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| Mr. Blond's erratic driving. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 10 2008, 04:08 PM (44 Views) | |
| Poirot | Apr 10 2008, 04:08 PM Post #1 |
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[When we last left our dynamic duo - Blake Orange and Mr. Blond, they had left Blake's film studio office after talking about El Lumberjacko gave Mr. Blond an insatiable craving for maple syrup and pancakes.] [We star-wipe open to Blake's silver Porsche driving rather franticly through the heavy Uncasville traffic. Our point of vision is from the back seat and our cameraman is having a hard time keeping the shot steady and focused. Blake Orange is sitting in the passenger seat yelling and screaming things like "Watch out Blond!" and "I don't want to die!". In the driver's seat, regretabley, is Mr. Blond with one hand on the wheel and the other laid back on his seat, his quiff blowing wildly in the wind. Blond is speeding his way through the traffic making very furious and sharp handbrake turns, and has just about managed to colide with a everything in the road on the way up to town such as a fruit stall, fire hydrant, two men carrying a sheet of glass across the street and a big stack of empty cardboard boxes! Eventually we see the title of the building which reads Chris and Ian's House of Pancakes. Blond puts his foot down on the breaks - hard - causing Blake to panic and close his eyes as the car comes to a screetching hault, catching the attention of a few pedestrians. Our cameraman breathes a sigh of relief as Blond combs his quiff back into place.] Cameraman: Christ... who taught you to drive? Mr. Blond: Mah daddy used tuh take me aht in 'is truck back home in Dixee an' we used tuh see how menee tahms we could get it tuh flip! Hur hur! [Blake has only just recovered from this traumatic journey downtown.] Blake Orange: Blond - this is why I didn't want you driving us down here, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt and what do I get!? Your insane NASCAR driving nearly got us killed back there in the docks with that Dukes of Hazzard flip we did! Mr. Blond: Rulax boss, ah done it plentee o' tahms with Mistur Tanaka. This one tahm we gots so tanked up on moonshan-- Blake Orange: Silence. Just get out of the car. And I'm driving us back to the office. [Blake opens his door and steps out and is nearly ploughed over by a passing bus that speeds past him. Blake's eyes widen and he decides it would be safer to stand on the sidewalk. Blake and Blond enter Chris and Ian's House of Pancakes followed by our cameraman who again for some reasons unknown, is documenting all this. They take a seat and are immediatley approached by the young redhed waitress.] Waitress: Welcome to Chris and Ian's House of Pancakes, can I take your order? Blake Orange: Now server, just give me three cinnamon pancakes to share between myself and my friend who is filming us and Blond...? Mr Blond: Ah wan' fai'vuh pancakes... all wit' blue-berrehs. Waitress: And to drink? Cameraman: Coke please. Mr. Blond: Moonshan. Blake Orange: Mineral water. An expensive one. [The girl disapears as Blake looks around the room, sizing everybody up and then sits back, relaxed. Blond has pulled out a cigar and has his feet up on the table and head back. Blake is reading the menu and frowns when he reads the words "Banana Pancake" for some reason unbeknownst even to himself.] Blake Orange: Banana Pancake... where have I heard that recently? [Blond simply shrugs and takes another puff from his cigar as Blake impatiently waits for his pancakes to arrive.] Blake Orange: Ah this place, seems like just the sort of hole that my second opponent for this week would believe to be a paradise. Just look Blond, an endless suply of maple syrup and pancakes for him to glutton himself on, a 'nice' dining area for the next time he has a date, possibley with a church organ, there's plenty of big oak trees outside so he can get his jollies away chopping with his axe all day, and if you think about it, we're almost close enough to the Canadian border for a desperate man to catch a quick coach over if he so desires, eh? [Blake lets out a laugh at his own joke, he's been watching South Park almost non-stop since he got out of prison.] Blake Orange: Ah, oh dear, sometimes I do amuse myself. But it's not like I don't have the inspiration, what with Rufus Ruffkut and Noah of Wicklow as opponents, I can afford myself a good laugh at their expense. But I mustn't under estimate them, that's a mistake I won't make. I've seen some of El Lumberjacko's previous matches and the man may have a screw loose but he knows how to put the pressure on a person and make his opponent do all the hard work. I admire that in him, I do, but it's going to do him no good this week. His in-ring mindgames may work on a moron like Priest but against the genius mind that is Blake Orange, those games won't work on me my flannel wearing friend. He's going to have to work harder to get anything out of me. [The waitress arrives with a tray with everybody's drinks balanced on top. The cameraman grabs his can of coke, Blake is handed a glass or crystal clear water, and Mr. Blonde reaches for the large jug with "XXX" on the side and swigs heartily from it. Blake continues his analysis of his opponents.] Blake Orange: Priest on the other hand is a different game. To be honest there's not a lot of difference between Priest and myself as far as our bodies are concerned. We're both the same height, similar weights and close in age. However that's where the similarities end. Priest and I have completely different mindsets. I've already been over how Priest expends far too much of his limited brain power on worshipping a millenia old being that apparantly created men from soil and women from bones. Priest is not taking into account his old nagging injuries. Night after night this man climbs the top turnbuckle and performs amazing aerial strikes. Corkscrews, Planchas, Topes, Moonsaults, the works. What Priest isn't smart enough to realise is that these moves will take their toll on even the youngest of wrestlers, nevermind a man who is aged and has many injuries. Now I myself perform a spectacular moonsault that has finshed off many tenacious opponents of mine... [Blond looks up, moonshine in hand, about to protest but thinks better of it.] Blake Orange: ...but I am in much better shape than Priest. I don't have the nagging injuries he has and I use my aerial attacks in moderation, unlike Priest who seems to think he passed a pilot's exam and can freefall from twenty-thousand feet. [Blake pauses and takes a sip of his water before continuing.] Blake Orange: So both of them, Priest and El Lumberjacko are going to be relying on speed and aerial attacks. So what I propose I do, my dear Mr. Blond, is let them have their little dog fight. It's almost metaphorical - I'll let the Royal Canadian Air Force battle it out with the Irish Air Corps and then when both sides are too weak to attack anymore, I'll bring the battle straight to the ground and put a stop to their childish flying about. And with Mr. Blond refereeing the match fairly and with not a single sniff of bias towards either me, or my dimwitted opponents, this will be a spectacular match to add under my victories column. [The waitress arrives with the pancakes and places them down on the table.] Blake Orange: Turn that off now, it's time to eat. [Star-wipe out.] |
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2:34 PM Jul 11