Post by Gurgen Hovhanissian on Sept 16, 2016 3:17:46 GMT -5
Given the temperatures of these past few days, Bob and Frank had sought refuge in their broom cupboard of an office. It was located well away from any outside walls and was thus still rather cool, relatively speaking.
A small camera, set up on one of the shelves caught both men with their feet in an inflatable kiddie pool. Frank was doing some editing, as usual, but he had enhanced his laptop with a USB powered fan.
Bob, for his striving for coolness, had snatched the last cans of ice coffee and was sampling the in all fairness rather vile liquid from an obviously fake human skull the props department had used for last year’s Halloween show.
There was a loud crash … like some massive object slamming into a solid fixture. Neither man reacted.
The sound repeated itself a few times prompting Frank to ask, “What is that sound anyway?!”
Bob sipped some more ice coffee before replying, “Gurgen, probably, attempting to figure out doors.”
There was the crash again. The door flew across the pool, followed by Gurgen diving face first into the five inches of water.
“Trying and failing, it seems,” Frank observed.
Bob said to the motionless ball of hair in their pool, “Hello Gurgen … ice coffee?”
Beast pushed himself up, out of the water. Copious amount of water streaming down his face and beard he spat out a rather drowned, “No thanks … there be things not even Beast drink.”
Frank peered into the pool. “Oh, how cute!” he chirped.
He snatched the camera off the shelve to get a better shot of Bottlecap swimming in the pool.
“He’s doing the breaststroke, I think,” Frank commented.
Beast wrung the water from his beard. He added, “Beast stroke breast once … girl hit Beast in the face.”
“What brings you to us,” queried Bob.
Beast grabbed the earthly remains of the door and showed it to Bob. “Door,” he stated, “it be open. Door bring Beast to Bobnfrank.”
“Marvelous!” Bob lied, “But I mean, why did you come here? What did you want to talk about?”
A stare even blanker than usual spread across the Beastly face. He stroked his beard, not dislodging anything for once as all the creatures inside had washed into the pool.
“Uh ooooh,” Frank said, “You asked him to engage his memory … this could take a while.”
“Yeah,” Bob agreed, “And we’ll be lucky is what comes out is something other than the communist manifesto or the pledge of the Lenin’s pioneers.”
Frank raised his fist in the air, “Religion is the opiate of the people!”
Bob shook his head, “That’s not the pledge of the Lenin’s pioneers.”
Before Frank could, in a vain and desperate attempt to gain one up on Bob, display the extent of his lack of knowledge of communism, the cold war or, indeed, anything prior to The Ultimate Warrior’s title reign over at some other wrestling fed, which, in fairness, had little if anything to do with the previous two topics, short of maybe that one Survivor Series match involving Warrior and the Bolsheviks, Gurgen had finally fished that tiny pearl of relevance from among nearly half a century’s worth of debauchery and insanity.
“This!” he burled (?). His hand disappeared into his coat. He retrieved a toaster oven. This was however evidently not the item he had sought, so he tossed it into the pool, almost drowning Bottlecap who was presently doing some backstroke. A bottle of Spanish Absinth wasn’t what he needed either. This he drained before tossing it into the pool. Aha! Now he found what he was looking for. A crumpled up piece of durable but never the less thoroughly soaked paper emerged from the unfathomable coat. He started pulling it apart, Danny Hawkins’ likeness joined the toaster oven, the empty bottle of absinth, the swimming mouse and a gazillion drowning bugs in the pool. Other pieces of paper, less identifiable soon fell in too until Beast, rather hoarse from the 89% of alcohol content in the absinth, said, “This … this be it.”
It was a section of next show’s poster displaying Bohannon and Beast looking at each other rather menacingly … with Vano hovering over the both of them. For his part, Vano looked quite smug, but then again, Vano always looked kind of smug. In fact, it seemed to Beast to be both the default and actually the only expression Vano’s ugly mug was capable of settling into.
“Well, Beasty,” Bob commenced, “You see, you’re a wrestler. Wrestlers have matches …”
“Yes, yes,” Beast waved his explanation aside with a rapid swipe of his paw, “Beast know that. Beast not be complete idiot.”
He paused to ponder his own declaration.
“Ok,” he admitted, “Beast BE complete idiot … but Beast DO know about matchings! Beast wanna know what ugly-faced Vano do in match? This be nother … tri…times…danger … match?”
“Triple threat,” Bob corrected him, “And no, it is not. You see, Vano is going to be the referee in your match.”
“So … Vano make countings?”
“Yep”
“And Vano no allowed to hit Beasty?”
“He’s not supposed to …” Bob said, realizing that these were concepts beyond Beastly comprehension.
“Oh, then Beast just kick shit out of Bohannannnaannon and Beast win matchings.”
“Weeeeeeeell,” Bob hesitated, “Apart from the fact Bohannon isn’t exactly a push-over … you have to wonder if Vano is going to play fair.”
And wonder, Beast did. “So,” he tried to vocalize his tacit conclusion, “Maybe Vano do hit Beasty … when ref no be looking.”
Only able to digest so much Beastly stupidity, Frank interjected, “Vano doesn’t have to hide from the ref … he IS the ref. He can hit you if he wants. He can ‘forget’ to count if you pin Bohannon. He can leave the ring and chat up the cute blonde in the first row if you should knock Bohannon out.”
“Aha!” Beast exclaimed, “So, if Beast chase away all the blondes, Vano no can leave ring!”
“You’re solving the wrong problem!” Frank did some exclaiming of his own.
Beast applied what little mental acumen he possessed to this conundrum.
“Aha,” he went again, “Beast have cunning plan!”
“Oh dear,” Frank said, those two words dripping with dread.
“Does this plan involve you dressing up as a referee, yourself?” Bob probed.
Beast sheepishly stared at Bob’s face. “It … might …” he was loathe to admit.
“Vano MIGHT clue in to the fact that there’s one referee too many.”
Beast pondered his predicament some more. Finally, he leaned closer to Bob.
“If Vano be referee …”
“Yeeeees …” Bob encouraged.
“then if Vano no be looking …”
“Still with you …”
“referee no be looking …”
“Very true, Beast.”
“So then Beast can …”
“Hush now, Beasty,” Bob said, placing his hand dangerously close to the Beastly maw, “We don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
Beaming an insanely large smile, Beast got up, thanked Bobnfrank for their wise words by patting them on the back, and stopping JUST short of cracking ribs. He fished bottlecap out of the pool and raced out of the room.
Frank ruefully peered into their pool. “There’s bugs in the water,” he sighed.
A small camera, set up on one of the shelves caught both men with their feet in an inflatable kiddie pool. Frank was doing some editing, as usual, but he had enhanced his laptop with a USB powered fan.
Bob, for his striving for coolness, had snatched the last cans of ice coffee and was sampling the in all fairness rather vile liquid from an obviously fake human skull the props department had used for last year’s Halloween show.
There was a loud crash … like some massive object slamming into a solid fixture. Neither man reacted.
The sound repeated itself a few times prompting Frank to ask, “What is that sound anyway?!”
Bob sipped some more ice coffee before replying, “Gurgen, probably, attempting to figure out doors.”
There was the crash again. The door flew across the pool, followed by Gurgen diving face first into the five inches of water.
“Trying and failing, it seems,” Frank observed.
Bob said to the motionless ball of hair in their pool, “Hello Gurgen … ice coffee?”
Beast pushed himself up, out of the water. Copious amount of water streaming down his face and beard he spat out a rather drowned, “No thanks … there be things not even Beast drink.”
Frank peered into the pool. “Oh, how cute!” he chirped.
He snatched the camera off the shelve to get a better shot of Bottlecap swimming in the pool.
“He’s doing the breaststroke, I think,” Frank commented.
Beast wrung the water from his beard. He added, “Beast stroke breast once … girl hit Beast in the face.”
“What brings you to us,” queried Bob.
Beast grabbed the earthly remains of the door and showed it to Bob. “Door,” he stated, “it be open. Door bring Beast to Bobnfrank.”
“Marvelous!” Bob lied, “But I mean, why did you come here? What did you want to talk about?”
A stare even blanker than usual spread across the Beastly face. He stroked his beard, not dislodging anything for once as all the creatures inside had washed into the pool.
“Uh ooooh,” Frank said, “You asked him to engage his memory … this could take a while.”
“Yeah,” Bob agreed, “And we’ll be lucky is what comes out is something other than the communist manifesto or the pledge of the Lenin’s pioneers.”
Frank raised his fist in the air, “Religion is the opiate of the people!”
Bob shook his head, “That’s not the pledge of the Lenin’s pioneers.”
Before Frank could, in a vain and desperate attempt to gain one up on Bob, display the extent of his lack of knowledge of communism, the cold war or, indeed, anything prior to The Ultimate Warrior’s title reign over at some other wrestling fed, which, in fairness, had little if anything to do with the previous two topics, short of maybe that one Survivor Series match involving Warrior and the Bolsheviks, Gurgen had finally fished that tiny pearl of relevance from among nearly half a century’s worth of debauchery and insanity.
“This!” he burled (?). His hand disappeared into his coat. He retrieved a toaster oven. This was however evidently not the item he had sought, so he tossed it into the pool, almost drowning Bottlecap who was presently doing some backstroke. A bottle of Spanish Absinth wasn’t what he needed either. This he drained before tossing it into the pool. Aha! Now he found what he was looking for. A crumpled up piece of durable but never the less thoroughly soaked paper emerged from the unfathomable coat. He started pulling it apart, Danny Hawkins’ likeness joined the toaster oven, the empty bottle of absinth, the swimming mouse and a gazillion drowning bugs in the pool. Other pieces of paper, less identifiable soon fell in too until Beast, rather hoarse from the 89% of alcohol content in the absinth, said, “This … this be it.”
It was a section of next show’s poster displaying Bohannon and Beast looking at each other rather menacingly … with Vano hovering over the both of them. For his part, Vano looked quite smug, but then again, Vano always looked kind of smug. In fact, it seemed to Beast to be both the default and actually the only expression Vano’s ugly mug was capable of settling into.
“Well, Beasty,” Bob commenced, “You see, you’re a wrestler. Wrestlers have matches …”
“Yes, yes,” Beast waved his explanation aside with a rapid swipe of his paw, “Beast know that. Beast not be complete idiot.”
He paused to ponder his own declaration.
“Ok,” he admitted, “Beast BE complete idiot … but Beast DO know about matchings! Beast wanna know what ugly-faced Vano do in match? This be nother … tri…times…danger … match?”
“Triple threat,” Bob corrected him, “And no, it is not. You see, Vano is going to be the referee in your match.”
“So … Vano make countings?”
“Yep”
“And Vano no allowed to hit Beasty?”
“He’s not supposed to …” Bob said, realizing that these were concepts beyond Beastly comprehension.
“Oh, then Beast just kick shit out of Bohannannnaannon and Beast win matchings.”
“Weeeeeeeell,” Bob hesitated, “Apart from the fact Bohannon isn’t exactly a push-over … you have to wonder if Vano is going to play fair.”
And wonder, Beast did. “So,” he tried to vocalize his tacit conclusion, “Maybe Vano do hit Beasty … when ref no be looking.”
Only able to digest so much Beastly stupidity, Frank interjected, “Vano doesn’t have to hide from the ref … he IS the ref. He can hit you if he wants. He can ‘forget’ to count if you pin Bohannon. He can leave the ring and chat up the cute blonde in the first row if you should knock Bohannon out.”
“Aha!” Beast exclaimed, “So, if Beast chase away all the blondes, Vano no can leave ring!”
“You’re solving the wrong problem!” Frank did some exclaiming of his own.
Beast applied what little mental acumen he possessed to this conundrum.
“Aha,” he went again, “Beast have cunning plan!”
“Oh dear,” Frank said, those two words dripping with dread.
“Does this plan involve you dressing up as a referee, yourself?” Bob probed.
Beast sheepishly stared at Bob’s face. “It … might …” he was loathe to admit.
“Vano MIGHT clue in to the fact that there’s one referee too many.”
Beast pondered his predicament some more. Finally, he leaned closer to Bob.
“If Vano be referee …”
“Yeeeees …” Bob encouraged.
“then if Vano no be looking …”
“Still with you …”
“referee no be looking …”
“Very true, Beast.”
“So then Beast can …”
“Hush now, Beasty,” Bob said, placing his hand dangerously close to the Beastly maw, “We don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
Beaming an insanely large smile, Beast got up, thanked Bobnfrank for their wise words by patting them on the back, and stopping JUST short of cracking ribs. He fished bottlecap out of the pool and raced out of the room.
Frank ruefully peered into their pool. “There’s bugs in the water,” he sighed.