Post by Whitey Ford on May 15, 2009 13:47:28 GMT -4
::The scene is inside of Whitey Ford's locker room. The Freak is sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, twiddling his thumbs and looking at the door as if he expects somebody. He obviously was, but wasn't quite ready for Whitey Ford to kick the door in with a loud viking yell, a chalkboard underneath his arm. Freak is startled backwards, the aviators falling off his face as he goes, landing hard on his back with an oomph sound as the air escapes his lungs. Ford slams the door behind him, still obviously excited.::
Whitey Ford: OK! OK OK OK! We have work to do!
::The Freak picks himself up and sits back in the chair, looking puzzled.::
Whitey Ford: We have to STUDY! Study for Jake Andrews and how I can hurt him the most!
The Freak: You haven't been thinking about that all week? Where the hell have you been?
::Whitey sets the chalkboard up, and pulls some green chalk from his pocket. As he works furiously, drawing three intertwining circles, he keeps on talking.::
Whitey Ford: I've been sleeping.
The Freak: For 4 days?
Whitey Ford: I had a long night last week, leave me alone. What have you done with your time, Mr. Productive?
The Freake: Waxed the carrot.
::Whitey stops drawing the circles, and turns around with an eyebrow raised and his mouth open just a little bit in disgust. The Freak shakes his head, stammering to get a better answer out.::
The Freak: I mean...celebrating bat day in the ball park!
::Whitey nods, accepting the answer, and turns around to continue his work. Its only temporary, though, and he whips back around, looking more disgusted. The Freak stammers again, slapping a hand over his face.::
The Freak: I mean...the Red Sox were playing! Yeah, for 4 days straight!
::Whitey just shakes his head, turning around to continue his work again.::
Whitey Ford: I at least hope you washed that hand...sick bastard.
::The Freak slowly pulls the hand off his face, curling a lip and now taking his turn to look disgusted. He subconsiously wipes his hand on his jeans before quickly changing the subject.::
The Freak: Whatcha doing, then? What are those circles?
::Whitey has now written one word outside each of the circles. 'Chair' is above one, 'Baseball Bat' is above the second, and the last reads 'Bouquet of Roses'.::
Whitey Ford: This, my uneducated and carpal-tunnel patient friend, is a VENN DIAGRAM. Sound it out.
The Freak: Vinn...Dia...diagh...
Whitey Ford: Fuckit, nevermind. It shows results and facts, and if their shared with each of the options. So!
::Whitey turns around to face Freak like a teacher, and slaps the chalk against the word 'Chair'.::
Whitey Ford: What would the result be if I hit Jake with a chair?
The Freak: Ch...Chay...
Whitey Ford: No, you idiot, don't sound anything else out. Give me answers.
The Freak: Oh, well...tears, loss of blood, gyratic spasms as he flails his arms like Madonna doing a performance on cocaine...more tears...unconciousness. Possibly pleading for mercy.
::As The Freak continues talking, Whitey is writing it all down in the Venn Diagram fervently. As the list ends, Whitey takes a step back, going over what he has already with a ponderous look. A few moments pass, and The Freak pipes up.::
The Freak: Well, now what?
Whitey Ford: We'd go on to ask ourselves how he'd react if i hit him with a baseball bat...BUT...their all the same answers as if I would have hit him with a chair. So they'd go in the interlaces part, here...
::Whitey writes arrows to show where the text is supposed to go, too lazy to rewrite it.::
The Freak: So what about a bouqet of roses?
Whitey Ford: Hmmm...he might bleed. They have thorns, you know.
The Freak: And if he ingests the petals, he could get really sick the next morning.
Whitey Ford: I think...as creepy as this is for me even considering attacking him with roses...he'd probably like it.
The Freak: Really?
Whitey Ford: Yeah...I don't think they guy has ever had a girlfriend before. I mean...look at him. He runs away, he's funny lookin', talks weird, doesn't like drinking or hardcore violence! All women love drinking and hardcore violence!
The Freak:...Really?
::The Freak scratches his head while Whitey nods in a matter of fact manner.::
Whitey Ford: Its true. But back on subject...I think I can rule out hitting him with the roses now, since I don't need another man crush. Crazy Bill and Anthony Jordan have already stalked me out of lust, I don't need a third wackjob coming after me.
::With that said, Whitey quickly slashes a line through the circle that's marked 'bouqet of roses'. He tosses the chalk aside, and nods.::
Whitey Ford: Good work, Freak. I think I'm going to use a bat AND a chair on Jake Andrews this week at Anarchy. Now, if you'll excuse me...I have some wild and zany antics to cook up, since I'm chock full of energy! Goodbye!
::Whitey doesn't even wait for The Freak to wave his farewell before dashing out the door and into the hallway, obviously to get into some sort of mischief. The Freak only sits there, thinking...but eventually picks up his cell phone and makes a call. A voice on the other end, a woman voice, is heard.::
The Freak: Hi, Susan...listen, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a long night of drinking and hardcore violence at some point. Preferabbly after you get out of work, so its not so formal. I can pick you up in my van at--
::The Freak is cut off by the sound of a woman screaming and yelling profanities at him. The tirade goes on for about a minute, The Freak holding the phone away from his ear and body as if Susan will come through the phone itself. The shouting stops, and a dial tone is heard. Freak hangs up the phone and sighs.::
The Freak: Whenever I take Whitey's advice, I always end up with a restraining order...
::Fade to black::
Whitey Ford: OK! OK OK OK! We have work to do!
::The Freak picks himself up and sits back in the chair, looking puzzled.::
Whitey Ford: We have to STUDY! Study for Jake Andrews and how I can hurt him the most!
The Freak: You haven't been thinking about that all week? Where the hell have you been?
::Whitey sets the chalkboard up, and pulls some green chalk from his pocket. As he works furiously, drawing three intertwining circles, he keeps on talking.::
Whitey Ford: I've been sleeping.
The Freak: For 4 days?
Whitey Ford: I had a long night last week, leave me alone. What have you done with your time, Mr. Productive?
The Freake: Waxed the carrot.
::Whitey stops drawing the circles, and turns around with an eyebrow raised and his mouth open just a little bit in disgust. The Freak shakes his head, stammering to get a better answer out.::
The Freak: I mean...celebrating bat day in the ball park!
::Whitey nods, accepting the answer, and turns around to continue his work. Its only temporary, though, and he whips back around, looking more disgusted. The Freak stammers again, slapping a hand over his face.::
The Freak: I mean...the Red Sox were playing! Yeah, for 4 days straight!
::Whitey just shakes his head, turning around to continue his work again.::
Whitey Ford: I at least hope you washed that hand...sick bastard.
::The Freak slowly pulls the hand off his face, curling a lip and now taking his turn to look disgusted. He subconsiously wipes his hand on his jeans before quickly changing the subject.::
The Freak: Whatcha doing, then? What are those circles?
::Whitey has now written one word outside each of the circles. 'Chair' is above one, 'Baseball Bat' is above the second, and the last reads 'Bouquet of Roses'.::
Whitey Ford: This, my uneducated and carpal-tunnel patient friend, is a VENN DIAGRAM. Sound it out.
The Freak: Vinn...Dia...diagh...
Whitey Ford: Fuckit, nevermind. It shows results and facts, and if their shared with each of the options. So!
::Whitey turns around to face Freak like a teacher, and slaps the chalk against the word 'Chair'.::
Whitey Ford: What would the result be if I hit Jake with a chair?
The Freak: Ch...Chay...
Whitey Ford: No, you idiot, don't sound anything else out. Give me answers.
The Freak: Oh, well...tears, loss of blood, gyratic spasms as he flails his arms like Madonna doing a performance on cocaine...more tears...unconciousness. Possibly pleading for mercy.
::As The Freak continues talking, Whitey is writing it all down in the Venn Diagram fervently. As the list ends, Whitey takes a step back, going over what he has already with a ponderous look. A few moments pass, and The Freak pipes up.::
The Freak: Well, now what?
Whitey Ford: We'd go on to ask ourselves how he'd react if i hit him with a baseball bat...BUT...their all the same answers as if I would have hit him with a chair. So they'd go in the interlaces part, here...
::Whitey writes arrows to show where the text is supposed to go, too lazy to rewrite it.::
The Freak: So what about a bouqet of roses?
Whitey Ford: Hmmm...he might bleed. They have thorns, you know.
The Freak: And if he ingests the petals, he could get really sick the next morning.
Whitey Ford: I think...as creepy as this is for me even considering attacking him with roses...he'd probably like it.
The Freak: Really?
Whitey Ford: Yeah...I don't think they guy has ever had a girlfriend before. I mean...look at him. He runs away, he's funny lookin', talks weird, doesn't like drinking or hardcore violence! All women love drinking and hardcore violence!
The Freak:...Really?
::The Freak scratches his head while Whitey nods in a matter of fact manner.::
Whitey Ford: Its true. But back on subject...I think I can rule out hitting him with the roses now, since I don't need another man crush. Crazy Bill and Anthony Jordan have already stalked me out of lust, I don't need a third wackjob coming after me.
::With that said, Whitey quickly slashes a line through the circle that's marked 'bouqet of roses'. He tosses the chalk aside, and nods.::
Whitey Ford: Good work, Freak. I think I'm going to use a bat AND a chair on Jake Andrews this week at Anarchy. Now, if you'll excuse me...I have some wild and zany antics to cook up, since I'm chock full of energy! Goodbye!
::Whitey doesn't even wait for The Freak to wave his farewell before dashing out the door and into the hallway, obviously to get into some sort of mischief. The Freak only sits there, thinking...but eventually picks up his cell phone and makes a call. A voice on the other end, a woman voice, is heard.::
The Freak: Hi, Susan...listen, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a long night of drinking and hardcore violence at some point. Preferabbly after you get out of work, so its not so formal. I can pick you up in my van at--
::The Freak is cut off by the sound of a woman screaming and yelling profanities at him. The tirade goes on for about a minute, The Freak holding the phone away from his ear and body as if Susan will come through the phone itself. The shouting stops, and a dial tone is heard. Freak hangs up the phone and sighs.::
The Freak: Whenever I take Whitey's advice, I always end up with a restraining order...
::Fade to black::