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| Monthly Visitor; A Big Country Promotion | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 15 2010, 07:36 PM (46 Views) | |
| aaaantoine | Jul 15 2010, 07:36 PM Post #1 |
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What it is.
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The scene opens in another hotel room. A flashy looking one. Ritzy hotel, and our next show is in Vegas? Draw your own logical conclusion. Our protagonist -- er, sorry; our Fighting Spirit Champion -- "Big Country" Rick Nuller stands at the foot of his bed, wearing a pair of boxers and a white tank top shirt, while an old friend makes his entrance holding a large metal briefcase in his left hand. Dr. Valhalla: Well well, Ricky! Long time no see! What's it been? A month? Big Country: About a month. The two men shake hands and smile at each other. Dr. Valhalla: And it's that time again. So... Let's get physical! Rick's smile quickly goes away. Dr. Valhalla: ...Get it? Get Physical? Get... your... physical? Big Country: Not the best joke I heard this summer... Dr. Valhalla: Eh. The doc waves off Rick like he doesn't know what he's talking about. Dr. Valhalla: You must not be a fan of Olivia Newton John. Ah well, your loss. Let's just get started, then. Big Country: Well all right. The sooner we get it done, the sooner I can go back to trainin'. Dr. Valhalla: Yeah, I know how it works. I hear you got a title defense coming up. Big Country: Tha's right. Reginald puts his massive briefcase down on the table, opens it up, and starts pulling out some rather expensive looking equipment, while Rick sits on the edge of his bed. Dr. Valhalla: Good, good. That'll keep you on your toes. What's the guy's name again? Ruflow Hardass? Big Country: Rufus Harlowe. Dr. Valhalla: Right, right. The doc pulls his more portable first aid bag from the briefcase, and out from that, he pulls a stethoscope. Dr. Valhalla: You hate 'im? Rick stares straight ahead, and after a short pause while the doc rifles through his equipment, Rick answers concisely. Big Country: I do. Doc turns around and looks at Rick. Dr. Valhalla: It helps. You're not gonna beat the crap outta somebody you like. He straps on a pair of rubber gloves while Rick sits silent, appearing to be deep in thought. Dr. Valhalla: Alright, I'm just going to do the usual. You got your piss for me? Big Country: Mhm. Dr. Valhalla: Where? Rick points to the far wall, and on top of the dresser there sits a short glass, filled about an inch high with some dark-looking urine. The doc turns around and pulls his head back as he sees it. Dr. Valhalla: Oh, s***! That's piss? I just thought you were having a morning drink or something. Big Country: Only water for me this week, doc. He gives Rick furrowed-brow glare. Dr. Valhalla: Look, it does you no good lying to me, Ricky. Your piss looks like apple cider. You expect me to believe you've been drinking water? Big Country: Well, I didn't say it was a lot a water. Dr. Valhalla: Hm. You best hydrate yourself, then. Now, as for this... The doc retrieves the glass with his rubber-sheathed hands, walks to the bathroom with it, and carefully transfers the contents of the glass to a sealable test tube over the bathroom sink. During which, he manages to catch a whiff of the contents of the glass and proceeds to blow air out of his mouth. Dr. Valhalla: Woo... That's piss alright. So, I'm gonna split the sample, get a preliminary test done local 'cause it's faster, then send the other half to my home office for more in depth processing. Sound fair? Big Country: Sure does. Dr. Valhalla: Good. Let's see about your pressure. Dr. Valhalla returns and hooks up a blood pressure strap to Rick's arm. He presses a button. The strap quickly binds around Rick's arm with a mechanical hum, then slowly releases with a steady stream of air. When it's finished, his eyes widen as he looks at the readout. Dr. Valhalla: [size0]...What the hell? Big Country: Somethin' wrong? Dr. Valhalla: Let's... Let's try this again, shall we? Must be a glitch, I'm sure of it. So, he repeats the process of checking Rick's blood pressure. He presses the button again, and lets it do its automated work. After it stops, the doc doesn't appear any less worried. His eyeballs spin to look at Rick, who in contrast looks as relaxed as ever. Dr. Valhalla: You said you stuck to your diet? Big Country: Yessir. Dr. Valhalla: My magic box says your blood pressure is through the roof. Big Country: Really. Dr. Valhalla: Here, lemme try the old-fashioned doohickey. Dr. V. reaches into his bag and pulls out a hand-pumped blood pressure device. Big Country: You sure like to avoid usin' technical names for such a seasoned professional. Dr. Valhalla: Yeah, well, it's part of the whole bedside manner deal. Dr. Valhalla wraps the old device around Rick's arm and tries a third time. Except this time, instead of the mechanical whir as the strap contracts, we hear ftt ftt ftt ftt ftt ftt... sssssssssssssssssssss. All the while, he has his stethoscope piece in the crook of Rick's elbow. Dr. Valhalla: S***. The numbers aren't lying, Rick. Quickly he puts the pump back into his bag. Big Country: How bad is it? Dr. Valhalla: Pretty bad. Damn near hypertension. Ricks eyes widen ever so slightly. Big Country: Oh. Dr. Valhalla: We gotta get this pressure lower down. If it's this high next week, I can't clear you to wrestle. Rick shoots up quickly from his spot on the bed. Dr. Valhalla takes a step back. Dr. Valhalla: ...And this is not how to do it. Big Country: I can't forfeit! They're jus' gonna hand off my belt to Rufus if I forfeit this late in the game. Doc sighs. Dr. Valhalla: See, we went over this. Thing is, your health is more important to you than your wrestling career. Do we agree? Rick hesitates. The doc senses what Rick is thinking and tries to sway his mind with a bit of angered emphasis and a sharp, rapid nod. Dr. Valhalla: Yeees? Rick hangs his head reluctantly. Big Country: Yes. Dr. Valhalla: And unless you're looking for heart attack number two, I can't let you wrestle with blood pressure this high. Look, I know how much you love your rasslin', but I can't in good conscience let you do it if I believe it's gonna kill you. Got it? Big Country: I got it, Reggie. Dr. Valhalla: Good. ...Hey, while you're up, hop on that scale over there, will ya? Rick picks his head up and waddles over to his scale. Do you remember the one I'm talking about? I wrote about it back in May? Made out of one big piece of tempered glass? Yeah, that one. He taps it with his foot, waits a moment for the numbers to stop flashing, and steps on. The doc looks down at the readout. Dr. Valhalla: Three eighty eight, huh? Hitting a plateau already? Big Country: Yeah, I think I am. Dr. Valhalla: Tell me something, Rick. How do your knees feel? Big Country: They feel all right, considerin'. Dr. Valhalla: Considering what? Big Country: Considerin they've got about three hun'red fifty pounds on 'em. Dr. Valhalla: So in other words, they feel like s***. Big Country: Yessir. The doc paces for a moment while Rick steps off the scale. Dr. Valhalla: Tell you what. You gotta lose weight for the knee replacement surgery, but obviously two hundred pounds is out of the question for you. Can you make it down to two-fifty? Big Country: I haven't been doin' anythin' different from what we worked out back in April. Dr. Valhalla: See, that's the thing. When you weigh as much as... well... you do, you can't just do the same thing to lose every pound. At some point, you gotta step up your game. Now you've got less fat on your bones. You no longer have the advantage of that fat acting as resistance. You gotta make sure you continue to strain yourself. He paces some more. Rick watches as he walks back and forth, like some kind of pendulum. Dr. Valhalla: But at the same time, you're knees are shot and your blood pressure is through the roof. No way in hell can I start you running. The doc stops, and holds his chin as he thinks. Dr. Valhalla: Bit of a pickle we've got ourselves in, Ricky. Big Country: Please don't talk about pickles right now. He turns to look at Rick. Dr. Valhalla: Now that you mention it... I think another change in diet is in order... The scene fades. |
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[align=center]<div style="max-height:120px; width: 100%; overflow:auto; border: 1px solid white;"><table style="font-size: 10px;"><tr><td style="width:50%; vertical-align:top; border-right: 1px solid white;"> Ignacio Esposito The Internet Explorer! Fighting Spirit Champion -- October 30, 2011 - January 29, 2012 Tag Team of the Month (with Blink) -- March 2011 Roleplay of the Month (Primo Giorno di Lavoro) -- February 2011 Part of Tie for Storyline of the Month -- February 2011 FIW Action News Bringing you stupid and/or silly Weeks in Review... once upon a time. </td><td style="vertical-align:top;" rowspan="2">"Big Country" Rick Nuller 356 lbs of Heart (also: fat, muscle, bones, ligaments, and other organs) Participant in Match of the Year -- Deadlock, 2011 FIW's Face of the Year -- 2011 Participant in Storyline of the Month -- March 2011 Participant in Match of the Month -- March 2011 FIW's Face of the Year -- 2010 Roleplay of the Year/Month (It's Time For a Montage!) -- March 2010 Fighting Spirit Champion -- May 30, 2010 - August 22, 2010 Runner-up PPV Match of the Year (Fighting Spirit Championship: Max Rowley vs. Rick Nuller) -- Deadlock (May 30th, 2010) Runner-up Feud of the Year (Rick Nuller vs. Max Rowley) -- 2010 Storyline of the Month -- July 2010 Superstar of the Month -- May, June 2010 Roleplay of the Month (The Big Fantastic ... uh ... Carner Brigade) -- April 2010 </td></tr></table></div>[/align] | |
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8:36 AM Jul 11