Post by Gurgen Hovhanissian on Jan 19, 2017 2:08:51 GMT -5
“Have you seen this?” Frank handed his smartphone to Bob.
Bob took the phone. It took him exactly 2.5 seconds to fold his face into a Grand Canyon type frown. The page Frank had been looking at showed the card for the next show.
He handed the phone back saying, “He’s NOT going to be happy.”
“I ain’t telling him,” Frank said.
Bob ran his hand through his thinning hair. He thought about their predicament for a moment.
“Suppose,” he suggested, “we get … Brenda to tell him.”
“Brenda … who’s Bren … oooh, you mean the lady from the hot dog stand?”
Bob nodded.
“Erm, not that I necessarily question your sanity, but … I have to ask … WHY?”
“While it’s not a guarantee, Gurgen TENDS to avoid hitting women … well, outside the ring anyway,” Bob explained.
“Do you have any idea,” Frank objected, “how much cash we’ll need to offer her just to even consider it?”
“Do YOU have any alternate employment opportunities lined up?”
Frank just shrugged.
“Didn’t think so,” Bob said, “So, it’s either bribe Brenda, or run away and join the foreign legion.”
Frank snorted. “My French is atrocious.”
“Brenda it is, then!”
“If he kills me,” a rather skinny lady with graying hair, well on her way to the hallowed age of 50, insisted, “I’m coming back to haunt the both of you!”
“Fair enough,” Bob replied.
“Either way, this is the first and last time I do this, you hear?” Brenda delivered.
“Agreed,” Bob said, acknowledging that he had a grand total of zero alternate options.
Brenda snatched a printout from Bob’s extended hand, scowled at the pair and went into the Beastly lair.
“Follow her!” Bob told Frank.
“Like hell!” Frank replied.
“We NEED at least some footage!”
Now it was Frank’s turn to scowl. But he couldn’t deny the truth of Bob’s statement.
Brenda bravely sought out the hairy one. The Beast sat atop his throne. He was doing some reading, or well, looking at pictures, really. Seemed to be some sort of manga … no, not hentai. The aye-aye sat on his lap. It seemed to be dozing.
Gurgen only acknowledged her presence when she was right in front of him. With an amazingly steady hand, Brenda presented the paper to him.
He snatched it from her hand and barked at her. He didn’t bark any orders at her, he just literally barked.
Brenda beat a hasty retreat.
Frank kept his distance and instead abused the zoom function of his camera to pixelatory excess.
Gurgen read the paper, or, well, he looked at the pictures anyhow.
He snorted in what might have been a mocking imitation of a laugh. The paper disappeared into his balled up paw.
“Now what?” whispered Bob, “He seems to be taking it quite well.”
Beast spotted the pair of reporters. He rose to his feet, taking care to support the aye-aye.
“Approach,” he commanded.
“Fuck,” Bob whispered, “do we run?”
“Are you kidding me,” Frank whispered back, “I have the endurance of an asthmatic granny and that’s still better than you. He’d catch us before we’re out the door.”
“Approach!” Beast insisted more forcefully.
Bob, knees visibly shaking, did as instructed. “Mighty Beast,” he said as he bowed before The Beast’s makeshift throne.
Beast raised his paw, the crumpled up piece of paper yet inside. “Bobnfrank seen this?”
“We have, your Beastness,” Bob said bowing to mighty man-beast.
“NAW continue to mock The Beast!” He shouted, clenching his paw even more, as if he sought to wring water from the utterly dry sheet of paper.
“First, NAW make Beast fight two Jasons … now NAW make Beast fight WITH two Jasons AGAINST nother Jason. As if life isn’t complicated enough already! And …” He ripped at the paper, trying to open it up again. “There be no cage! How NAW think Beast can have fair match if there be no cage! Peoples ducking in and out or ring as if they be scared of own shadow. Peoples not in match join match anyway when referee no be looking … how NAW expect Beast to make carnage in those conditions?!”
In a fit of rage, he stuffed the offending paper into his maw and began to chew.
“Fafaw gwafe fufuuf,” he declared, terminating the statement with a determined nod. Evidently, he had said something quite profound.
“Erm, you might want to clear your mouth first … before trying to say anything …” Bob hesitantly suggested.
Beast frowned. Rather than just pull the paper out, he increased his mastication and soon swallowed the paper. This of course required some wodka to wash it down. A good couple of gulps later. Beast was ready to resume his tirade.
“So, what did you say earlier?” Bob tried to get him back on track.
Beast paused a moment to gather his thoughts, only to remember that he had none. “Beast no remember,” he admitted, “But Beast remember this … There be too many Jasons! Beast gonna crush Jasons! Beast gonna crush all the Jasons! All this silly Jason business be done with once and for always!”
“Erm … your Beastiness …” Bob interjected.
“What?!” The Beast barked.
Startled, yet fully in control of his bladder, mostly anyway, Bob stammered, ”Y…you do know two of the Jasons are on your side, right? You’re only supposed to crush Jason Phoenix.”
Beast placed the aye-aye on his shoulder so he’d have his right hand free to stroke his beard. After all, how was he supposed to properly stroke his beard with his left hand? These things matter, you know.
A sizeable beetle got dislodged by the stroking, but the aye-aye swung down and gobbled it up in no time. It clambered back up to the Beastly shoulder where it proceeded to groom the Beastly hair.
“Jasons fight with Beasty?”
No doubt figuring the camera provided a measure of safety, shielding him from the Beastly wrath, Frank offered, “You said so yourself not two minutes ago. ‘Beast fight WITH two Jasons AGAINST third Jason’ … remember? Oh, why do I even bother?”
“It’s one of those tag team thingies … three versus three, any of this ring a bell?” Bob, emboldened by his companion’s rashness, said.
“Yes, yes, Beast know what tag matches be,” Beast insisted with a frown on his face that suggested otherwise.
“It’s you and the two Jasons against Jason Phoenix, Christian Taylor and Mike Smith.”
“Matt Smith, Bobnfrank say? NAW make Beast fight The Doctor?”
“It’s Mike Smith!” Bob said.
“Matt Smith?”
“MIKE bloody SMITH!” Bob now shouted.
“Ah yes, Bobnfrank have good plan!” Beast excitedly said.
“What plan!?” Bob wondered increasingly exasperated.
“Make Matt bloody, of course, Bobnfrank be silly.”
“It’s Mike … not Matt, seriously, exactly how dumb are you?!”
Gurgen leaned in and confided, “Lots.”
“I need my pills,” Bob declared and he fished a conspicuous brown bottle from his jacket.
Gurgen was in a rather chipper mood, actually. He seemed to feed off of Bob’s misery. He determined to be of use and thus handed Bob his bottle.
After seeing his partner down the pills with a few hefty chugs of wodka, Frank observed, “Are you entirely sure those go with alcohol?”
“Who the fuck cares?” Bob said, the pills not yet having any apparent calming effect.
Undeterred Frank drew attention to a more pressing issue, “And you’re entirely sure you want to chug from the same bottle as Beast?”
It took Bob a moment to realize the implications. His sole form of reply was to turn away from the camera, stick half his hand down his own throat and vomit as hard as he could.
Frank left his partner to puke out his guts, partly because he had a back-alley abortion of a promo to produce and partly because he simply didn’t give a shit. He approached the suddenly quite amused Beast and said, “Look, Beasty, I’ll see if I can talk the Jasons you’re not supposed to trample into wearing … I don’t know, green wristband or something. That sound good to you?”
Gurgen used all his minuscule brainpower to try and summarize. “So Beast NO hit guys with green wristbands and Beast DO hit guys without green wristbands?”
“Yeah, like I said, I’ll try to talk to them … oh and put on a green wristband yourself.”
“Why?”
“Cause otherwise you might end up hitting yourself,” Frank anticipated the depths of Gurgen’s idiocy.
“Good idea!” Gurgen exclaimed, “Franknbob be smart!”
Frank spotted the aye-aye scurrying across the floor with Bob’s ancient iPhone clutched to its tiny chest and figured this was about all the useful footage he was going to get out of the Massive Moron.
He bid goodbye to The Armenian Beast, ignored his partner and signed off.
Bob took the phone. It took him exactly 2.5 seconds to fold his face into a Grand Canyon type frown. The page Frank had been looking at showed the card for the next show.
He handed the phone back saying, “He’s NOT going to be happy.”
“I ain’t telling him,” Frank said.
Bob ran his hand through his thinning hair. He thought about their predicament for a moment.
“Suppose,” he suggested, “we get … Brenda to tell him.”
“Brenda … who’s Bren … oooh, you mean the lady from the hot dog stand?”
Bob nodded.
“Erm, not that I necessarily question your sanity, but … I have to ask … WHY?”
“While it’s not a guarantee, Gurgen TENDS to avoid hitting women … well, outside the ring anyway,” Bob explained.
“Do you have any idea,” Frank objected, “how much cash we’ll need to offer her just to even consider it?”
“Do YOU have any alternate employment opportunities lined up?”
Frank just shrugged.
“Didn’t think so,” Bob said, “So, it’s either bribe Brenda, or run away and join the foreign legion.”
Frank snorted. “My French is atrocious.”
“Brenda it is, then!”
“If he kills me,” a rather skinny lady with graying hair, well on her way to the hallowed age of 50, insisted, “I’m coming back to haunt the both of you!”
“Fair enough,” Bob replied.
“Either way, this is the first and last time I do this, you hear?” Brenda delivered.
“Agreed,” Bob said, acknowledging that he had a grand total of zero alternate options.
Brenda snatched a printout from Bob’s extended hand, scowled at the pair and went into the Beastly lair.
“Follow her!” Bob told Frank.
“Like hell!” Frank replied.
“We NEED at least some footage!”
Now it was Frank’s turn to scowl. But he couldn’t deny the truth of Bob’s statement.
Brenda bravely sought out the hairy one. The Beast sat atop his throne. He was doing some reading, or well, looking at pictures, really. Seemed to be some sort of manga … no, not hentai. The aye-aye sat on his lap. It seemed to be dozing.
Gurgen only acknowledged her presence when she was right in front of him. With an amazingly steady hand, Brenda presented the paper to him.
He snatched it from her hand and barked at her. He didn’t bark any orders at her, he just literally barked.
Brenda beat a hasty retreat.
Frank kept his distance and instead abused the zoom function of his camera to pixelatory excess.
Gurgen read the paper, or, well, he looked at the pictures anyhow.
He snorted in what might have been a mocking imitation of a laugh. The paper disappeared into his balled up paw.
“Now what?” whispered Bob, “He seems to be taking it quite well.”
Beast spotted the pair of reporters. He rose to his feet, taking care to support the aye-aye.
“Approach,” he commanded.
“Fuck,” Bob whispered, “do we run?”
“Are you kidding me,” Frank whispered back, “I have the endurance of an asthmatic granny and that’s still better than you. He’d catch us before we’re out the door.”
“Approach!” Beast insisted more forcefully.
Bob, knees visibly shaking, did as instructed. “Mighty Beast,” he said as he bowed before The Beast’s makeshift throne.
Beast raised his paw, the crumpled up piece of paper yet inside. “Bobnfrank seen this?”
“We have, your Beastness,” Bob said bowing to mighty man-beast.
“NAW continue to mock The Beast!” He shouted, clenching his paw even more, as if he sought to wring water from the utterly dry sheet of paper.
“First, NAW make Beast fight two Jasons … now NAW make Beast fight WITH two Jasons AGAINST nother Jason. As if life isn’t complicated enough already! And …” He ripped at the paper, trying to open it up again. “There be no cage! How NAW think Beast can have fair match if there be no cage! Peoples ducking in and out or ring as if they be scared of own shadow. Peoples not in match join match anyway when referee no be looking … how NAW expect Beast to make carnage in those conditions?!”
In a fit of rage, he stuffed the offending paper into his maw and began to chew.
“Fafaw gwafe fufuuf,” he declared, terminating the statement with a determined nod. Evidently, he had said something quite profound.
“Erm, you might want to clear your mouth first … before trying to say anything …” Bob hesitantly suggested.
Beast frowned. Rather than just pull the paper out, he increased his mastication and soon swallowed the paper. This of course required some wodka to wash it down. A good couple of gulps later. Beast was ready to resume his tirade.
“So, what did you say earlier?” Bob tried to get him back on track.
Beast paused a moment to gather his thoughts, only to remember that he had none. “Beast no remember,” he admitted, “But Beast remember this … There be too many Jasons! Beast gonna crush Jasons! Beast gonna crush all the Jasons! All this silly Jason business be done with once and for always!”
“Erm … your Beastiness …” Bob interjected.
“What?!” The Beast barked.
Startled, yet fully in control of his bladder, mostly anyway, Bob stammered, ”Y…you do know two of the Jasons are on your side, right? You’re only supposed to crush Jason Phoenix.”
Beast placed the aye-aye on his shoulder so he’d have his right hand free to stroke his beard. After all, how was he supposed to properly stroke his beard with his left hand? These things matter, you know.
A sizeable beetle got dislodged by the stroking, but the aye-aye swung down and gobbled it up in no time. It clambered back up to the Beastly shoulder where it proceeded to groom the Beastly hair.
“Jasons fight with Beasty?”
No doubt figuring the camera provided a measure of safety, shielding him from the Beastly wrath, Frank offered, “You said so yourself not two minutes ago. ‘Beast fight WITH two Jasons AGAINST third Jason’ … remember? Oh, why do I even bother?”
“It’s one of those tag team thingies … three versus three, any of this ring a bell?” Bob, emboldened by his companion’s rashness, said.
“Yes, yes, Beast know what tag matches be,” Beast insisted with a frown on his face that suggested otherwise.
“It’s you and the two Jasons against Jason Phoenix, Christian Taylor and Mike Smith.”
“Matt Smith, Bobnfrank say? NAW make Beast fight The Doctor?”
“It’s Mike Smith!” Bob said.
“Matt Smith?”
“MIKE bloody SMITH!” Bob now shouted.
“Ah yes, Bobnfrank have good plan!” Beast excitedly said.
“What plan!?” Bob wondered increasingly exasperated.
“Make Matt bloody, of course, Bobnfrank be silly.”
“It’s Mike … not Matt, seriously, exactly how dumb are you?!”
Gurgen leaned in and confided, “Lots.”
“I need my pills,” Bob declared and he fished a conspicuous brown bottle from his jacket.
Gurgen was in a rather chipper mood, actually. He seemed to feed off of Bob’s misery. He determined to be of use and thus handed Bob his bottle.
After seeing his partner down the pills with a few hefty chugs of wodka, Frank observed, “Are you entirely sure those go with alcohol?”
“Who the fuck cares?” Bob said, the pills not yet having any apparent calming effect.
Undeterred Frank drew attention to a more pressing issue, “And you’re entirely sure you want to chug from the same bottle as Beast?”
It took Bob a moment to realize the implications. His sole form of reply was to turn away from the camera, stick half his hand down his own throat and vomit as hard as he could.
Frank left his partner to puke out his guts, partly because he had a back-alley abortion of a promo to produce and partly because he simply didn’t give a shit. He approached the suddenly quite amused Beast and said, “Look, Beasty, I’ll see if I can talk the Jasons you’re not supposed to trample into wearing … I don’t know, green wristband or something. That sound good to you?”
Gurgen used all his minuscule brainpower to try and summarize. “So Beast NO hit guys with green wristbands and Beast DO hit guys without green wristbands?”
“Yeah, like I said, I’ll try to talk to them … oh and put on a green wristband yourself.”
“Why?”
“Cause otherwise you might end up hitting yourself,” Frank anticipated the depths of Gurgen’s idiocy.
“Good idea!” Gurgen exclaimed, “Franknbob be smart!”
Frank spotted the aye-aye scurrying across the floor with Bob’s ancient iPhone clutched to its tiny chest and figured this was about all the useful footage he was going to get out of the Massive Moron.
He bid goodbye to The Armenian Beast, ignored his partner and signed off.