks Seth Thomas, carrying a package of cookies and two glasses of milk. He sets them on the dresser and moves over to the windows, throwing the curtains back. He heads over to the bed and sits down, smiling as he gently shakes Jalie in a feeble attempt to wake her. Finally he shakes a little harder, but this only results in turning her over to her back. He leans down over her. Seth Thomas: FIRE! Jalie's leg twitches as she continues sleeping peacefully. Seth sits back and strokes his chin. His eyes light up in one of those "OH!" expressions. He stands up, keeping a fair distance. Seth Thomas: LLAMA! Jalie leaps from the bed, screaming, and dives underneath it. From the look on Seth's face we can come to the conclusion that he now feels like a complete asshole. He kneels down and looks under the bed, coming nose to nose with a wide-eyed Jalie. He kisses her on the tip of the nose, before helping her out from under the bed. Jalie Thomas: What was that for?! I was having a kickass dream... With Gary Coleman! Seth Thomas: Ehh... Thank you? Jalie looks at him as if he’s insane and kicks him in the shin. Seth Thomas: Ow, damnit... Peace. I come bearing cookies. Jalie glares at him and clambers over the bed to grab the cookies off the dresser. Jalie Thomas: I’m gonna microwave ‘em. She hops off the bed and heads downstairs into the kitchen, Seth following. Once inside we see Adrian, the guy from the dream, asleep on the kitchen counter. Jalie opens the microwave and throws her cookies in before slamming it shut and waking him. Jalie Thomas: Morning! She throws the curtains back from the window over the sink as Adrian hisses. Adrian Feras: If you’re going to torture me with light, at least feed me. Jalie reaches in a cabinet and throws an open box of Pop Tarts at him. Jalie Thomas: You don’t even buy groceries. What good are you, woman? How long are you in town for anyway? Adrian Feras: Couple weeks. I wanna get the feel of California again before Taryn and I decide to move down here. The whole gothic circus thing is getting a little old. Seth Thomas: Where is Taryn? She’s your fiancee, I thought she would have come with you. You guys fighting? Adrian Feras: Nah, she’s back in New Orleans with her girlfriend for a while. They wanted some quality time together to... Bond and understand their love for each other. Some lesbian sappy shit.. I don’t know. First things first, though. I need to see if there’s even work up here. Every hospital needs a good mortician. Adrian grabs the last Pop Tart and heads out of the kitchen as the scene fades. .[Action - 10/02/04]. ...Suave Jonez. Why so quiet? Recognize defeat? No... Surely not. You wouldn’t recognize defeat if it slapped you on the ass. Because if you could, you would have recognized it the moment you pissed me off. But you just couldn’t let it end that easily. You should have bowed out gracefully when you had the fucking chance. Now, you drag me into this match only to completely disappear? Silly little man. Now you look like a jackass. What the hell is there left to say about you? The fact that, as of yet, you’ve no-showed? Thus showing you have little respect for me or the business. As for respecting me, that bit I could give a shit less about. Because I don’t respect you... And respect is earned. You haven’t earned anything so far. Not a goddamn thing and you walk around proclaiming yourself ‘the personification of greatness’. Talk about an overstatement. You have to earn your dues in this business, boy. You have to show that you care and put in effort. The fact that the ‘Harlem Shaka’ trained you means NOTHING. And you know why? Because he fucking sucked too. He had aspirations of becoming the world champion. Chyeah, right. He couldn’t even get his hands on the fucking Primetime title. You have no room to talk, whatsoever. So why bother? Fin.