Post by Red Bull Icon on Jul 25, 2009 21:37:17 GMT -5
(Our scene opens on a bright and beautiful mid summer’s afternoon. The sun is warming the scared asphalt out front of a 24 hour taco stand, the pigeons are gleefully swarming around the nearby trashcan, and the gentle on shore breeze softly removes the smell of rancid oil that would be hanging in the air. We take a moment to soak in the atmosphere, and are treated to the sounds of a late 70’s Oldsmobile backfiring off in the distance, a horrible stereo statically pumping the newest Soulja Boy record, and finally the siren of an ambulance as it roars by. The faint taste of burnt diesel fumes lingers in our mouth as take a quick glance back at ‘Roberto’s Taco Shop’. The parking lot empty save for the ‘U-Suk’ mobile taking up three stalls, a white Volvo filled to the brim with high school kids, and a group of pre-teens playing with their dog off by the dumpster.
Finally the glass store front door swings outward and, the new GIW Hardcore Champion, Randy Boolzian steps out carrying a white paper bag and a large styrofoam cup.)
BoolZ; “Oh, Carne Asada burrito and a large Horchata, is there no better meal on the planet?”
(From the distance the barking of the little dog playing with the children off by the dumpster steals our attention. With BoolZ we turn to observe the happenings, and are near mortified at the sight of a small boy, maybe 12 years old, holding the dogs leash while kicking the small animal in the side as it ‘yelps’ with each blow. It doesn’t take long before the Red Bull Icon is between the boy and the animal.)
BoolZ; “What did this dog do to you? Give me the leash.”
(The child, eyes widened, looks to BoolZ with a guilty look of shame mixed with awe. It doesn’t take long for the 12 year old to remember his friends standing by.)
Child; “Fuck you old man. That’s my dog, and I’ll do what ever the fuck I want to him. I don’t owe you any explanation, and you better get out of here before we kick your ass!”
(In what might be described as a look of shock, indifference, or maybe revulsion at what society has come to BoolZ is taken back by the little twerps verbal assault. So much so that he almost can’t react when the little boy tries to swat the large cup of icy cold cinnamon rice milk Horchata from hand. Almost, but not quite. As the future of America finishes his failed attempt BoolZ, with all the grace and swiftness one might expect from a champion, relieves the bastard of his grip on the animal. BoolZ now with the white paper bag and dog leash in one hand takes a sip from the cup he is holding in the other hand before addressing the little thug.)
BoolZ; “Now what did this dog do to deserve being beaten? It’s a friggen’ puppy for crying out loud. Wait, what the hell, shouldn’t ya’ll be in school?”
Child; “Didn’t I already tell you, motherfucker. Fuck you. That’s my dog, and I’ll do what ever the fuck I want to him.”
BoolZ; “Yeah, well maybe this ain’t your dog anymore.”
(As the group of five or six children begin to circle RBI the small American Red Nosed Pit bull puppy hides behind his right leg. Cowering in fear. One of the young boys speaks up.)
Young Boy; “C’mon Juan, you can’t let this dumb ass take yo dog!”
Juan; “Yeah, yeah, you’re not taking my dog dude. We’ll fuck you up. We’ll get all hardcore and shit on you. Now give me back my dog.”
BoolZ; “Juan is it? Listen Juan, we all make choices and we all have to live with the consequences. Your choice was to beat on his dog. Now your consequence is not having a dog. I chose to stop you from kicking this puppy, and my consequence looks like a stand off with you and your little thug-let gang here. Ya’ll want to play like your tough and you don’t give a damn. That’s your choice. Are really ready for the consequences?”
(After a moment of contemplation Juan gets a nervous look on his face as he looks to his friends before returning his gaze to the stoic glare of BoolZ.)
Juan; “Yo, fuck this guy. I’ma go tell my dad, and then he’ll come kill this motherfucker. Lets go. Yo fucker, my dad’s gonna fuck you up.”
BoolZ; “Yeah, I think that’s a capitol idea. You go tell your dad, and you tell him I’ll right here waiting for him.”
(Almost comically, as it fits the last few minutes of the life of a Red Bull Icon, the group runs off and up the street. BoolZ looks down at the puppy, whose tail firmly between his legs, the puppy looks back at BoolZ with a curious look. BoolZ looks around the parking lot, sighs, and a puzzled look falls over his face.)
BoolZ; “I maybe should’ve thought this one through a little more.”
(BoolZ looks back down towards the puppy before leading the dog back to the ‘U-Suk’ mobile. He opens the sliding cargo door in the back, hops up to take a seat on the cargo bed, placing the white bag and cup on the floor of the truck. BoolZ looks down at the animal before tying the leash to the trailer hitch.)
BoolZ; “You look hungry, puppy. Do you like Carne Asada?”
(BoolZ opens the white paper bag, unwraps the yellow paper, and hopping down from the truck places a burrito in front of the dog. The puppy sniffs the food, looks at BoolZ cautiously, and then begins to eat. BoolZ reaches into his pockets, produces a pack of Marlboro Blend No. 27s, lights one with his cold steel Zippo, and enjoys the first drag after a great meal. He places the cigarettes and the lighter next to the cup, sits back in the truck, and pulls out a cell phone. Dialing from the ‘saved numbers’ BoolZ waits for an answer. BoolZ jerks the phone from his ear as an overwhelming volume of static rips from the speaker causing the puppy to ballistic. He looks at the phone as the white noise settles down, he looks at the dog confused as the dog looks around the parking lot more confused, and then hearing Austin’s voice mail prompt.)
BoolZ; “Friggin messages. Hey Chris, man it’s BoolZ. Come on, it’s been like four days, you can’t tell me you’re still mad about Guerilla Warfare. I mean what the hell, you can’t call a brother back now a days? I mean what’s goin’ on? Savanna pins you, and you get all bitchy ‘cause I didn’t lose? I mean damn man, it’s not like I told you jump off that semi. That was your choice. Just like it wasn’t me that decided to be the last out in the Gauntlet. You lost, I won, what the hell, you gotta play the cards god deals ya. But shit, I guess that’s your choice too.
I mean you can get all emo and change your view on the world, you can become all bitter like, you can make all kinda threats about taking something from everyone you think wronged you somehow, shit shave your head, pierce your nose, get some ink done, try some of that chubby lovin’ for all care. Fuck it. I mean if you gotta hate your opponent to get the job done, than go ahead. I’ll see you at In Your Hands.”
(BoolZ hangs up the phone taking another puff of his cigarette before flicking the ash away as the canine continues struggling with the burrito. He finishes the Horchata, tosses the cup behind him as it bounces off a box of light tubes, rolls across a stack of tables, lands on the floor, rolls under a bunch of steel chairs, and finally rests next to a box labeled ‘sharps’. He looks down at the animal who has returned to his lunch.)
BoolZ; “Yeah, it sucks huh? Here you are taking life as it comes. You’re enjoying some of that momma’s milk when someone snatches you from her teat. Throws into some seriously backwards shit, and somehow you’re to blame. Which means some child wants to kick ya, clearly doesn’t feed ya, and somehow it’s all your fault. It’s kinda like that shit that went down at Guerilla Warfare. It’s kinda like the shit that’ll go down at Sentinel.
It’s like Declan, or Cara, or hell they’re channeling her old pimp but it’s like whoever’s making the matches won’t be happy until I’ve beaten everyone of the guys I was supposed to be a team with. It kinda makes sense I guess. I’ve got documented wins against everyone but Komosube on the other team, I’ve beaten their hired gun, they’ve proved themselves incapable of beating us on a consistent basis, so why not have me do their dirty work. They wanted the Hardcore title off of Austin, and now it’s in my front seat. They wanted Deathman to beat Big B, he failed, and now I have to wrestle that fat tub of goo.”
(BoolZ takes a final drag from his cancer stick, exhales slowly, and snuffs out the butt on the asphalt.)
BoolZ; “I mean what’s next? Declan gets a flash back of how Brandon put him out for two months, gets more afraid than Jensen anytime he feels that little twitter tugging on his heart strings, so he assigns me and Brandon the week before In You Hands. That way after he rigs the vote, that way after I’ve done softened the champ up, that way maybe he’s got a shot at not ending back up in the hospital while Cara slowly reverts to whoring herself out again to try, and fail, at recruiting Roberts or Dylan James into their little throw away stable. That’s love I tell ya. I mean having a chic ready to spread her legs after you rescue her from her last pimp just so you can have a cushy return after getting your ass handed to ya. Yeah that’s something special right there. Little school bus special, but still. Special.
Speaking of little school bus special, I mean Big B Brown. The guy’s like a walking house, or a giant pig, or a really fat chic. Either way he’s not much good at anything but sitting around, eating whatever gets close enough to his mouth, or… well that’s really all really fat chics do. I mean hell there’s a reason why I go for the tiny little ladies. I think I might actually have a phobia of being suffocated by enormous mounds of blubber. Eh, at least he should make for a soft landing. Like a pillow.”
(BoolZ takes another cigarette from the pack, flicks open the Zippo, lights his smoke, and pops the Zippo shut. Inhaling the nicotine BoolZ reaches into the side pocket of his cargo shorts, pulls out a Red Bull, cracks it open, and downs the first part of the drink. He takes another drag as the sounds of screeching tires can be heard sliding into the parking lot. BoolZ looks over his shoulder to see a brown late model Dodge stop a few feet from the ‘U-Suk’ mobile. BoolZ stands up out of the truck, the driver of the car exits the drivers side door making his way to the trunk, and the dog, surprisingly for the first time we’ve seen, starts to wag its tail.)
BoolZ; “Maybe I should have thought this one through a little more.”
(The driver a tall thickly built Hispanic man with a long black ponytail, slams the trunk shut, approaches BoolZ, and begins.)
Man; “You the guy ‘got Juanitos dog?”
BoolZ; “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Man; “Than you’ll need these.”
(The man tosses a plastic bag to BoolZ as he re-enters his car. BoolZ looks down at the bag and the unmistakable dog food that’s housed inside.)
BoolZ; “Hey wait a minute, I can’t take this dog man!”
Man; “Yeah, well that was your choice.”
(The car speeds past BoolZ, Juan in the back seat crying, as RBI looks down at the dog and the scene ends.)
Finally the glass store front door swings outward and, the new GIW Hardcore Champion, Randy Boolzian steps out carrying a white paper bag and a large styrofoam cup.)
BoolZ; “Oh, Carne Asada burrito and a large Horchata, is there no better meal on the planet?”
(From the distance the barking of the little dog playing with the children off by the dumpster steals our attention. With BoolZ we turn to observe the happenings, and are near mortified at the sight of a small boy, maybe 12 years old, holding the dogs leash while kicking the small animal in the side as it ‘yelps’ with each blow. It doesn’t take long before the Red Bull Icon is between the boy and the animal.)
BoolZ; “What did this dog do to you? Give me the leash.”
(The child, eyes widened, looks to BoolZ with a guilty look of shame mixed with awe. It doesn’t take long for the 12 year old to remember his friends standing by.)
Child; “Fuck you old man. That’s my dog, and I’ll do what ever the fuck I want to him. I don’t owe you any explanation, and you better get out of here before we kick your ass!”
(In what might be described as a look of shock, indifference, or maybe revulsion at what society has come to BoolZ is taken back by the little twerps verbal assault. So much so that he almost can’t react when the little boy tries to swat the large cup of icy cold cinnamon rice milk Horchata from hand. Almost, but not quite. As the future of America finishes his failed attempt BoolZ, with all the grace and swiftness one might expect from a champion, relieves the bastard of his grip on the animal. BoolZ now with the white paper bag and dog leash in one hand takes a sip from the cup he is holding in the other hand before addressing the little thug.)
BoolZ; “Now what did this dog do to deserve being beaten? It’s a friggen’ puppy for crying out loud. Wait, what the hell, shouldn’t ya’ll be in school?”
Child; “Didn’t I already tell you, motherfucker. Fuck you. That’s my dog, and I’ll do what ever the fuck I want to him.”
BoolZ; “Yeah, well maybe this ain’t your dog anymore.”
(As the group of five or six children begin to circle RBI the small American Red Nosed Pit bull puppy hides behind his right leg. Cowering in fear. One of the young boys speaks up.)
Young Boy; “C’mon Juan, you can’t let this dumb ass take yo dog!”
Juan; “Yeah, yeah, you’re not taking my dog dude. We’ll fuck you up. We’ll get all hardcore and shit on you. Now give me back my dog.”
BoolZ; “Juan is it? Listen Juan, we all make choices and we all have to live with the consequences. Your choice was to beat on his dog. Now your consequence is not having a dog. I chose to stop you from kicking this puppy, and my consequence looks like a stand off with you and your little thug-let gang here. Ya’ll want to play like your tough and you don’t give a damn. That’s your choice. Are really ready for the consequences?”
(After a moment of contemplation Juan gets a nervous look on his face as he looks to his friends before returning his gaze to the stoic glare of BoolZ.)
Juan; “Yo, fuck this guy. I’ma go tell my dad, and then he’ll come kill this motherfucker. Lets go. Yo fucker, my dad’s gonna fuck you up.”
BoolZ; “Yeah, I think that’s a capitol idea. You go tell your dad, and you tell him I’ll right here waiting for him.”
(Almost comically, as it fits the last few minutes of the life of a Red Bull Icon, the group runs off and up the street. BoolZ looks down at the puppy, whose tail firmly between his legs, the puppy looks back at BoolZ with a curious look. BoolZ looks around the parking lot, sighs, and a puzzled look falls over his face.)
BoolZ; “I maybe should’ve thought this one through a little more.”
(BoolZ looks back down towards the puppy before leading the dog back to the ‘U-Suk’ mobile. He opens the sliding cargo door in the back, hops up to take a seat on the cargo bed, placing the white bag and cup on the floor of the truck. BoolZ looks down at the animal before tying the leash to the trailer hitch.)
BoolZ; “You look hungry, puppy. Do you like Carne Asada?”
(BoolZ opens the white paper bag, unwraps the yellow paper, and hopping down from the truck places a burrito in front of the dog. The puppy sniffs the food, looks at BoolZ cautiously, and then begins to eat. BoolZ reaches into his pockets, produces a pack of Marlboro Blend No. 27s, lights one with his cold steel Zippo, and enjoys the first drag after a great meal. He places the cigarettes and the lighter next to the cup, sits back in the truck, and pulls out a cell phone. Dialing from the ‘saved numbers’ BoolZ waits for an answer. BoolZ jerks the phone from his ear as an overwhelming volume of static rips from the speaker causing the puppy to ballistic. He looks at the phone as the white noise settles down, he looks at the dog confused as the dog looks around the parking lot more confused, and then hearing Austin’s voice mail prompt.)
BoolZ; “Friggin messages. Hey Chris, man it’s BoolZ. Come on, it’s been like four days, you can’t tell me you’re still mad about Guerilla Warfare. I mean what the hell, you can’t call a brother back now a days? I mean what’s goin’ on? Savanna pins you, and you get all bitchy ‘cause I didn’t lose? I mean damn man, it’s not like I told you jump off that semi. That was your choice. Just like it wasn’t me that decided to be the last out in the Gauntlet. You lost, I won, what the hell, you gotta play the cards god deals ya. But shit, I guess that’s your choice too.
I mean you can get all emo and change your view on the world, you can become all bitter like, you can make all kinda threats about taking something from everyone you think wronged you somehow, shit shave your head, pierce your nose, get some ink done, try some of that chubby lovin’ for all care. Fuck it. I mean if you gotta hate your opponent to get the job done, than go ahead. I’ll see you at In Your Hands.”
(BoolZ hangs up the phone taking another puff of his cigarette before flicking the ash away as the canine continues struggling with the burrito. He finishes the Horchata, tosses the cup behind him as it bounces off a box of light tubes, rolls across a stack of tables, lands on the floor, rolls under a bunch of steel chairs, and finally rests next to a box labeled ‘sharps’. He looks down at the animal who has returned to his lunch.)
BoolZ; “Yeah, it sucks huh? Here you are taking life as it comes. You’re enjoying some of that momma’s milk when someone snatches you from her teat. Throws into some seriously backwards shit, and somehow you’re to blame. Which means some child wants to kick ya, clearly doesn’t feed ya, and somehow it’s all your fault. It’s kinda like that shit that went down at Guerilla Warfare. It’s kinda like the shit that’ll go down at Sentinel.
It’s like Declan, or Cara, or hell they’re channeling her old pimp but it’s like whoever’s making the matches won’t be happy until I’ve beaten everyone of the guys I was supposed to be a team with. It kinda makes sense I guess. I’ve got documented wins against everyone but Komosube on the other team, I’ve beaten their hired gun, they’ve proved themselves incapable of beating us on a consistent basis, so why not have me do their dirty work. They wanted the Hardcore title off of Austin, and now it’s in my front seat. They wanted Deathman to beat Big B, he failed, and now I have to wrestle that fat tub of goo.”
(BoolZ takes a final drag from his cancer stick, exhales slowly, and snuffs out the butt on the asphalt.)
BoolZ; “I mean what’s next? Declan gets a flash back of how Brandon put him out for two months, gets more afraid than Jensen anytime he feels that little twitter tugging on his heart strings, so he assigns me and Brandon the week before In You Hands. That way after he rigs the vote, that way after I’ve done softened the champ up, that way maybe he’s got a shot at not ending back up in the hospital while Cara slowly reverts to whoring herself out again to try, and fail, at recruiting Roberts or Dylan James into their little throw away stable. That’s love I tell ya. I mean having a chic ready to spread her legs after you rescue her from her last pimp just so you can have a cushy return after getting your ass handed to ya. Yeah that’s something special right there. Little school bus special, but still. Special.
Speaking of little school bus special, I mean Big B Brown. The guy’s like a walking house, or a giant pig, or a really fat chic. Either way he’s not much good at anything but sitting around, eating whatever gets close enough to his mouth, or… well that’s really all really fat chics do. I mean hell there’s a reason why I go for the tiny little ladies. I think I might actually have a phobia of being suffocated by enormous mounds of blubber. Eh, at least he should make for a soft landing. Like a pillow.”
(BoolZ takes another cigarette from the pack, flicks open the Zippo, lights his smoke, and pops the Zippo shut. Inhaling the nicotine BoolZ reaches into the side pocket of his cargo shorts, pulls out a Red Bull, cracks it open, and downs the first part of the drink. He takes another drag as the sounds of screeching tires can be heard sliding into the parking lot. BoolZ looks over his shoulder to see a brown late model Dodge stop a few feet from the ‘U-Suk’ mobile. BoolZ stands up out of the truck, the driver of the car exits the drivers side door making his way to the trunk, and the dog, surprisingly for the first time we’ve seen, starts to wag its tail.)
BoolZ; “Maybe I should have thought this one through a little more.”
(The driver a tall thickly built Hispanic man with a long black ponytail, slams the trunk shut, approaches BoolZ, and begins.)
Man; “You the guy ‘got Juanitos dog?”
BoolZ; “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Man; “Than you’ll need these.”
(The man tosses a plastic bag to BoolZ as he re-enters his car. BoolZ looks down at the bag and the unmistakable dog food that’s housed inside.)
BoolZ; “Hey wait a minute, I can’t take this dog man!”
Man; “Yeah, well that was your choice.”
(The car speeds past BoolZ, Juan in the back seat crying, as RBI looks down at the dog and the scene ends.)