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| Drinking and musing.; With Willow and Garbonzo! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 13 2009, 09:33 AM (34 Views) | |
| Minister Wighty | Feb 13 2009, 09:33 AM Post #1 |
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Opossum Queen of FIW
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Smoke and rabble. They're the two things most prevalent in this bar scene, certainly not the first this week... maybe even not the last. We pan across a bunch of beardy scotsmen (and perhaps one skirt-wearing fag-stealing jew... when IS that holiday? Marchish?) and finally rest one one who isn't so beardy and is definitely not scottish. He's joined by a biker with a blonde moustache, a black pug, and a blonde, dreadlocked chick. Graver: Defeat. He snorts and downs a shot of whisky that appears to be very dark in color. He takes a puff off the cigar in-between his fingers, exhaling smoke. Graver: Always stings, y'know? The biker nods, the lady just looks a little bored. She eyes the biker and raises an eyebrow. Willow: How long's he gonna act like this? Garbanzo: Usually lasts about an hour. He'll get all introspective and mean... then he's back to normal, y'know? Graver toys with his glass a bit, oblivious to his friends at the table. Graver: I mean, it's bad enough to lose... but just like the last time I had a shot at the title... I got snookered out of it by a cheating sonofabitch. Yeah, the irony's delicious. It's fuckin' ripe. Laugh it up, all you fuckin' naysayers... I'll be here when you're done. He goes back to his cigar as Willow mops her face and looks as bored as humanly possible. Willow: Well... jeeze, I hope he hurries it up. I was expecting crazy drunken antics. Topless dancing and shit. Garbonzo: Yeah, I was lookin' forward to seein' yer boobies myself. But ya gotta give the big guy time to adjust. He takes this shit kinda hard. Garbonzo begins stacking old shot glasses to create a little tower and Graver is still ignoring them as much as he can, going on his little rant. Graver: All done? Got it all out of your system? ... good. Now I'm gonna toss this out right now 'cuz I feel like movin' on. Management would be fuckin' blind to not see that I was cheated out of my title... and I didn't cheat or defy luck or anything like that to get where I was. So I'll get my second chance. I'll get the opportunity I deserve. I'm not hurting over it... but Prime will be. The sexy little waitress comes by with her cleaveage spilling out and drops off a new round of shots. Everybody downs them with an exhale, Willow pounding her head softly against the table before just burying it in her arms. Graver: Now let's talk about this match this week... y'know, the one that's such an "honor" to be in. Fuck that noise. Why's it an honor if there's nothing good on the line? Pride? Fancy pants retaining systems? None of that. Just a buncha douchebags I may or may not have kicked the shit out of in the past. Whoopie fuckin' doo. Nothing to gain in this match... so ah, I'm probably the least likely guy to win, right? The camera pans away from his compatriots for a moment to focus on the Hardcore Fuckamaniac himself. He shrugs, thought not as much as Tier would around a certain ex-girlfriend of his... Graver: Meh. Could go any way, honestly. I reckon Drake or Seen (sic) could take the match on a sudden pinfall. Or perhaps pancakeface could come outta nowhere and surprise us all by stealing my old "homeless" gimmick, hm? No, I know it wasn't actually his gimmick, dammit. I'm the one who wrote it. He's being funny. About Chip. Ask Hitchen; it's a hoot. Graver: And let's not count out Kooshie Nigga-hater. Racism aside, Yeti-boy's one of the greatest wrestlers I've had the priviledge of chillin' with in this fed. My money's on him... He thinks about it for a moment. Graver: ... or Drake. I'm sure all this talk Madrox is giving about him being a loser is just as false as his nickname. The "Mile High Madman". More like the "Regular-Sized Reasonable Guy"... That was funny, but not enough to laugh. So go ahead, have yourself an inside snicker. Graver: ... or it could be me, too. Y'know. Rage an' skill an' whatnot. I'll be honest with ya, I'm a little tired of tooting my own horn. So much so that I'm kinda on the verge of forming a little... coalition of the willing. A smirk forms on our should-be champion's lips. Graver: ... but we'll talk about that later. Let's just say I'm gonna start making notes on some specific names... and a few of 'em are in my match. We pan back to see that the dog has been delivered a plate of chili fries, and Garbonzo has constructed a very accurate replica of the Washington Monument out of shotglasses and sugar packets. Graver: So! Who's up for getting toasted and painting the town gray? Willow: FINALLY! We fade as Graver's only strictly off-limits female friend begins tearing off her top, much to the chagrin of your masturbating hand, I'm sure. |
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12:57 AM Jul 11