Post by M BISON on Oct 13, 2015 3:18:37 GMT -4
"Heheheh... I've finally done it!"
A demented voice with a slight Southern twang echoes in a dark basement, a door opening and shedding some light in the room. Matthew Oliveira and Bryan Breme stand bewildered in the doorway, confused as to what their heavily-drinking commentary colleague for this trip to the Philippines is up to now.
MD: "I was hoping you'd arrive."
Matt: "What's going on here?"
Bryan: "Yeah, we have to get to the arena, Rob. Let's go."
"...I've done it."
Dragon's glasses glimmer in the darkness, his hair disheveled and his clothes dirty due to tireless work on one of his usual antics. The days of running with him in such juvenile actions are gone for Matt and Bryan, although their curiosity prevents them from simply ditching the Man of Golden Words.
"They said I could never do it. I'll be a general manager again for sure!"
"What did you do? And why is that dog wearing a wig and armbands?"
"Goddamnit, Rob..."
The door opens ever so slightly more, shedding light on a white dog with a shaggy black wig on its head. The canine's front paws bear "paw-less" gloves, one green and one purple, with barely legible writing of "SOLID CORE" on them.
"I've finally made a dog that can wrestle! Here, let me show you! Dogimir, that person over there, that's Matthew!"
Dog: "Matthew... genius. Hardcore Genius Matthew."
Oliveira's eyes go wide with shock, not believing that MD actually speaks the truth. The animal's low and somewhat creepy voice permeates the basement.
"Fuck Matthew. Fuck fuck fuck."
The Canadian sighs and looks at his former tag team partner.
"Dude, we have shit to do and you look like you haven't showered since the last show."
"I HAVEN'T! DON'T YOU SEE?!"
"Rob... when was the last time you were general manager of a wrestling show?"
"Around... 6 years ago."
"And when was the last time you made a promo that was topical, well-spoken, or even remotely worth putting on TV?"
"...6 years ago."
Without hesitation, the still-human KULT member grabs the Tennessean by the throat and forces him into the wall, the lighter man's body crashing into the wooden structure of the basement. Vlad-Dog walks over to Breme and begins sniffing his shoes for a few brief seconds, but his attention is then drawn to the booming voice of the angry Canadian.
"YOU CALLED US HERE FOR THIS? FIRST A MAID THAT YOU TRICKED INTO PASSING OUT IN YOUR HOTEL ROOM SHOWER, NOW A TALKING DOG WITH A FOUL MOUTH? THIS TRIP TO THE PHILIPPINES WAS SUPPOSED TO BE RELAXING, SAVE FOR SOME WORK. NOW WE'RE BABYSITTING YOUR ASS."
"Fuck off, Matthew. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cunt."
"I'm so sorry, buddy. We'll get these gloves off of you."
The Commonwealth pats the dog on the head, comforting the frightened pup while sense is punched into MD one fist at a time by his other long-time friend.
"I'll finally be a general manager again..."
"Like hell you will! You kill every federation you run!"
Matt puts his prey down, who slinks away bloodied. The two more sane members of Stone Orchard leave in a huff.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The scene changes to Dragon's hotel room, where he sits next to the Romanian dog, holding a glass of scotch in his hand, most likely not his first of the evening.
"You know, dog... you are the best dog ever. Why doesn't anyone think my talking dog is cool? They suck. They suck. But we... we're bros."
MD pets the dog, but suddenly Reverend Vortigern bursts through the door.
"Dragon, what are you doing?"
"I'm just hanging out with my talking dog."
"Get back to work."
"No."
"You leave me no choice. I'll just drag you there."
The evil minister produces a taser in a split-second and jolts the 2008 H-Games Winner with it, sending him to the floor instantly. The dog whimpers, then slowly steps over to Dragon and begins sniffing his owner's hand. The dog then speaks one more time, addressing Vortigern.
"Fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, fuck your snot nosed bastard sons, fuck your cunt daughters and fuck your jackass elderly who can't learn to drive a car over 5 miles a goddamned ice age. It's okay to put the gas down a bit, gramps, god knows you were 20 when you pulled out of the driveway. Anyhow, the point here isn't to bash old people. If I wanted to piss off Mr. Magoo, I'd go to a nursing home and slip viagra's into the medical cups and see if grandpa can get his wrinkled ass out of bed now that he's got a kickstand."
"Okay dog, you can go home now. Is that a tape recorder on your collar?"
The scene cuts to outside of the hotel, where the red-robed clergyman leaves the premises.
"God, Metal Dragon, you piss me off."
End of Thread
A demented voice with a slight Southern twang echoes in a dark basement, a door opening and shedding some light in the room. Matthew Oliveira and Bryan Breme stand bewildered in the doorway, confused as to what their heavily-drinking commentary colleague for this trip to the Philippines is up to now.
MD: "I was hoping you'd arrive."
Matt: "What's going on here?"
Bryan: "Yeah, we have to get to the arena, Rob. Let's go."
"...I've done it."
Dragon's glasses glimmer in the darkness, his hair disheveled and his clothes dirty due to tireless work on one of his usual antics. The days of running with him in such juvenile actions are gone for Matt and Bryan, although their curiosity prevents them from simply ditching the Man of Golden Words.
"They said I could never do it. I'll be a general manager again for sure!"
"What did you do? And why is that dog wearing a wig and armbands?"
"Goddamnit, Rob..."
The door opens ever so slightly more, shedding light on a white dog with a shaggy black wig on its head. The canine's front paws bear "paw-less" gloves, one green and one purple, with barely legible writing of "SOLID CORE" on them.
"I've finally made a dog that can wrestle! Here, let me show you! Dogimir, that person over there, that's Matthew!"
Dog: "Matthew... genius. Hardcore Genius Matthew."
Oliveira's eyes go wide with shock, not believing that MD actually speaks the truth. The animal's low and somewhat creepy voice permeates the basement.
"Fuck Matthew. Fuck fuck fuck."
The Canadian sighs and looks at his former tag team partner.
"Dude, we have shit to do and you look like you haven't showered since the last show."
"I HAVEN'T! DON'T YOU SEE?!"
"Rob... when was the last time you were general manager of a wrestling show?"
"Around... 6 years ago."
"And when was the last time you made a promo that was topical, well-spoken, or even remotely worth putting on TV?"
"...6 years ago."
Without hesitation, the still-human KULT member grabs the Tennessean by the throat and forces him into the wall, the lighter man's body crashing into the wooden structure of the basement. Vlad-Dog walks over to Breme and begins sniffing his shoes for a few brief seconds, but his attention is then drawn to the booming voice of the angry Canadian.
"YOU CALLED US HERE FOR THIS? FIRST A MAID THAT YOU TRICKED INTO PASSING OUT IN YOUR HOTEL ROOM SHOWER, NOW A TALKING DOG WITH A FOUL MOUTH? THIS TRIP TO THE PHILIPPINES WAS SUPPOSED TO BE RELAXING, SAVE FOR SOME WORK. NOW WE'RE BABYSITTING YOUR ASS."
"Fuck off, Matthew. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cunt."
"I'm so sorry, buddy. We'll get these gloves off of you."
The Commonwealth pats the dog on the head, comforting the frightened pup while sense is punched into MD one fist at a time by his other long-time friend.
"I'll finally be a general manager again..."
"Like hell you will! You kill every federation you run!"
Matt puts his prey down, who slinks away bloodied. The two more sane members of Stone Orchard leave in a huff.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The scene changes to Dragon's hotel room, where he sits next to the Romanian dog, holding a glass of scotch in his hand, most likely not his first of the evening.
"You know, dog... you are the best dog ever. Why doesn't anyone think my talking dog is cool? They suck. They suck. But we... we're bros."
MD pets the dog, but suddenly Reverend Vortigern bursts through the door.
"Dragon, what are you doing?"
"I'm just hanging out with my talking dog."
"Get back to work."
"No."
"You leave me no choice. I'll just drag you there."
The evil minister produces a taser in a split-second and jolts the 2008 H-Games Winner with it, sending him to the floor instantly. The dog whimpers, then slowly steps over to Dragon and begins sniffing his owner's hand. The dog then speaks one more time, addressing Vortigern.
"Fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, fuck your snot nosed bastard sons, fuck your cunt daughters and fuck your jackass elderly who can't learn to drive a car over 5 miles a goddamned ice age. It's okay to put the gas down a bit, gramps, god knows you were 20 when you pulled out of the driveway. Anyhow, the point here isn't to bash old people. If I wanted to piss off Mr. Magoo, I'd go to a nursing home and slip viagra's into the medical cups and see if grandpa can get his wrinkled ass out of bed now that he's got a kickstand."
"Okay dog, you can go home now. Is that a tape recorder on your collar?"
The scene cuts to outside of the hotel, where the red-robed clergyman leaves the premises.
"God, Metal Dragon, you piss me off."
End of Thread
