Quick cut away from the action at ringside.
Around the corner.
Behind a couple of industrial-sized dumpsters that have been comically rearranged.
King Kong Frank has constructed a free-standing lean-to out of old pallets, some sheet metal, and a few stray eight-foot lengths of 2×4 boards. Underneath said lean-to, the Barefoot Brawler has constructed himself a working moonshine still out of a giant copper tank, a repurposed condenser that Frank pulled from an industrial HVAC unit somewhere, and a 50-gallon drum.
There are copper tubes running everywhere.
King Kong Frank: HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-DOGGIE!
Roving reporter Billy Fields is on the scene with a Classic-flagged microphone in hand and a thousand-and-one questions cued up to fire at Appalachia’s Native Son.
Billy Fields: Mind if I get a few words from you, Frank?
The Smoky Mountain Mastodon bristles at the interruption but softens when he recognizes Billy.
King Kong Frank: I reckon but make it quick, stick-boy, I’m just about to throw some yeast in this here mash an’ I can’t be screwin’ up my ol’ Grandpappy’s finest hooch wastin’ time jaw-jackin’ wit’ the likes of you!
Billy Fields: Fair enough! Right off the top let me ask you about Gruff Myers’ edict that you and Lord Colossus not lay a hand on each other or anyone else between now and your match at the upcoming Pay-Per-View extravaganza?
King Kong Frank: Rules is rules I guess, an’ Myers is the boss. If’n he says I’ll get my hands on that big leather-diaper wearin’ fruitcake sooner than later I reckon I trust him. ‘Sides, he ain’t never lied to me before.
Billy Fields: Any idea what, if anything, the stipulation might be?
King Kong Frank: If it was up to me it’d be a Country Whippin’ Match, but it ain’t up to me now, is it?
Billy Fields: It certainly isn’t. Moving right along, did you have a chance to catch Gordy Lovett’s comments about you from a couple of days ago?
King Kong Frank: I did.
Billy Fields: Any rebuttal?
Frank spits on the ground beside the still. It’s brown, but for entirely different reasons than to cancerous gobs that Gordy has a habit of letting fly.
King Kong Frank: Ol’ Gordo ain’t nuthin’ but a damn yella-bellied, lyin’, back-jumpin’, lazy, no-good sum-beetch that’s too busy makin’ excuses an’ hidin’ behind that screechin’ harpy manager of his’ skirt! I ain’t got no time for none of that mess.
Billy Fields: And so?
King Kong Frank: An’ so if he want’s anythang else outta ol’ King Kong Frank past the ass-whippin’ I done already gave him, he might better put his big boy pants on an’ start gettin’ busy! I got bigger fish ta fry, if’n ya catch my drift.
Billy Fields: I see. Well, next question-
Frank cuts him off with a furrow of his brow.
King Kong Frank: Now I done toldja that I had to attend to this here whiskey else it’s gon’ taste funny, or explode!
King Kong Frank: So git, ‘fore I get ornery!
The young reporter makes a snap decision.
Billy Fields: Joel, Thunderbird, back to you!