Post by Red Bull Icon on Jul 25, 2009 23:33:14 GMT -5
(Our scene opens into another hotel room. It all seems so familiar that for a second we’re unsure if it is in fact a new hotel room, or if we just haven’t been here for awhile. The carpet is a different color, the furniture is in reversed order, and the over clean smell of bleach is replaced with the over clean smell of citrus.
Then again the earliest risers are just starting their day as undoubtedly the diesel engine of the L.A. Times delivery truck struggles to wake up on the streets below. Once again the very solid desk in the corner shamefully displays an overflowing ice bucket crammed with Red Bull. And again last nights release, a young mocha skinned women with perfect tea cup sized breasts on her fit frame, lays on her stomach covered in the over starched hotel comforter and her reward for a hard night.
Her deep slumbering snores mingle in the air with the sounds of Conni lapping up the rest of his breakfast as the sliding glass door screeches open allowing Randy Boolzian to reenter the room. RBI is carrying a pair of empty Red Bull cans, he always took two. He shuts the door, steps over his companion, and picks up the ice bucket with a well practiced focus. She might as well have not been there. He never pays the women any notice. BoolZ walks to the door, the light floods in from the hallway, a quiet whistle calls for Conni, then the room returns to darkness. They never stay… When will it all end?)
~*~*~
(We’re in the small cramped hallway of an economy sized apartment. The carpet is clean but cheap. The thin walls separating the units all have the same white wash smell from the cheap paint and do little to keep down the sounds of a neighbor’s hacking cough or another’s running shower.
We’re joined by a slender female frame standing in a doorway leading to a pitch black room. Over the jet black hair resting on her shoulder we can see a digital alarm clock reading ‘5:24’ and a slumbering man sprawled out over most of the bed as he’d been for most of the night.)
??; “Jeremy it’s time to wake up. Come on Jeremy.”
(She knows what’s coming as Jeremy starts to stir, groan, and eventually looks at the clock.)
Jeremy; “Huh, what the FUCK!...”
Dad- ‘FUCKING CUNT! Can’t you even fucking tell time? Worthless fucking bitch…’
Jeremy; “… I have six more damn minutes. Why don’t you go see if you can’t at least figure out the coffee maker, then come wake me up, Maddy.”
(She’ll settle for shame. It’s probably all she deserves in the end, anyway.)
~*~*~
(We trade the quiet below standards of Jeremy’s apartment for the quiet below standards of a pre-morning Denny’s restaurant. A single cook preps in the back for the morning rush between filling orders. A single waitress refills ketchup bottles, salt shakers, and sweetener cups between greeting guests. The floors still wet from their daily mop. The tables mostly closed down with their chairs resting on their surface warding off the use of the down time desperate patrons.
In the corner on the far side of the building is a group of no less than six late teenagers. Half dressed in tuxedos, and the other half dressed in formal gowns. The mixed scent of perfume, body spray, and alcohol lingers around the group like the smog that will be choking the city in a few short hours. They’re not important.
In a small booth across the room sit an elderly couple gleefully bickering through their Sunday morning ritual. His hair thin and wispy, his ears long and wilted, but his eyes bright and loving. Her skin wrinkled and spotted, her hands warped and tired, but her voice vibrant and caring.
In the distance to their side, unseen by the couple, at the counter by the waitress sits BoolZ. The shredding fabric at the heel of his baggy Dickies pants hangs down over his Converse All-Stars as he taps his foot anxiously. He reaches into his front left pocket, there’s a pop and flick, and then he begins inhaling his Marlboro Blend 27 cigarette while watching the elderly couple out of the corner of his eye. Intently staring with somewhat jealous eyes.)
Waitress; “Hun, you can’t smoke in here.”
(He won’t break his gaze.)
BoolZ; “Oh, sorry.”
(She waits for him to put out the cigarette. It’s a long wait as he continues to enjoy his smoke.)
Waitress; “Baby, you ok? Do you need to talk about something?”
(They’ve completely captivated Randy. Utterly fixated, but true to himself.)
BoolZ; “Uh, no. Just the check please.”
~*~*~
(From the near empty diner to the completely empty cathedral we’re in awe at the grade nature of all things in the building. The finely crafted heavy oak pews, the artisan touch of the sculptures and painting patiently awaiting their task of watching over the parishioners, the enormous Crucifix set as the focal point of the hall are all humbling. Not a soul in sight, but it is Confessional booth that draws our attention the most.
Inside kneels Madeline Misajon in front of a small screened portal. She seems out of place. She is out of place. Her hands clasped in her lap clutching a cell phone, her lip caught between her teeth, and her eyes nervously wide and tearful. Her voice is silent.)
Priest; “Miss?”
Maddy; “I’m sorry, uh, Father? I’ve never done this before, I didn’t think to turn off my phone.”
Priest; “It is quite alright child.”
(The sudden old style ringer of her phone startles her. She jumps to her feet in fright, and waits to answer it.)
Maddy; “I’m sorry. I have to go. Thank you. I just needed someone to talk to.”
Priest; “Of course.”
(She didn’t wait for his response. Instead she quietly steps from the booth, and answered the phone. As she hurriedly walks past us, pulling the sleeve of her Betty Page hoodie that she’s always wearing now back down to her wrist, we can faintly make out Jeremy’s voice on the other end of the line. His normal screaming voice.)
~*~*~
(From the hallowed grounds to the Catholic church to the desecrated domain of the GIW Enforcers office. It’s cold and icy, and so are their eyes. BoolZ sits smoking a cigarette and drinking a Red Bull. Boss P sits chewing a cigar and drinking a brown liquid over three cubes of ice.)
Boss P; “CAFFINE NIGGA, YOU ANY IDEA HOW HARD YOU’S MAKE MA LIFE?
(He’s a practiced liar, BoolZ ponders briefly before answering.)
BoolZ; “No? I thought I was doing a bang up job? Is this what you wanted to talk about?”
Boss P; “WELL YOU’S WRONG MOTHER FUCKER! I GOTS DAMN NEAR EVERYONE AX’ING ME WHEN’N I’S GON DO SOMETHING ‘BOUT YO DUMB ASS! YOU GOT BOSS P LOOKIN’ WEAK AND SHIT. LIKE I’S CAN’T RUN MA SHOW!”
(Feigning surprise, BoolZ looks shocked.)
BoolZ; “What? How do you figure?”
Boss P; “OH BULLSHIT, LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW? LIKE YOU AIN’T BEEN RUIN-IN MATCHES FO LIKE A SOLID MONF!”
BoolZ; “Me? Listen to me pigeon, I’m making your matches! Just like a gave Kiseragi a reason to be at Horizons apart from dropping his belt. I made him hate me, I made his father despise me, I did everything I could to motivate that lazy back fighter. I’m doing the same thing to Roberts. I’m making it epic because he says he’s a big time player. Rises to the occasion or whatever.
I’m ruining matches? He’s ruining them by not showing up. Infinity’s next week and it’s a rarity to even see ‘your’ bitch ass champion pushing the show. Even rarer seeing him look actually act like a champion. Jesus what exactly do I have to do? I wrecked his big celebration party, embarrassing him in front of his so called ‘Hollywood’ friends. Ending his favorite bands personal concert. What happened? Nothing. So I beat him, dead center of the ring, pinned him cleanly. What happened? Nothing. So I went on syndicated radio, and tore him a new asshole. What happened? Nothing. So I went on live television and ignored him. What happened? I think that’s the week he went into hiding. Then I break up one of his self promoting ego tripping press conferences, and make him look like a drooling baby watching daddy work. What happens? Yeah, nothing, though I did hear he’s been shacking up with your Pole ‘Munt.
The whole time, week after week, damn near every chance I got I whooped his ass. Millimeters away from breaking that arm. I beat him up, I beat him down, and laid him out, I knocked him out, and if he really was the women he’s been pretending to be lately I probably would have knocked her up too I fucked that shit up so bad.”
(He pauses only long enough to take a swig of Red Bull and a puff of nicotine.)
Boss P; “WHAT! HE LIVIN’ IN THAT HOSTILE! HE LIVIN’ WIT’MA ‘MUNT!”
BoolZ; “I mean hell I was doing exactly what I thought you wanted me to do. I was making his matches worth watching. Why else would you have been putting us on the same card not fighting each other, and then when we finally are in the same match you saddle him up with a pair of worthless wrecks. Hell it might as well be a handicapped match.
There you got Donovan Hastings. Seriously Donovan Hastings? Listen I’ve said it, just like most have said it, but I’m getting sick of hearing it. That same old tired line about how he’s got all the talent in the world, if he could just focus, if he could just keep his head in the game, if he could just go that extra little bit. It’s bullshit, he’s bullshit, and that’s why I’ve already beat him. See that loon just doesn’t want it bad enough to keep up with me in the ring. He’s not ready to make the sacrifices it takes to step into the ring with me.
Then Savana. Andy ‘I talk to myself because no one else will’ Savana? Hell he’s worse than Hastings because at least on some level one of his ‘friends’ realize he’s failed. He’s a failure because he knows he can’t do it, but doesn’t do anything about it. Instead he targets rookie police officers and wishes harm on the fans. That’s why he knew he was going to fail at taking my Hardcore title, and that’s why he did fail.
Damn pelican I’ve already beaten everyone on that team. Me! Then my partners? You give me Kiseragi and Edwards? How is this even fair? You’re blowin’ me up about messing with ‘The TWiSTeD Fallacy’ and then you go and put him in this lopsided tag match? He’s got a loon and a retard.
I’ve got Alex Kiseragi. A pair of the deadliest feet in the game. I got nothing but respect for his abilities. It might end there, but hell at least he makes the most out of what god gave him. Plays the cards he’s dealt. At least he wants to win, I think. At least he’s not going to start arguing with himself because one of his voices smokes nutmeg and the other smokes pot, and they’re both looking for there fix.
Then I’ve got this Moss Edwards guy. This former high school AV Club president guy. I look forward to seeing what he can do first hand, but seriously. As long as he stays out of Kis-Kis and my way, and he keeps that Grace of his looking fine as hell at ringside, we’ll carry him to another win. Hell he might even get an inspiration for another movie. Like a horror flick or something while watching me rip Travis limb from limb.
See, can you see with your beady little eyes, where I’m getting the mixed signals from? Travis is puss-afying the GIW with his cowardly behavior to the point that we’ll probably end up the Lifetime Network if I don’t win at Infinity, and you’re rewarding me by letting me stay sharp while running through a few of the guys that joined after me. Then you’re stacking the deck in my favor when you finally do put Travis and me in the same ring. Hell I thought this was an award for making another PPV worth watching after like a quarter of your candidates backed outta your little tournament.”
(BoolZ finally ends, and kills his Red Bull. While Boss P digests what was just said while crewing frantically on his cigar, RBI lights a new cigarette and opens another Red Bull.)
Boss P; “BOY IS YOU ON D’EM DRUGS AGAIN?!?! LET ME SET YA STRAIGHT. DIS MATCH AINT NO REWARD, AND IF YA GONE ATTACK TRAVIS UNPROVOCTED AGAIN DIS WEEK? YO ASS WILL BE KILL’T! NOW GET YO MOTHERFUCKIN’ ASS DA MOTHERFUCK OUTTA MA MOTHERFUCKIN’ OFFICE MOTHERFUCKA!
(BoolZ stands up slowly with a convincingly lie of a shocked face. Slowly he walks to the door before looking back at Boss P.)
BoolZ; “Wow, I guess I really missed the boat on that one huh? Hey, uh, before I go. With the air conditioner set at like two degrees in here. Uh, you think we call in Gabby or Chassie or that Grace look-a-like.”
(As BoolZ finishes his words he holds up both hands to his chest, and flicks out his index fingers. Boss P grabs his Tommy gun.)
*BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG*
(The scene ends with BoolZ running for his life out of the GIW’s fowl tempered enforcers office.)
Then again the earliest risers are just starting their day as undoubtedly the diesel engine of the L.A. Times delivery truck struggles to wake up on the streets below. Once again the very solid desk in the corner shamefully displays an overflowing ice bucket crammed with Red Bull. And again last nights release, a young mocha skinned women with perfect tea cup sized breasts on her fit frame, lays on her stomach covered in the over starched hotel comforter and her reward for a hard night.
Her deep slumbering snores mingle in the air with the sounds of Conni lapping up the rest of his breakfast as the sliding glass door screeches open allowing Randy Boolzian to reenter the room. RBI is carrying a pair of empty Red Bull cans, he always took two. He shuts the door, steps over his companion, and picks up the ice bucket with a well practiced focus. She might as well have not been there. He never pays the women any notice. BoolZ walks to the door, the light floods in from the hallway, a quiet whistle calls for Conni, then the room returns to darkness. They never stay… When will it all end?)
~*~*~
(We’re in the small cramped hallway of an economy sized apartment. The carpet is clean but cheap. The thin walls separating the units all have the same white wash smell from the cheap paint and do little to keep down the sounds of a neighbor’s hacking cough or another’s running shower.
We’re joined by a slender female frame standing in a doorway leading to a pitch black room. Over the jet black hair resting on her shoulder we can see a digital alarm clock reading ‘5:24’ and a slumbering man sprawled out over most of the bed as he’d been for most of the night.)
??; “Jeremy it’s time to wake up. Come on Jeremy.”
(She knows what’s coming as Jeremy starts to stir, groan, and eventually looks at the clock.)
Jeremy; “Huh, what the FUCK!...”
Dad- ‘FUCKING CUNT! Can’t you even fucking tell time? Worthless fucking bitch…’
Jeremy; “… I have six more damn minutes. Why don’t you go see if you can’t at least figure out the coffee maker, then come wake me up, Maddy.”
(She’ll settle for shame. It’s probably all she deserves in the end, anyway.)
~*~*~
(We trade the quiet below standards of Jeremy’s apartment for the quiet below standards of a pre-morning Denny’s restaurant. A single cook preps in the back for the morning rush between filling orders. A single waitress refills ketchup bottles, salt shakers, and sweetener cups between greeting guests. The floors still wet from their daily mop. The tables mostly closed down with their chairs resting on their surface warding off the use of the down time desperate patrons.
In the corner on the far side of the building is a group of no less than six late teenagers. Half dressed in tuxedos, and the other half dressed in formal gowns. The mixed scent of perfume, body spray, and alcohol lingers around the group like the smog that will be choking the city in a few short hours. They’re not important.
In a small booth across the room sit an elderly couple gleefully bickering through their Sunday morning ritual. His hair thin and wispy, his ears long and wilted, but his eyes bright and loving. Her skin wrinkled and spotted, her hands warped and tired, but her voice vibrant and caring.
In the distance to their side, unseen by the couple, at the counter by the waitress sits BoolZ. The shredding fabric at the heel of his baggy Dickies pants hangs down over his Converse All-Stars as he taps his foot anxiously. He reaches into his front left pocket, there’s a pop and flick, and then he begins inhaling his Marlboro Blend 27 cigarette while watching the elderly couple out of the corner of his eye. Intently staring with somewhat jealous eyes.)
Waitress; “Hun, you can’t smoke in here.”
(He won’t break his gaze.)
BoolZ; “Oh, sorry.”
(She waits for him to put out the cigarette. It’s a long wait as he continues to enjoy his smoke.)
Waitress; “Baby, you ok? Do you need to talk about something?”
(They’ve completely captivated Randy. Utterly fixated, but true to himself.)
BoolZ; “Uh, no. Just the check please.”
~*~*~
(From the near empty diner to the completely empty cathedral we’re in awe at the grade nature of all things in the building. The finely crafted heavy oak pews, the artisan touch of the sculptures and painting patiently awaiting their task of watching over the parishioners, the enormous Crucifix set as the focal point of the hall are all humbling. Not a soul in sight, but it is Confessional booth that draws our attention the most.
Inside kneels Madeline Misajon in front of a small screened portal. She seems out of place. She is out of place. Her hands clasped in her lap clutching a cell phone, her lip caught between her teeth, and her eyes nervously wide and tearful. Her voice is silent.)
Priest; “Miss?”
Maddy; “I’m sorry, uh, Father? I’ve never done this before, I didn’t think to turn off my phone.”
Priest; “It is quite alright child.”
(The sudden old style ringer of her phone startles her. She jumps to her feet in fright, and waits to answer it.)
Maddy; “I’m sorry. I have to go. Thank you. I just needed someone to talk to.”
Priest; “Of course.”
(She didn’t wait for his response. Instead she quietly steps from the booth, and answered the phone. As she hurriedly walks past us, pulling the sleeve of her Betty Page hoodie that she’s always wearing now back down to her wrist, we can faintly make out Jeremy’s voice on the other end of the line. His normal screaming voice.)
~*~*~
(From the hallowed grounds to the Catholic church to the desecrated domain of the GIW Enforcers office. It’s cold and icy, and so are their eyes. BoolZ sits smoking a cigarette and drinking a Red Bull. Boss P sits chewing a cigar and drinking a brown liquid over three cubes of ice.)
Boss P; “CAFFINE NIGGA, YOU ANY IDEA HOW HARD YOU’S MAKE MA LIFE?
(He’s a practiced liar, BoolZ ponders briefly before answering.)
BoolZ; “No? I thought I was doing a bang up job? Is this what you wanted to talk about?”
Boss P; “WELL YOU’S WRONG MOTHER FUCKER! I GOTS DAMN NEAR EVERYONE AX’ING ME WHEN’N I’S GON DO SOMETHING ‘BOUT YO DUMB ASS! YOU GOT BOSS P LOOKIN’ WEAK AND SHIT. LIKE I’S CAN’T RUN MA SHOW!”
(Feigning surprise, BoolZ looks shocked.)
BoolZ; “What? How do you figure?”
Boss P; “OH BULLSHIT, LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW? LIKE YOU AIN’T BEEN RUIN-IN MATCHES FO LIKE A SOLID MONF!”
BoolZ; “Me? Listen to me pigeon, I’m making your matches! Just like a gave Kiseragi a reason to be at Horizons apart from dropping his belt. I made him hate me, I made his father despise me, I did everything I could to motivate that lazy back fighter. I’m doing the same thing to Roberts. I’m making it epic because he says he’s a big time player. Rises to the occasion or whatever.
I’m ruining matches? He’s ruining them by not showing up. Infinity’s next week and it’s a rarity to even see ‘your’ bitch ass champion pushing the show. Even rarer seeing him look actually act like a champion. Jesus what exactly do I have to do? I wrecked his big celebration party, embarrassing him in front of his so called ‘Hollywood’ friends. Ending his favorite bands personal concert. What happened? Nothing. So I beat him, dead center of the ring, pinned him cleanly. What happened? Nothing. So I went on syndicated radio, and tore him a new asshole. What happened? Nothing. So I went on live television and ignored him. What happened? I think that’s the week he went into hiding. Then I break up one of his self promoting ego tripping press conferences, and make him look like a drooling baby watching daddy work. What happens? Yeah, nothing, though I did hear he’s been shacking up with your Pole ‘Munt.
The whole time, week after week, damn near every chance I got I whooped his ass. Millimeters away from breaking that arm. I beat him up, I beat him down, and laid him out, I knocked him out, and if he really was the women he’s been pretending to be lately I probably would have knocked her up too I fucked that shit up so bad.”
(He pauses only long enough to take a swig of Red Bull and a puff of nicotine.)
Boss P; “WHAT! HE LIVIN’ IN THAT HOSTILE! HE LIVIN’ WIT’MA ‘MUNT!”
BoolZ; “I mean hell I was doing exactly what I thought you wanted me to do. I was making his matches worth watching. Why else would you have been putting us on the same card not fighting each other, and then when we finally are in the same match you saddle him up with a pair of worthless wrecks. Hell it might as well be a handicapped match.
There you got Donovan Hastings. Seriously Donovan Hastings? Listen I’ve said it, just like most have said it, but I’m getting sick of hearing it. That same old tired line about how he’s got all the talent in the world, if he could just focus, if he could just keep his head in the game, if he could just go that extra little bit. It’s bullshit, he’s bullshit, and that’s why I’ve already beat him. See that loon just doesn’t want it bad enough to keep up with me in the ring. He’s not ready to make the sacrifices it takes to step into the ring with me.
Then Savana. Andy ‘I talk to myself because no one else will’ Savana? Hell he’s worse than Hastings because at least on some level one of his ‘friends’ realize he’s failed. He’s a failure because he knows he can’t do it, but doesn’t do anything about it. Instead he targets rookie police officers and wishes harm on the fans. That’s why he knew he was going to fail at taking my Hardcore title, and that’s why he did fail.
Damn pelican I’ve already beaten everyone on that team. Me! Then my partners? You give me Kiseragi and Edwards? How is this even fair? You’re blowin’ me up about messing with ‘The TWiSTeD Fallacy’ and then you go and put him in this lopsided tag match? He’s got a loon and a retard.
I’ve got Alex Kiseragi. A pair of the deadliest feet in the game. I got nothing but respect for his abilities. It might end there, but hell at least he makes the most out of what god gave him. Plays the cards he’s dealt. At least he wants to win, I think. At least he’s not going to start arguing with himself because one of his voices smokes nutmeg and the other smokes pot, and they’re both looking for there fix.
Then I’ve got this Moss Edwards guy. This former high school AV Club president guy. I look forward to seeing what he can do first hand, but seriously. As long as he stays out of Kis-Kis and my way, and he keeps that Grace of his looking fine as hell at ringside, we’ll carry him to another win. Hell he might even get an inspiration for another movie. Like a horror flick or something while watching me rip Travis limb from limb.
See, can you see with your beady little eyes, where I’m getting the mixed signals from? Travis is puss-afying the GIW with his cowardly behavior to the point that we’ll probably end up the Lifetime Network if I don’t win at Infinity, and you’re rewarding me by letting me stay sharp while running through a few of the guys that joined after me. Then you’re stacking the deck in my favor when you finally do put Travis and me in the same ring. Hell I thought this was an award for making another PPV worth watching after like a quarter of your candidates backed outta your little tournament.”
(BoolZ finally ends, and kills his Red Bull. While Boss P digests what was just said while crewing frantically on his cigar, RBI lights a new cigarette and opens another Red Bull.)
Boss P; “BOY IS YOU ON D’EM DRUGS AGAIN?!?! LET ME SET YA STRAIGHT. DIS MATCH AINT NO REWARD, AND IF YA GONE ATTACK TRAVIS UNPROVOCTED AGAIN DIS WEEK? YO ASS WILL BE KILL’T! NOW GET YO MOTHERFUCKIN’ ASS DA MOTHERFUCK OUTTA MA MOTHERFUCKIN’ OFFICE MOTHERFUCKA!
(BoolZ stands up slowly with a convincingly lie of a shocked face. Slowly he walks to the door before looking back at Boss P.)
BoolZ; “Wow, I guess I really missed the boat on that one huh? Hey, uh, before I go. With the air conditioner set at like two degrees in here. Uh, you think we call in Gabby or Chassie or that Grace look-a-like.”
(As BoolZ finishes his words he holds up both hands to his chest, and flicks out his index fingers. Boss P grabs his Tommy gun.)
*BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG*
(The scene ends with BoolZ running for his life out of the GIW’s fowl tempered enforcers office.)
