Post by Zombie Jesus on Aug 14, 2009 6:29:07 GMT -5
Location: Tijuana, Mexico
Our scene opens up by the light of the sun in the horizon, blurry and dim but another hot as hell day on its way over a dusty trail. The sand kicks around and moves across the barely paved road that lay ahead as far as the eye can see. A tumble weed dances across the road in the wind while the sun begins creeping over mountains as it crawls its way into the sky slowly, like shaking off a hangover in it’s weary eyed state. A truck traveling along in the distance comes over a hill as it seemingly just appears out of nowhere. The aqua blue and faded F-100 sports rust spots like a band camp kid sports ass whippings as it sputters along the lone highway now blocking the sun’s rays for a second as it draws closer. As it creeps past we can hear the theme of mariachi music being played from it’s radio most likely being fed to the radio via the make shift antenna made of an untied wire clothes hanger. The sounds of blending horns and acoustic guitar picking fill the air as the smell of fresh enchiladas and picante sauce fill the wind. A pair of fuzzy dice hang from the rear view mirror, faded from the constant light of the sun. The driver a middle aged, Latino man with a thick ass mustache looking like a dead a ferret strapped across the hood of his grill, taps his hands on the steering wheel and sings along with the words to the song nodding his head in sync with a bobble head as he slows down and begins to turn his wheel. The truck turns off the paved road into a dirt parking lot.
The truck pulls into a spot and comes to a complete halt as the engine still stuttering to go cuts off and the driver opens the door and gets out finishing off a can of “Dos Equis Special” and throws it in the back of the truck. The tin can lands with a clink and a dong as it rattles around and a large brown chicken springs from the back of the truck, over the side with a burst of feathers and clucking runs across the scene and the dusty parking lot. Beside the truck sits a long gun metal black custom chopper, near about nine feet in length a tattooed undead rendering of a pinup girl on the gas tank , depicting a fist full of dollars in one hand and a cross in the other, the words brushed underneath “In God We Trust, All Other Pay Cash”. Both vehicles rest side by side in front of a large wood sided building with a black shingled roof, like a one story barn with windows and old western saloon type feel. As the camera backs up from the scene to take into context the entire building, the sounds of buzzing like electricity flowing can be heard even in the morning. The neon sign, a red one with a lucha libre mask emblazoned on it surrounded but two girls bent over kissing the mask, sits atop a long black pole hangs down and blows in the slight breeze of the arid desert. Hanging over the buzzing sign is another one that proclaims the bar to be “La Cantina de Mierda de Toro” . The sign hanging from the window is flipped to open.
The man still looking at the chopper makes his way to the double swaying saloon style door. The hombre extends his arm to open the door but instead the door explodes open, parted like an unexpecting ass from Montezuma’s Revenge on the attack. The man is slammed into the wall behind him.
There in the doorway stands the world’s pastiest luchadore in a pair of camo shorts, with an “authentic” luchadore’s cape draped around his shoulders, a red and black mask over his face… it could only be (mariachi trumpets)… Senor El Phantasmo. The man behind the door slides down the wall and into a heap as El Phantasmo looks to him with a raised brow from underneath his mask… one can assume you know? Your Mom’s Favorite Lucha then heads back inside. Finally, the man behind the door picks himself up and stumbles away from the place where he apparently should not be. He makes a smile at a few girls passing by on their way toward the entrance. Both girls pass him over as he gives them the “evil eye” and offers to buy them a drink. Behind him El Phantasmo bursts back through the swaying doors as if he heard a distress call and chucks a beer bottle at the Mexican, landing it like a lawn dart into the back of his head, dropping him to the ground yet again. El Phantasmo skips for a second and goes into a Mexican hat dance his one good hand on his side followed by a victorious arm pull as he pushes the doors open and holds them for the two young ladies, winking at the brunette.
As the camera heads inside the bar we see the sights of a cloudy room filled with the smoke of cheap filthy and yet amazing cigars and deep fried foods being burnt in the back kitchen. As El Phantasmo makes his way through the crowd he walks to the back wall and we find seated at a round table there under a Mexican flag and the head of a long horned steer, Salem, half-way slouched over and leaning against the table with his elbow. Salem wears an open black work shirt over dark dusted blue jeans tattered with holes, his hair pulled back into a ponytail under a battered straw cowboy hat. Sitting in his lap and leaning against him or perhaps the other way around but sitting in his lap none the less we find a young latina smiling across the table at two large well built men wearing Lucha masks, and three piece business suits, both looking a bit dazed. The sounds of Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” fill the smoke filled room from an old jukebox.
Love is a burnin' thing…
(horns)
Salem, with a twisted half dazed look in his eyes, slams down a shot glass upside down and glares at the luchadors.
And it makes a fiery ring…
(horns)
Both Luchadors follow through and slam down their shot glasses upside down onto the table top in unison and raise their brows under their mask toward Salem.
Bound by wild desire…
(horns)
Salem nods and takes another shot just dropping it down his throat and goes to put it on the table. his latina friend having to help guide his hand onto the table as she smiles and kisses his forehead. They look toward the opposite side of the table.
I fell into a ring of fire…
(horns)
Both Mexican wrestlers look to each other and take the shots, nodding to one another as they place their glasses down and look to Salem, who bears a surprised look on his sloshed face. His mouth gapes open as they slide their glasses to him.
I fell into a burnin' ring of fire…
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher,
And it burns, burn, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire…
The Luchadors pick up a bottle of Cuervo Gold and shake it over their glasses as nothing comes out. One with a skull on his mask throws it over his shoulder as it hits the floor with a smash and a shatter as behind his back and over his shoulder in the distance of the entrance we can see a brown chicken fly up into the air in a flurry of feathers and clucking. Salem’s head hits the table before he looks up and shakes his head. As the camera draws back we see piles of Tequila bottles scattered around the small area around the table. Otis a tan and white pitbull looks up at Salem and wags his tail putting his head back on his paws and going back to sleep but huffs an exhale first. Salem looks to him in mild warning.
“ Don’t you mock me…”
Salem looks back up to the wrestlers and slams his fist down on the table.
“ Alright that’s it one shot for every time that emo bastard Dragon has to practice his lines in a mirror for his promos… double or nothen here we go… one shot for every pill chick who’s ever turned down Ol’ Mickey Bates on the next one…
The Luchaidors shake their heads and look to Salem. The one sitting closest to Salem wearing the black mask with the white skull on the front known as El Hombre Muerto speaks.
“Mi Amigo no hay suficiente bebida en todo Mexico para esa apuesta sola. Ademas su etiqueta es alto suficiente y dudan que usted tiene suficiente dinero tan nosotros pararemos antes usted omite la ventana de cuarto de bano y nos sale con la cuenta.”
El Hombre Muerto puffs on his cigar and nods looking to Salem and then back to his tagteam partner. As El Hombre Meurto goes to tap off his ashes into the ashtray, the white hand of El Phantasmo strains from behind him to try and reach to pinch the cigar for himself. The other Luchador in the light blue mask embroidered with flowers leans forward and speaks in a softer voice.
“ Ah apenas le mira en su equipo pequeno!!! Yo usted podria comer apenas! Puedo pero ademas bebiendo en nuestra etiqueta mi amigo lo que trae syour asno dulce dulce a estas partes.”
El Hombre Muerto looks at his tag team partner with a bit of disgust and picks up his cigar again from the ashtray, El Phantasmo’s hand still searching the table top for it. Salem listens intently to his friends nodding as they speak.
“Mi amigo que eramos mirando la exposicion la otra noche y dice esta semana su reservo contra este Chassie Fear? Qu tipo de idiota es este mi amigo? El miente, los pies huelen y el no lo adora Jesus…
Rey Raro Sr looks a bit shocked as he blushes and covers his mouth to laugh. Salem looks down the shirt of the latina girl still sitting in his lap while she looks past Hombre Muerto toward El Phantasmo, in shock still at the masked gringo trying his best to steal a fine hand rolled cigar. Salem looks up from the inspection of tits and turns his head slightly and brings up his free hand.
“ I disagree… I find that Betty White was the hottest of all the Golden Girls… ok maybe just maybe after a few drinks I might have looked at Bea Auther in a different light but point is…”
El Hombre Muerto slaps his forehead and slams his cigar into the ashtray but misses landing it atop El Phantasmo’s hand as he was searching for the tray. Under the table El Phantasmo wrenches in pain but not wanting to get caught pinching the cigar he bites his lip. He looks at the tan and white pitbull who looks at him as well. From above the table El Hombre Muerto clears his throat.
“No, no, no you idiot… we’re talking about your opponent this week on Sentinel. This gringo Mickey Dragon and this chicka Chassie Fear… Though I agree about Senorita White now and then I like stay up late night after matches and watch a little Golden Girls on Lifetime myself you know it’s not just for women that Lifetime network… Anyhow these gato‘s Mickey Dragon and Chassie Fear! What in the name of Andigo’s Burrito’s are you planning?”
Salem looks to him his eyebrows furrowed as he taps his chin for a moment and thinks.
“ Well first ummm …gato?”
The latin girl sitting in his lap caresses his cheek with her finger and whispers. “Cat”.
Salem looks to her and shakes his head…
“No thanks I’m allergic… anyhow see I’m not worried about this shit, we’ve got this. See me and Chassie… we go way back. This is like a uCw reunion except this time I’m not with The Covenant or what ever you want to call it. Chassie Fear’s nothing more then a fucken Carebear running with what should be a pack of wolves. Raenius can’t seem to get it through his head… I love him like a brother but he can’t seem to get it. The Covenant… the bastard we breathed life into… is dead. A lifeless husk of the show we once ran. And this half ass fueled version is like a porn star whose looks have gone to shit over the years. But ol Raenius he just keeps on trucking dragging that dead horse with him. Chassie knows what that’s like… The lights don‘t shine down on you like they used to. Things are starting to sag a little or a lot. Life just ain’t what it used to be, her kids out whorin around, her old man would be in tears if he were here to see this…
One of the Mexicans look puzzled for a moment, the girl on Salem’s lap covers her mouth in shock about to cry.
“El Hombre Bloodhound is… dead, Senor?”
Salem looks up in shock. “What?!?! Shit no, He’s living on the East Coast, with sandy beaches and young bimbos in bikinis running him booze like it’s going out of style… but if he was here… he‘d be in tears. Damn shame I tell ya.”
El Hombre Muerto and Rey Raro Sr. look to one another and then both shrug as they look back to Salem. A few people around the bar put back on the hats they had taken off in respect and go about their business.
“Chassie Fear’s meal ticket is riding on what’s left of Covenant’s name, and she knows it. That’s why she’s straining every bit of good she has left out of the name someone else built. She’s kind of like the Courtney Love of the wrestling world boys; Raenius and I busted our asses with a few other guys to build up an empire of destruction and she’s going to suck off the royalties till Raenius gets it through his head… The Covenant is dead, tt has been, it always will be. Cause God knows I don’t think Magnum Destinations is raking in the cash like it used too. You know we trained together me and him? True story… my mentor and him were cousins, then he married my brother in law’s ex wife.. And then.. You know what don’t worry about it.”
Salem taps his finger on the table as if trying to make a point of purpose to move on.
“Anyhow this other emo fag..”
Rey Raro Sr. gasps and looks as if he’s about to tear up. El Hombre Muerto shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Lifting his cigar he goes to light it again. Salem looks to the more flamboyantly colorful dressed of the two.
“No offense…
Rey Raro Sr.: Bien le debera ser tomado asno. Y para pensar que permiti que usted pedir prestado que mi sudar a los viejos para tomar esos adoran los asideros lejos de su asno rechoncho. Y por la manera! Llevo ropa interior de damas y yo lo quiero. Y de lo que soy dicho en dias impares de la semana usted puede encontrar este Alcholic y Tyson que juegan la bofetada y cosquilleo en el cuarto interior de El Espacio del Estampido del Estampido!!
Salem looks to Rey and them to Hombre again.
“Do what? “
Hombre Muerto sighs a bit and answers.
“You do not want to know my friend… I’ll have to hear him cry himself to sleep tonight on his pink feathered pillow.”
Salem nods but keeps his eyes on Rey Raro Sr. From beside Salem something white raises up from the depths of under the table. The pasty white dime store looking luchador El Phantasmo throws open his cape like an ol black and white vampire movie. Yelling in Spanish as if scolding the table, the burn mark still on his hand.
“Inteligentemente!!!”
Without missing a beat and never taking his eyes off the company of the luchadors at the table, Salem reaches forward and cracks the top off a beer and hands the masked KvK a Dos Equis, who takes it and starts trying to drink it through the mask before walking off.
“ Either way… this Sentinel I’m going to be in that ring with Dragon… not a first mind you. But this kid used to carry my bags into the fucken buildings when we were in uCw. And he’s still this sniveling, emo life style little bitch who’s still having his momma issues. It’s just sadder now with us all being older. The guys got a hard on for some attention and all Jez did was give him a little media. But is the prick happy about some air time and some spotlight? …No he doesn’t know what to do now with the attention and had to get all medded up cause he decided to get up one morning and drink his big glass of ain’t right. Though I can promise once he steps into that ring he will have rathered wire-brushed a tigers ass in a phone booth than cross paths with The Horror Show. And when I beat his ass for chasing after Jez, then I’ll beat his ass again for making me watch one of his lame ass promos.. Oh hoe hohoho I’m going to make him bleed for that one I promise. You know how hard it was to stay awake during that last one?”
El Hombre Muerto chuckles.
“Tiger’s ass in los phone booth… I like that… I’ll have to use that my friend. But what about his attack on KvK last week in what was supposed to be called a match. I mean he beat Klaus with in an inch of his life… the poor man’s elbow is shattered and apparently he beat him plum retarded as well… I mean this injury could be counted as a huge victory for Los Covenant. No?”
All three men, and the girl look off scene toward the direction El Phantasmo walked towards.
“Inteligentemente!!!”
Salem listens to the latina in his lap as she whispers something in his ear, Rey Raro still pouting, and Hombre Muerto taking a few puffs on his cigar. The pitbull Otis under the table lifts his head for a moment and stands up smelling the air. The next table over celebrates as a massive plate of fully loaded nachos is delivered. Salem moves his feet as the dog barges over and looking at the people seated at the table raises up and begins gnawing down on the nachos. Sounds of shock and disruption break loose at the table, but is quickly disbanded by the growling and the showing of cheese covered teeth in the muzzle of a large dog.
Salem looks over at his faithful freak on a leash .
“That’s gonna give him gas later… A huge victory for The Covenant? That’s not a huge victory, that’s an introduction like hi welcome to the Sleaze & Brewtality fun hour, here’s your complimentary tote bag, t shirt, and chance to temporarily take down one of us. Like we haven’t had bones broken before or been taken down a few notches in our careers? It doesn’t matter in the long run how many temper tantrums this kid has and goes ape shit, yeah he fucked KvK’s beer drinking arm up, but as you can see he’s fine. This little parade of bullshit Mickey’s been in is in need of a quick halt before he does something stupid and it stops with a road block named Salem. A dangerously ravishing, and intellectual roadblock mind you but a damned roadblock none the less…”
With that the double door in the front swings open and standing in the entrance of the lowly dive stands KvK’s young pupil and El Phantasmo’s current babysitter, the Viking- looking Nate Korpi. His eyes wildly search the establishment over before falling back like double take on Salem.
“Ah fuck dude… I’m supposed to be watching his ass and keeping him away from you! Where is he?”
With that every patron in the establishment including the live mariachi band that was currently setting up, all stop what they’re doing and look to another set of doors that lead to the kitchen. With a shatter of glass and the sound of pots and pans raining down onto the floor the double doors explode open and out leaps the lucha mask wearing El Phantasmo. As the doors swing back and clasp together his cape is lodged between the two, unbeknownst to him. As he goes to walk forward, he is automatically snatched back and off his feet.
“Oh sweet Jesus…”
Nate shakes his head as he makes his way over to KvK. El Phantasmo crawls across the floor to the table where Salem and the other luchadors sit, trying to pull himself up using the tabletop, his burned hand on searching for a grip to help him to his feet. He slings his cape over his shoulders to keep it out of the way before returning his hand to the table for his ascent. At that time, high on the buildup of Salem’s rant, El Hombre Muerto slams his hand down directly on top of El Phantasmo‘s, making an abruptly loud sound and sending El Phantasmo shooting up, his head cracking the table in response and sending him back to the floor. El Hombre Muerto looks momentarily confused at the echoed sound, but shrugs and then leaps to his feet in the excitement. Nate, who was on his way to his mentor, has been distracted by another latina girl with a very ample bosom bearing beer, tequila, and a smile his way. He smiles back at her, thinking his mentor can wait.
“And you can bet your grand mamma’s enchiladas we will be rooting for you me amigo!!! Whoop that ass you crazy ass out to lunch mother fucker of a friend!!! … You and all of your Circus amigos. Go my friend it is time…”
Salem begins to motion for the girl to stand so he can get up.
“For me to claim my destiny and take down the sell out faction that I once called brothers?”
El Hombre Muerto shrugs slightly…
“No I was actually saying it’s almost time for the donkey show to begin, and the band has already set up.”
Salem shudders for a moment at the thought.
“Well there’s nothing I hate more then to drink and run off… bar keep I’m gonna need another!!! And give me a few to go!!! Besides this place is about to smell of a lot worse than just beer, piss, and burritos… alright guys we gotta head out of here. Sentinel comen up, and we got a long ass drive.”
They all stand as Salem calls for El Phantasmo who is nowhere in sight. Nate, several bottles and shots taken out around him, stands and with a regretful look leaves the senorita. He absentmindedly begins to look around chairs and tables for the elusive luchador before forgetting what he was doing and just walking out.
“ Where the hell… eh still. Keep watching that television boys cause this Sentinel I add just one more name to a long list of people that I’m going to get to trample on here in GIW.
Salem picks up his six pack of “Negro Modelo” and looks at it with a “what the fuck” look but shrugs and walks out toward the front. With the beer in one hand and holding the girls hand in the other he kicks open the doors to the bar and hit’s the Mexican man who had admired his bike, trying to make his way back in again. The man lands back out ass first in the parking lot again. Salem opens the door to Nate’s car and throws in the case of beer with a glass bottle rattling noise as it lands in the front seat. With a flurry of feathers and clucking, a brown chicken flies from out of the up until now closed and locked rental car. Salem guides Nate back into his car pushing the young rookie down into the driver’s seat, and opens the back door to let Otis ride with him.
Salem turns around and dips back the young Spanish girl and hikes up one of her legs dipping her back holding her behind the knee as he pulls her closer.
“Gimme some sugar baby… “
Salem pulls her closer and lays a deep deep kiss on her before parting and letting her go, effectively dropping her onto the dusty ground. The young woman begins stomping her foot in the dirt and yelling at the massive man known as Salem.
“ A la verga! no voy a poder ensusiar bien por una semana! donde esta mi feria!"
Salem closes his door to the rental car as Nate starts the engine.
“ Yeah I know… it was special for me to kitten. Hail to the King Baby… “
Salem mounts his chopper and lets the engine roar into existence. Nate happy to get the hell out of here squeals into reverse and skids out of the parking lot as they slam onto the highway and out into the distance. With that our two favorite luchadors come barreling out into the parking lot, fighting one another along side a chicken and a few other patrons in a bar fight brawl, the sounds of a donkey in the background, and El Phantasmo’s screams of laugher as our scene fades to black…
………..Scene Fades Back In…
Later That Day
As the sun goes down fading in the distance cascading the sky a purple hue, Salem sits at a cross roads with the car driven by Nate beside him, his window down as he looks to Salem.
“Should be home soon enough man, but you know what? I can’t help but feel we forgot about something…”
With that the car slams on breaks and does a three point turn on the lonesome road and then hit’s the gas, fishtailing across the pavement as it heads back…
Our scene opens up by the light of the sun in the horizon, blurry and dim but another hot as hell day on its way over a dusty trail. The sand kicks around and moves across the barely paved road that lay ahead as far as the eye can see. A tumble weed dances across the road in the wind while the sun begins creeping over mountains as it crawls its way into the sky slowly, like shaking off a hangover in it’s weary eyed state. A truck traveling along in the distance comes over a hill as it seemingly just appears out of nowhere. The aqua blue and faded F-100 sports rust spots like a band camp kid sports ass whippings as it sputters along the lone highway now blocking the sun’s rays for a second as it draws closer. As it creeps past we can hear the theme of mariachi music being played from it’s radio most likely being fed to the radio via the make shift antenna made of an untied wire clothes hanger. The sounds of blending horns and acoustic guitar picking fill the air as the smell of fresh enchiladas and picante sauce fill the wind. A pair of fuzzy dice hang from the rear view mirror, faded from the constant light of the sun. The driver a middle aged, Latino man with a thick ass mustache looking like a dead a ferret strapped across the hood of his grill, taps his hands on the steering wheel and sings along with the words to the song nodding his head in sync with a bobble head as he slows down and begins to turn his wheel. The truck turns off the paved road into a dirt parking lot.
The truck pulls into a spot and comes to a complete halt as the engine still stuttering to go cuts off and the driver opens the door and gets out finishing off a can of “Dos Equis Special” and throws it in the back of the truck. The tin can lands with a clink and a dong as it rattles around and a large brown chicken springs from the back of the truck, over the side with a burst of feathers and clucking runs across the scene and the dusty parking lot. Beside the truck sits a long gun metal black custom chopper, near about nine feet in length a tattooed undead rendering of a pinup girl on the gas tank , depicting a fist full of dollars in one hand and a cross in the other, the words brushed underneath “In God We Trust, All Other Pay Cash”. Both vehicles rest side by side in front of a large wood sided building with a black shingled roof, like a one story barn with windows and old western saloon type feel. As the camera backs up from the scene to take into context the entire building, the sounds of buzzing like electricity flowing can be heard even in the morning. The neon sign, a red one with a lucha libre mask emblazoned on it surrounded but two girls bent over kissing the mask, sits atop a long black pole hangs down and blows in the slight breeze of the arid desert. Hanging over the buzzing sign is another one that proclaims the bar to be “La Cantina de Mierda de Toro” . The sign hanging from the window is flipped to open.
The man still looking at the chopper makes his way to the double swaying saloon style door. The hombre extends his arm to open the door but instead the door explodes open, parted like an unexpecting ass from Montezuma’s Revenge on the attack. The man is slammed into the wall behind him.
There in the doorway stands the world’s pastiest luchadore in a pair of camo shorts, with an “authentic” luchadore’s cape draped around his shoulders, a red and black mask over his face… it could only be (mariachi trumpets)… Senor El Phantasmo. The man behind the door slides down the wall and into a heap as El Phantasmo looks to him with a raised brow from underneath his mask… one can assume you know? Your Mom’s Favorite Lucha then heads back inside. Finally, the man behind the door picks himself up and stumbles away from the place where he apparently should not be. He makes a smile at a few girls passing by on their way toward the entrance. Both girls pass him over as he gives them the “evil eye” and offers to buy them a drink. Behind him El Phantasmo bursts back through the swaying doors as if he heard a distress call and chucks a beer bottle at the Mexican, landing it like a lawn dart into the back of his head, dropping him to the ground yet again. El Phantasmo skips for a second and goes into a Mexican hat dance his one good hand on his side followed by a victorious arm pull as he pushes the doors open and holds them for the two young ladies, winking at the brunette.
As the camera heads inside the bar we see the sights of a cloudy room filled with the smoke of cheap filthy and yet amazing cigars and deep fried foods being burnt in the back kitchen. As El Phantasmo makes his way through the crowd he walks to the back wall and we find seated at a round table there under a Mexican flag and the head of a long horned steer, Salem, half-way slouched over and leaning against the table with his elbow. Salem wears an open black work shirt over dark dusted blue jeans tattered with holes, his hair pulled back into a ponytail under a battered straw cowboy hat. Sitting in his lap and leaning against him or perhaps the other way around but sitting in his lap none the less we find a young latina smiling across the table at two large well built men wearing Lucha masks, and three piece business suits, both looking a bit dazed. The sounds of Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” fill the smoke filled room from an old jukebox.
Love is a burnin' thing…
(horns)
Salem, with a twisted half dazed look in his eyes, slams down a shot glass upside down and glares at the luchadors.
And it makes a fiery ring…
(horns)
Both Luchadors follow through and slam down their shot glasses upside down onto the table top in unison and raise their brows under their mask toward Salem.
Bound by wild desire…
(horns)
Salem nods and takes another shot just dropping it down his throat and goes to put it on the table. his latina friend having to help guide his hand onto the table as she smiles and kisses his forehead. They look toward the opposite side of the table.
I fell into a ring of fire…
(horns)
Both Mexican wrestlers look to each other and take the shots, nodding to one another as they place their glasses down and look to Salem, who bears a surprised look on his sloshed face. His mouth gapes open as they slide their glasses to him.
I fell into a burnin' ring of fire…
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher,
And it burns, burn, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire…
The Luchadors pick up a bottle of Cuervo Gold and shake it over their glasses as nothing comes out. One with a skull on his mask throws it over his shoulder as it hits the floor with a smash and a shatter as behind his back and over his shoulder in the distance of the entrance we can see a brown chicken fly up into the air in a flurry of feathers and clucking. Salem’s head hits the table before he looks up and shakes his head. As the camera draws back we see piles of Tequila bottles scattered around the small area around the table. Otis a tan and white pitbull looks up at Salem and wags his tail putting his head back on his paws and going back to sleep but huffs an exhale first. Salem looks to him in mild warning.
“ Don’t you mock me…”
Salem looks back up to the wrestlers and slams his fist down on the table.
“ Alright that’s it one shot for every time that emo bastard Dragon has to practice his lines in a mirror for his promos… double or nothen here we go… one shot for every pill chick who’s ever turned down Ol’ Mickey Bates on the next one…
The Luchaidors shake their heads and look to Salem. The one sitting closest to Salem wearing the black mask with the white skull on the front known as El Hombre Muerto speaks.
“Mi Amigo no hay suficiente bebida en todo Mexico para esa apuesta sola. Ademas su etiqueta es alto suficiente y dudan que usted tiene suficiente dinero tan nosotros pararemos antes usted omite la ventana de cuarto de bano y nos sale con la cuenta.”
El Hombre Muerto puffs on his cigar and nods looking to Salem and then back to his tagteam partner. As El Hombre Meurto goes to tap off his ashes into the ashtray, the white hand of El Phantasmo strains from behind him to try and reach to pinch the cigar for himself. The other Luchador in the light blue mask embroidered with flowers leans forward and speaks in a softer voice.
“ Ah apenas le mira en su equipo pequeno!!! Yo usted podria comer apenas! Puedo pero ademas bebiendo en nuestra etiqueta mi amigo lo que trae syour asno dulce dulce a estas partes.”
El Hombre Muerto looks at his tag team partner with a bit of disgust and picks up his cigar again from the ashtray, El Phantasmo’s hand still searching the table top for it. Salem listens intently to his friends nodding as they speak.
“Mi amigo que eramos mirando la exposicion la otra noche y dice esta semana su reservo contra este Chassie Fear? Qu tipo de idiota es este mi amigo? El miente, los pies huelen y el no lo adora Jesus…
Rey Raro Sr looks a bit shocked as he blushes and covers his mouth to laugh. Salem looks down the shirt of the latina girl still sitting in his lap while she looks past Hombre Muerto toward El Phantasmo, in shock still at the masked gringo trying his best to steal a fine hand rolled cigar. Salem looks up from the inspection of tits and turns his head slightly and brings up his free hand.
“ I disagree… I find that Betty White was the hottest of all the Golden Girls… ok maybe just maybe after a few drinks I might have looked at Bea Auther in a different light but point is…”
El Hombre Muerto slaps his forehead and slams his cigar into the ashtray but misses landing it atop El Phantasmo’s hand as he was searching for the tray. Under the table El Phantasmo wrenches in pain but not wanting to get caught pinching the cigar he bites his lip. He looks at the tan and white pitbull who looks at him as well. From above the table El Hombre Muerto clears his throat.
“No, no, no you idiot… we’re talking about your opponent this week on Sentinel. This gringo Mickey Dragon and this chicka Chassie Fear… Though I agree about Senorita White now and then I like stay up late night after matches and watch a little Golden Girls on Lifetime myself you know it’s not just for women that Lifetime network… Anyhow these gato‘s Mickey Dragon and Chassie Fear! What in the name of Andigo’s Burrito’s are you planning?”
Salem looks to him his eyebrows furrowed as he taps his chin for a moment and thinks.
“ Well first ummm …gato?”
The latin girl sitting in his lap caresses his cheek with her finger and whispers. “Cat”.
Salem looks to her and shakes his head…
“No thanks I’m allergic… anyhow see I’m not worried about this shit, we’ve got this. See me and Chassie… we go way back. This is like a uCw reunion except this time I’m not with The Covenant or what ever you want to call it. Chassie Fear’s nothing more then a fucken Carebear running with what should be a pack of wolves. Raenius can’t seem to get it through his head… I love him like a brother but he can’t seem to get it. The Covenant… the bastard we breathed life into… is dead. A lifeless husk of the show we once ran. And this half ass fueled version is like a porn star whose looks have gone to shit over the years. But ol Raenius he just keeps on trucking dragging that dead horse with him. Chassie knows what that’s like… The lights don‘t shine down on you like they used to. Things are starting to sag a little or a lot. Life just ain’t what it used to be, her kids out whorin around, her old man would be in tears if he were here to see this…
One of the Mexicans look puzzled for a moment, the girl on Salem’s lap covers her mouth in shock about to cry.
“El Hombre Bloodhound is… dead, Senor?”
Salem looks up in shock. “What?!?! Shit no, He’s living on the East Coast, with sandy beaches and young bimbos in bikinis running him booze like it’s going out of style… but if he was here… he‘d be in tears. Damn shame I tell ya.”
El Hombre Muerto and Rey Raro Sr. look to one another and then both shrug as they look back to Salem. A few people around the bar put back on the hats they had taken off in respect and go about their business.
“Chassie Fear’s meal ticket is riding on what’s left of Covenant’s name, and she knows it. That’s why she’s straining every bit of good she has left out of the name someone else built. She’s kind of like the Courtney Love of the wrestling world boys; Raenius and I busted our asses with a few other guys to build up an empire of destruction and she’s going to suck off the royalties till Raenius gets it through his head… The Covenant is dead, tt has been, it always will be. Cause God knows I don’t think Magnum Destinations is raking in the cash like it used too. You know we trained together me and him? True story… my mentor and him were cousins, then he married my brother in law’s ex wife.. And then.. You know what don’t worry about it.”
Salem taps his finger on the table as if trying to make a point of purpose to move on.
“Anyhow this other emo fag..”
Rey Raro Sr. gasps and looks as if he’s about to tear up. El Hombre Muerto shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Lifting his cigar he goes to light it again. Salem looks to the more flamboyantly colorful dressed of the two.
“No offense…
Rey Raro Sr.: Bien le debera ser tomado asno. Y para pensar que permiti que usted pedir prestado que mi sudar a los viejos para tomar esos adoran los asideros lejos de su asno rechoncho. Y por la manera! Llevo ropa interior de damas y yo lo quiero. Y de lo que soy dicho en dias impares de la semana usted puede encontrar este Alcholic y Tyson que juegan la bofetada y cosquilleo en el cuarto interior de El Espacio del Estampido del Estampido!!
Salem looks to Rey and them to Hombre again.
“Do what? “
Hombre Muerto sighs a bit and answers.
“You do not want to know my friend… I’ll have to hear him cry himself to sleep tonight on his pink feathered pillow.”
Salem nods but keeps his eyes on Rey Raro Sr. From beside Salem something white raises up from the depths of under the table. The pasty white dime store looking luchador El Phantasmo throws open his cape like an ol black and white vampire movie. Yelling in Spanish as if scolding the table, the burn mark still on his hand.
“Inteligentemente!!!”
Without missing a beat and never taking his eyes off the company of the luchadors at the table, Salem reaches forward and cracks the top off a beer and hands the masked KvK a Dos Equis, who takes it and starts trying to drink it through the mask before walking off.
“ Either way… this Sentinel I’m going to be in that ring with Dragon… not a first mind you. But this kid used to carry my bags into the fucken buildings when we were in uCw. And he’s still this sniveling, emo life style little bitch who’s still having his momma issues. It’s just sadder now with us all being older. The guys got a hard on for some attention and all Jez did was give him a little media. But is the prick happy about some air time and some spotlight? …No he doesn’t know what to do now with the attention and had to get all medded up cause he decided to get up one morning and drink his big glass of ain’t right. Though I can promise once he steps into that ring he will have rathered wire-brushed a tigers ass in a phone booth than cross paths with The Horror Show. And when I beat his ass for chasing after Jez, then I’ll beat his ass again for making me watch one of his lame ass promos.. Oh hoe hohoho I’m going to make him bleed for that one I promise. You know how hard it was to stay awake during that last one?”
El Hombre Muerto chuckles.
“Tiger’s ass in los phone booth… I like that… I’ll have to use that my friend. But what about his attack on KvK last week in what was supposed to be called a match. I mean he beat Klaus with in an inch of his life… the poor man’s elbow is shattered and apparently he beat him plum retarded as well… I mean this injury could be counted as a huge victory for Los Covenant. No?”
All three men, and the girl look off scene toward the direction El Phantasmo walked towards.
“Inteligentemente!!!”
Salem listens to the latina in his lap as she whispers something in his ear, Rey Raro still pouting, and Hombre Muerto taking a few puffs on his cigar. The pitbull Otis under the table lifts his head for a moment and stands up smelling the air. The next table over celebrates as a massive plate of fully loaded nachos is delivered. Salem moves his feet as the dog barges over and looking at the people seated at the table raises up and begins gnawing down on the nachos. Sounds of shock and disruption break loose at the table, but is quickly disbanded by the growling and the showing of cheese covered teeth in the muzzle of a large dog.
Salem looks over at his faithful freak on a leash .
“That’s gonna give him gas later… A huge victory for The Covenant? That’s not a huge victory, that’s an introduction like hi welcome to the Sleaze & Brewtality fun hour, here’s your complimentary tote bag, t shirt, and chance to temporarily take down one of us. Like we haven’t had bones broken before or been taken down a few notches in our careers? It doesn’t matter in the long run how many temper tantrums this kid has and goes ape shit, yeah he fucked KvK’s beer drinking arm up, but as you can see he’s fine. This little parade of bullshit Mickey’s been in is in need of a quick halt before he does something stupid and it stops with a road block named Salem. A dangerously ravishing, and intellectual roadblock mind you but a damned roadblock none the less…”
With that the double door in the front swings open and standing in the entrance of the lowly dive stands KvK’s young pupil and El Phantasmo’s current babysitter, the Viking- looking Nate Korpi. His eyes wildly search the establishment over before falling back like double take on Salem.
“Ah fuck dude… I’m supposed to be watching his ass and keeping him away from you! Where is he?”
With that every patron in the establishment including the live mariachi band that was currently setting up, all stop what they’re doing and look to another set of doors that lead to the kitchen. With a shatter of glass and the sound of pots and pans raining down onto the floor the double doors explode open and out leaps the lucha mask wearing El Phantasmo. As the doors swing back and clasp together his cape is lodged between the two, unbeknownst to him. As he goes to walk forward, he is automatically snatched back and off his feet.
“Oh sweet Jesus…”
Nate shakes his head as he makes his way over to KvK. El Phantasmo crawls across the floor to the table where Salem and the other luchadors sit, trying to pull himself up using the tabletop, his burned hand on searching for a grip to help him to his feet. He slings his cape over his shoulders to keep it out of the way before returning his hand to the table for his ascent. At that time, high on the buildup of Salem’s rant, El Hombre Muerto slams his hand down directly on top of El Phantasmo‘s, making an abruptly loud sound and sending El Phantasmo shooting up, his head cracking the table in response and sending him back to the floor. El Hombre Muerto looks momentarily confused at the echoed sound, but shrugs and then leaps to his feet in the excitement. Nate, who was on his way to his mentor, has been distracted by another latina girl with a very ample bosom bearing beer, tequila, and a smile his way. He smiles back at her, thinking his mentor can wait.
“And you can bet your grand mamma’s enchiladas we will be rooting for you me amigo!!! Whoop that ass you crazy ass out to lunch mother fucker of a friend!!! … You and all of your Circus amigos. Go my friend it is time…”
Salem begins to motion for the girl to stand so he can get up.
“For me to claim my destiny and take down the sell out faction that I once called brothers?”
El Hombre Muerto shrugs slightly…
“No I was actually saying it’s almost time for the donkey show to begin, and the band has already set up.”
Salem shudders for a moment at the thought.
“Well there’s nothing I hate more then to drink and run off… bar keep I’m gonna need another!!! And give me a few to go!!! Besides this place is about to smell of a lot worse than just beer, piss, and burritos… alright guys we gotta head out of here. Sentinel comen up, and we got a long ass drive.”
They all stand as Salem calls for El Phantasmo who is nowhere in sight. Nate, several bottles and shots taken out around him, stands and with a regretful look leaves the senorita. He absentmindedly begins to look around chairs and tables for the elusive luchador before forgetting what he was doing and just walking out.
“ Where the hell… eh still. Keep watching that television boys cause this Sentinel I add just one more name to a long list of people that I’m going to get to trample on here in GIW.
Salem picks up his six pack of “Negro Modelo” and looks at it with a “what the fuck” look but shrugs and walks out toward the front. With the beer in one hand and holding the girls hand in the other he kicks open the doors to the bar and hit’s the Mexican man who had admired his bike, trying to make his way back in again. The man lands back out ass first in the parking lot again. Salem opens the door to Nate’s car and throws in the case of beer with a glass bottle rattling noise as it lands in the front seat. With a flurry of feathers and clucking, a brown chicken flies from out of the up until now closed and locked rental car. Salem guides Nate back into his car pushing the young rookie down into the driver’s seat, and opens the back door to let Otis ride with him.
Salem turns around and dips back the young Spanish girl and hikes up one of her legs dipping her back holding her behind the knee as he pulls her closer.
“Gimme some sugar baby… “
Salem pulls her closer and lays a deep deep kiss on her before parting and letting her go, effectively dropping her onto the dusty ground. The young woman begins stomping her foot in the dirt and yelling at the massive man known as Salem.
“ A la verga! no voy a poder ensusiar bien por una semana! donde esta mi feria!"
Salem closes his door to the rental car as Nate starts the engine.
“ Yeah I know… it was special for me to kitten. Hail to the King Baby… “
Salem mounts his chopper and lets the engine roar into existence. Nate happy to get the hell out of here squeals into reverse and skids out of the parking lot as they slam onto the highway and out into the distance. With that our two favorite luchadors come barreling out into the parking lot, fighting one another along side a chicken and a few other patrons in a bar fight brawl, the sounds of a donkey in the background, and El Phantasmo’s screams of laugher as our scene fades to black…
………..Scene Fades Back In…
Later That Day
As the sun goes down fading in the distance cascading the sky a purple hue, Salem sits at a cross roads with the car driven by Nate beside him, his window down as he looks to Salem.
“Should be home soon enough man, but you know what? I can’t help but feel we forgot about something…”
With that the car slams on breaks and does a three point turn on the lonesome road and then hit’s the gas, fishtailing across the pavement as it heads back…
