Post by Gurgen Hovhanissian on Jul 25, 2016 2:38:19 GMT -5
While it was a matter of public record that The Armenian Beast had all the grace and hair of a thirty year old Bhutanese yak, when it came to the matter of emotional maturity, he more closely resembled a yak embryo at four and a half weeks of gestation. As such, it was no wonder his arsenal of coping mechanisms, for any negative situation, be it rejection by potential romantic partner, the death of a loved one, or losing to Noah Hanson, followed pretty much the same template every time. And that template was soaked in wodka, wrapped in bourbon soaked paper and dunked into a 100.000 gallon vat of, you’ve guessed it … gin.
How it was, in the middle of applying this template, that Gurgen had not yet managed to overload the capacity of his liver to deal with the alcohol, we’d probably never find out. In any event, the usual suspects, Robert May, intrepid reporter and Frank “the cameraman”, erm … intrepid … camera … man, stumbled, literally, across the Beast’s prone (?) body. Like a Venus fly-trap, the Beast responded to being touched, but rather than slamming shut a trap, Beast began to recite an endless monologue of ramblings, interrupted only by the much needed pauses to let wodka into his belly and foul reeking gas out. At first it was the usual insistence of the drunk that he totally loved Bob and Frank and that guy down there at the other end of the corridor and the trashcan in the corner and all the little squirrels. But Beast soon began to speak of visions the tonic in his veins had conjured in what little remained of his brain.
Bob and Frank dutifully recorded his ramblings, because, they literally had nothing better to do and here was the result, so a brief summary of the above claimed at the start of a Beastly video … reenacted by actors, none of whom were any sort of Robbie Coltrane.(?)
“Essentially,” the final caption read, “We’re seeing a dream, straight from the mind of The Armenian Beast.”
Added in a smaller font it said, “(what little of it there is)”
The scene opened to a very reasonable facsimile of everyone’s least favorite primal rage machine from the Caucasus Mountains, lying face down in what you’d hope was fake vomit. We could hear footsteps coming from one side of the camera. They grew louder, until a pair of badly worn cowboy appeared in the picture. The size 12’s (?) turned towards the ailing Beast. A deep guttural (?) grumble of disgust escaped from the boot’s owner. His hand appeared in the shot. It was almost as hairy as The Beast’s and looked like it could crush a coconut. It seized upon the scruff of the Beastly neck and, no doubt aided by the magic of the camera, hauled fake-Beast to his feet. Now we were looking over the shoulder of Beast’s savior. The shot was out of focus but we could still make out quite a bit of facial hair jutting out from the man’s cheek. The same disgusted sound was repeated as the man wiped the vomit from Gurgen’s face. When he wiped his hand on the Beastly beard, the man uttered the word, “Bastardo.”
The camera began to swivel. We finally got to see his face. Squinting eyes, meaty face framed by copious amounts of facial hair, it was the spitting image of Bud Spencer, as he looked in the seventies. Spencer began to drag Beast along the floor. The camera focused on the near lifeless Beast hanging from Spencer’s mighty arm. A piece of furniture came into view, a trunk perhaps?
When the camera zoomed out, it turned out to be a watering through (?), the sort you might find in a western movie. Spencer hauled Beast up and dunked him in it. He held Beast under until the latter began to show feeble movements. Spencer lifted him up. He investigated the face through the rivulets of water streaming off it. No, he was not yet satisfied. Down the Beast went again. Beast began to flail about with some more urgency now. Spencer again investigated the Beast. Beast blew a jet of water in Spencer’s face.
Spencer laughed a deep rumbling cadence. He wiped the water from his face. Then, slapping the Beastly face, sending water and the last few chunks of vomit flying all over the place, he uttered, “Molto bene.”
The scene changed. Beast and Spencer were sitting at a camp fire. Spencer sat on a boulder while reposed in the dirt, sitting cross-legged. A pot of coffee hung suspended over the fire.
Spencer tossed Beast a dirty rag which Beast used to wipe his face. Spencer poured some scalding hot coffee in two dented metal mugs, steam billowing into the cool night air.
He waited for Beast to get a few sips in him before asking, with just a hint of an Italian accent in his voice, ”Beast, what has you in this state?”
Finished wiping his face, Beast tossed aside the rag. He stared into the fire a bit before sighing. He replied, forgoing for the sake of understandability, the ill constructed sentences the real Beast would usually utter, a creative license Bob and Frank saw fit to include in their rendition of the Beastly dream/hallucination, “I lost to … that guy with the boat …”
“The Ancient Mariner?” Spencer sought to help.
“No, the other guy with the other boat.”
“Noah!”
“That’s him.”
Spencer crouched next to Gurgen. He patted him on the shoulder. “My friend,” he started, “Did I always win?”
“Yeah you did!”
“Now, Beast, think hard. In every movie, I lose at least some fights, right?”
“But in the end, you always win!”
“Exactly … so, tell me, is your movie over? If it is, then Noah is the hero and you’re half way down the credits.”
Gurgen grabbed Spencer by the shirt. “My movie is NOT over. I still have some winning to do!”
Spencer smiled. He patted Gurgen on the cheek and said, “Molto bene.”
Gurgen jumped to his feet. He beat his chest like one of the CGI gorillas in the latest Tarzan movie and stormed off.
Next we saw Gurgen storming through the training area, only, this time, it was the real Gurgen, rather than an actor.
“Danny!” he shouted, knocking people over as he went, “Danny! Us make winnings! Where be Danny?!”
He went to storm through the door on the far side and in his frantic elation, he completely missed the extra wide door and ran straight into the wall. He crawled to his feet, rubbed his forehead, apologized to the wall and stampeded off again, this time narrowly actually making it through the door.
It was unclear who should be more worried at this point. His upcoming opponents or his team mate, Danny.
The screen briefly turned to black. When the images returned, we were no longer chasing Gurgen as he made a demented rhino rush through the corridors. Instead, we were treated to a screen filling Beast, holding a chilled bottle of wodka to a boo-boo on his forehead. A boo-boo no doubt incurred when his head collided with the wall he thought was a door opening.
Beast took a swig from the bottle and then held it to his boo-boo again.
“Vano and Trent Brown,” the Beast finally spoke, “Beast no know why NAW made match like it did. Why Beast be on Danny team and not Vano team or Trent team? Beast no know. And Beast no care. Vano and Trent see … both be in movie.”
Beast cracked a smile, “Hello-ooo camera!”
“See? Movie.”
Beast drew a big breath to continue his monologue when Bottlecap leapt out of the beard, did a forward role and went right up to the camera, sniffing it.
The Beastly eyes followed the little rodent as it scarpered away from the lens.
“Bottlecap make cameo,” he further underscored his insistence that this was indeed a movie, “Vano and Trent be in movie. And guess who be star of movie.”
From out of the beard, Beast produced a pair of shades. He donned them and stated, “Yes, Beast be hero of movie. And that make opponents … villains.”
“So, Vano … Trent … go grow mustache. Then,” he made a curling motion next to his mouth, “twirl it, for both be villains and both get slain by Beastly hero … and Danny make slayings too. Danny be trusty sidekick.”
“Role credits!” he shouted.
The screen went black, Lemmy told us that the Beast behind our eyes was loose and a list of names started to scroll up from the bottom. Apparently, Bottlecap appeared as ‘himself’.
When the last name was half way up the screen, we once again saw actual footage. Two photographs, one of Vano and one of Trent Brown. A hairy paw picked them both up. Out of shot the crumpling of paper could be heard. Both pictures fell back down onto the table. Some liquid, and seeing as this was Gurgen after all, it was probably wodka, got poured on the pictures. A lit match fell on the improvised barbecue … and it went out.
A second match had the same lack of effect.
A blowtorch did the job.
We watched the crumpled up pictures burn into a cinder. Then, the screen finally went black for good.
How it was, in the middle of applying this template, that Gurgen had not yet managed to overload the capacity of his liver to deal with the alcohol, we’d probably never find out. In any event, the usual suspects, Robert May, intrepid reporter and Frank “the cameraman”, erm … intrepid … camera … man, stumbled, literally, across the Beast’s prone (?) body. Like a Venus fly-trap, the Beast responded to being touched, but rather than slamming shut a trap, Beast began to recite an endless monologue of ramblings, interrupted only by the much needed pauses to let wodka into his belly and foul reeking gas out. At first it was the usual insistence of the drunk that he totally loved Bob and Frank and that guy down there at the other end of the corridor and the trashcan in the corner and all the little squirrels. But Beast soon began to speak of visions the tonic in his veins had conjured in what little remained of his brain.
Bob and Frank dutifully recorded his ramblings, because, they literally had nothing better to do and here was the result, so a brief summary of the above claimed at the start of a Beastly video … reenacted by actors, none of whom were any sort of Robbie Coltrane.(?)
“Essentially,” the final caption read, “We’re seeing a dream, straight from the mind of The Armenian Beast.”
Added in a smaller font it said, “(what little of it there is)”
The scene opened to a very reasonable facsimile of everyone’s least favorite primal rage machine from the Caucasus Mountains, lying face down in what you’d hope was fake vomit. We could hear footsteps coming from one side of the camera. They grew louder, until a pair of badly worn cowboy appeared in the picture. The size 12’s (?) turned towards the ailing Beast. A deep guttural (?) grumble of disgust escaped from the boot’s owner. His hand appeared in the shot. It was almost as hairy as The Beast’s and looked like it could crush a coconut. It seized upon the scruff of the Beastly neck and, no doubt aided by the magic of the camera, hauled fake-Beast to his feet. Now we were looking over the shoulder of Beast’s savior. The shot was out of focus but we could still make out quite a bit of facial hair jutting out from the man’s cheek. The same disgusted sound was repeated as the man wiped the vomit from Gurgen’s face. When he wiped his hand on the Beastly beard, the man uttered the word, “Bastardo.”
The camera began to swivel. We finally got to see his face. Squinting eyes, meaty face framed by copious amounts of facial hair, it was the spitting image of Bud Spencer, as he looked in the seventies. Spencer began to drag Beast along the floor. The camera focused on the near lifeless Beast hanging from Spencer’s mighty arm. A piece of furniture came into view, a trunk perhaps?
When the camera zoomed out, it turned out to be a watering through (?), the sort you might find in a western movie. Spencer hauled Beast up and dunked him in it. He held Beast under until the latter began to show feeble movements. Spencer lifted him up. He investigated the face through the rivulets of water streaming off it. No, he was not yet satisfied. Down the Beast went again. Beast began to flail about with some more urgency now. Spencer again investigated the Beast. Beast blew a jet of water in Spencer’s face.
Spencer laughed a deep rumbling cadence. He wiped the water from his face. Then, slapping the Beastly face, sending water and the last few chunks of vomit flying all over the place, he uttered, “Molto bene.”
The scene changed. Beast and Spencer were sitting at a camp fire. Spencer sat on a boulder while reposed in the dirt, sitting cross-legged. A pot of coffee hung suspended over the fire.
Spencer tossed Beast a dirty rag which Beast used to wipe his face. Spencer poured some scalding hot coffee in two dented metal mugs, steam billowing into the cool night air.
He waited for Beast to get a few sips in him before asking, with just a hint of an Italian accent in his voice, ”Beast, what has you in this state?”
Finished wiping his face, Beast tossed aside the rag. He stared into the fire a bit before sighing. He replied, forgoing for the sake of understandability, the ill constructed sentences the real Beast would usually utter, a creative license Bob and Frank saw fit to include in their rendition of the Beastly dream/hallucination, “I lost to … that guy with the boat …”
“The Ancient Mariner?” Spencer sought to help.
“No, the other guy with the other boat.”
“Noah!”
“That’s him.”
Spencer crouched next to Gurgen. He patted him on the shoulder. “My friend,” he started, “Did I always win?”
“Yeah you did!”
“Now, Beast, think hard. In every movie, I lose at least some fights, right?”
“But in the end, you always win!”
“Exactly … so, tell me, is your movie over? If it is, then Noah is the hero and you’re half way down the credits.”
Gurgen grabbed Spencer by the shirt. “My movie is NOT over. I still have some winning to do!”
Spencer smiled. He patted Gurgen on the cheek and said, “Molto bene.”
Gurgen jumped to his feet. He beat his chest like one of the CGI gorillas in the latest Tarzan movie and stormed off.
Next we saw Gurgen storming through the training area, only, this time, it was the real Gurgen, rather than an actor.
“Danny!” he shouted, knocking people over as he went, “Danny! Us make winnings! Where be Danny?!”
He went to storm through the door on the far side and in his frantic elation, he completely missed the extra wide door and ran straight into the wall. He crawled to his feet, rubbed his forehead, apologized to the wall and stampeded off again, this time narrowly actually making it through the door.
It was unclear who should be more worried at this point. His upcoming opponents or his team mate, Danny.
The screen briefly turned to black. When the images returned, we were no longer chasing Gurgen as he made a demented rhino rush through the corridors. Instead, we were treated to a screen filling Beast, holding a chilled bottle of wodka to a boo-boo on his forehead. A boo-boo no doubt incurred when his head collided with the wall he thought was a door opening.
Beast took a swig from the bottle and then held it to his boo-boo again.
“Vano and Trent Brown,” the Beast finally spoke, “Beast no know why NAW made match like it did. Why Beast be on Danny team and not Vano team or Trent team? Beast no know. And Beast no care. Vano and Trent see … both be in movie.”
Beast cracked a smile, “Hello-ooo camera!”
“See? Movie.”
Beast drew a big breath to continue his monologue when Bottlecap leapt out of the beard, did a forward role and went right up to the camera, sniffing it.
The Beastly eyes followed the little rodent as it scarpered away from the lens.
“Bottlecap make cameo,” he further underscored his insistence that this was indeed a movie, “Vano and Trent be in movie. And guess who be star of movie.”
From out of the beard, Beast produced a pair of shades. He donned them and stated, “Yes, Beast be hero of movie. And that make opponents … villains.”
“So, Vano … Trent … go grow mustache. Then,” he made a curling motion next to his mouth, “twirl it, for both be villains and both get slain by Beastly hero … and Danny make slayings too. Danny be trusty sidekick.”
“Role credits!” he shouted.
The screen went black, Lemmy told us that the Beast behind our eyes was loose and a list of names started to scroll up from the bottom. Apparently, Bottlecap appeared as ‘himself’.
When the last name was half way up the screen, we once again saw actual footage. Two photographs, one of Vano and one of Trent Brown. A hairy paw picked them both up. Out of shot the crumpling of paper could be heard. Both pictures fell back down onto the table. Some liquid, and seeing as this was Gurgen after all, it was probably wodka, got poured on the pictures. A lit match fell on the improvised barbecue … and it went out.
A second match had the same lack of effect.
A blowtorch did the job.
We watched the crumpled up pictures burn into a cinder. Then, the screen finally went black for good.