Post by Whitey Ford on May 15, 2009 14:01:32 GMT -4
::Whitey Ford and The Freak are standing outside of the AWA arena, out back near the dumpsters. Whitey is smoking a ciggarette, wearing a red leather jacket and looking around through some once-trendy sunglasses. The Freak is wearing a dirty dress shirt with a tie, the shirt untucked from his out of the ordinary dress pants. Ford suddenly turns to The Freak.::
Whitey Ford: I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
::The Freak is taken by surprise by the request, and stutters to make a response.::
The Freak: Wha...what? I mean, I can't do that--
Whitey Ford: C'mon, man. You don't want to die without any scars, do you?
::The Freak starts to answers, but starts to warm up to the idea. He takes a step back, readies his arm to punch...when Whitey's ciggarette falls from his mouth. Ford forgets that he just requested a punch in the face, and bends down to retrieve his cancer stick. The Freak swings as Ford ducks, missing completely and spinning in a complete circle. When Whitey stands back up, he see's his confused best friend standing in the same position he was once in.::
Whitey Ford: Fine, you pussy. I'll even give you a chair, see? That way you can hit me twice as hard as you would with your tiny little fist.
::Sure enough, a dented and discarded chair is laying next to the dumpster. Ford picks it up and tosses it to The Freak. Now the latter is really in doubt about what he's about to do.::
The Freak: Your sure about this?
Whitey Ford: Sure as schnitzel. Hit me.
::The Freak merely shrugs his shoulders, winds back, and clocks Whitey in the forehead with the dented chair. Whitey staggers back, moaning.::
Whitey Ford: OW! OW YOU SON OF A BITCH, OW!
The Freak: WHAT?!! You told me to hit you, I'm sorry!
::Whitey shakes his head vigorously, trying to clear out the stars swimming around in his vision.::
Whitey Ford: No, dumbshit, we're playing Fight Club for the camera's to hype up our new movie coming out. Remember, Fight Club Dos: Fence Trouble In Short Mexico?
The Freak: That idea cleared with the execs?
Whitey Ford: Ow, damnit...jesus, this hurts! I didn't expect you to actually hit me, I wasn't ready!
The Freak: I didn't know this was a promo, I thought we were just hanging out! When'd the movie idea clear?
::Whitey stops holding his head, checking for blood. There is none.::
Whitey Ford: Its in the works, but trust me, it'll clear. They'll love it, the script is golden. Maybe I can even get Jake Andrews' to do a commercial in the beginning about Tide, and how it'll be able to clean his blood off of my clothes after I whoop his ass!
::The Freak shakes his head, a look of dissapointment on his face.::
The Freak: Dude...Jake Andrews already used that against you. That same exact joke.
::Whitey groans, waving his hand dismissively.::
Whitey Ford: Listen, fuck you. I just got hit in the head with a chair, I'm not thinking clearly. Dumbass. Ok...well...wait, hold on.
::Whitey stops what he's doing and reaches into his pocket. His phone is ringing the tune to a Beach Boys song, and he answers it.::
Whitey Ford: Hey, man. Get my script? Wait, what...whaddya mean? Its an awesome idea, everyone will love it! What? No, fuck mexicans who get offended, its just a coincidence theirs a huge fence surrounding mexico and they happen to be short in my movie. What? I didn't know their already was a fence! Well, mine's bigger....yeah, like, ten times bigger. How does that not matter? Listen, I have a sponser! Tide wants in.
::The Freak has given up on his almost-concussed friend, and heads back inside the arena as the scene fades out.::
Whitey Ford: Well, its not for certain, but I'm fighting one of their sponsors Monday. Oh, come on, how can that hurt my chances of getting some sponsorship?
Whitey Ford: I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
::The Freak is taken by surprise by the request, and stutters to make a response.::
The Freak: Wha...what? I mean, I can't do that--
Whitey Ford: C'mon, man. You don't want to die without any scars, do you?
::The Freak starts to answers, but starts to warm up to the idea. He takes a step back, readies his arm to punch...when Whitey's ciggarette falls from his mouth. Ford forgets that he just requested a punch in the face, and bends down to retrieve his cancer stick. The Freak swings as Ford ducks, missing completely and spinning in a complete circle. When Whitey stands back up, he see's his confused best friend standing in the same position he was once in.::
Whitey Ford: Fine, you pussy. I'll even give you a chair, see? That way you can hit me twice as hard as you would with your tiny little fist.
::Sure enough, a dented and discarded chair is laying next to the dumpster. Ford picks it up and tosses it to The Freak. Now the latter is really in doubt about what he's about to do.::
The Freak: Your sure about this?
Whitey Ford: Sure as schnitzel. Hit me.
::The Freak merely shrugs his shoulders, winds back, and clocks Whitey in the forehead with the dented chair. Whitey staggers back, moaning.::
Whitey Ford: OW! OW YOU SON OF A BITCH, OW!
The Freak: WHAT?!! You told me to hit you, I'm sorry!
::Whitey shakes his head vigorously, trying to clear out the stars swimming around in his vision.::
Whitey Ford: No, dumbshit, we're playing Fight Club for the camera's to hype up our new movie coming out. Remember, Fight Club Dos: Fence Trouble In Short Mexico?
The Freak: That idea cleared with the execs?
Whitey Ford: Ow, damnit...jesus, this hurts! I didn't expect you to actually hit me, I wasn't ready!
The Freak: I didn't know this was a promo, I thought we were just hanging out! When'd the movie idea clear?
::Whitey stops holding his head, checking for blood. There is none.::
Whitey Ford: Its in the works, but trust me, it'll clear. They'll love it, the script is golden. Maybe I can even get Jake Andrews' to do a commercial in the beginning about Tide, and how it'll be able to clean his blood off of my clothes after I whoop his ass!
::The Freak shakes his head, a look of dissapointment on his face.::
The Freak: Dude...Jake Andrews already used that against you. That same exact joke.
::Whitey groans, waving his hand dismissively.::
Whitey Ford: Listen, fuck you. I just got hit in the head with a chair, I'm not thinking clearly. Dumbass. Ok...well...wait, hold on.
::Whitey stops what he's doing and reaches into his pocket. His phone is ringing the tune to a Beach Boys song, and he answers it.::
Whitey Ford: Hey, man. Get my script? Wait, what...whaddya mean? Its an awesome idea, everyone will love it! What? No, fuck mexicans who get offended, its just a coincidence theirs a huge fence surrounding mexico and they happen to be short in my movie. What? I didn't know their already was a fence! Well, mine's bigger....yeah, like, ten times bigger. How does that not matter? Listen, I have a sponser! Tide wants in.
::The Freak has given up on his almost-concussed friend, and heads back inside the arena as the scene fades out.::
Whitey Ford: Well, its not for certain, but I'm fighting one of their sponsors Monday. Oh, come on, how can that hurt my chances of getting some sponsorship?