Close up on a crisp and obviously freshly unfolded vinyl Classic logo banner. As the somewhat shaky handheld cam pulls out we see the Texas Stampede Gordy Lovett looking about as sour as we’ve ever seen the burly east Texan. He’s sporting an old worn out vintage Japanese Frank Dylan James t-shirt, cut to Gordy’s usual sleeveless specifications.
“Just hold that there video camera steady Peepaw… yeah I know it’s heavy, shut’cher complainin’ hole! Ol’ Gordy’s got somethin’ to get off his chest, baw gawd. CONGRATU-GOT DAMN-LATIONS FRANK MAH BOAH! But maybe hold off breakin’ out the good moonshine and hot possum stew there hillbilly! Just hold them horses, ‘cause… “
He wastes no time. A snarl and an embiggening roll of his huge shoulders is pretext for another tobacco spittle laced east Texan word salad courtesy of one pissed off Cowpuncher.
“See. This ain’t never gonna be over between you and me Frank Dylan James… Classic Wrasslin’ll be celebratin’ it’s golden years and you and me’ll still be thrown’ hands, spillin’ spit and blood all over creation, baw gawd! It’s like when you get a song stuck in yer’ head and you just can’t shake it… yer’ stuck in mah head somethin’ fierce, “King Kong”… only thing’ll get’chu outta’ there is another BEATIN’… AND ANOTHER… AND A BAH GAWD ‘NOTHER! IMMA’ HIT YOU SO HARD IT’LL KNOCK THE FILTH OFF’A THEM NASTY ASS-SMELLIN’ OVERALLS, YA’ FLEA INFESTED BOX CAR WILLY LOOKIN’ SOM’BITCH!”
He breathes deep.
“Makin’ me sick watchin’ this here fine lookin’ wrasslin’ promotion push a bunch of lazy PUKES and tired joke tellin’… GOT DAMN JOKERS! BIG GORDY AIN’T GOT NO DAMN TIME FOR NO JAPES AND JOKES, MAN! Do I look like the kind of feller that’d get caught watchin’ a damn magic show? Or to slap on some flip-flops and go ploddin’ out into the damn surf? YOU EVER SEE OL’ GORDY IN A PAIR OF BOARD SHORTS I GIVE EVERYONE WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE FREE REIGN TO BEAT MY ASS TO DEATH, BAW GAWD!”
He snorts. Crossing his massive timber sized arms across the biggest, baddest dad bod any of us have surely ever seen.
“Point bein’… longer I’m here in Classic more disgusted I get with the whole cruddy lot of mah damn coworkers. Fake Frank is just the tip of the damn iceberg with the wrasslers that are currently draggin’ my drawers up into my buttocks, lemme tell ya’… buncha’ silly boys! Half of ‘em are more interested in showin’ off their latest flippin’ Halloween costume an’ the other half seems to be here for nothin’ else but GRAB ASSIN’, BAW GAWD!”
A long phlegmy, brown line of spit escapes his flapping maw as he continues.
He taps the side of his head. A clever visual cue that he’s smart.
“See… I got this list in mah head here, ya’ see. Things I hope to accomplish here in Classic. Every week that list grows and grows, boah. I wanna’ kick the chrome out of that got damn robot! I wanna’ rip the chest hair offa’ that creep in the fruity cape! GIMME FAT BOY BOBBY! GIMME THE BIG OL’ GIMP FELLER AGAIN! GIMMIE THE DAMN BUS PERSON, BAW GAWD! I’LL RUN THROUGH ‘EM ALL!”
He reaches out and yanks the home video camera out of his Peepaw’s hand.
“You hear me Griffin Myers?! I’LL MESS UP AND PUT TO PASTURE EVERY DAMN CARTOON CHARACTER YOU GOT TUCKED AWAY AROUND THIS CIRCUS! BOAH… YOU SET ‘EM UP AND OL’ GORDY’LL KNOCK ‘EM DOWN AND WIPE MAH ROACH KICKERS ON THEY’RE DANG OL’ CARCASES, YA’ HEAR ME?!”
*spffftttz*
Gordy spikes the rather expensive piece of equipment on the floor.
We can still make out garbled visuals of feet and the voices of Gordy and his Peepaw.
“Oooooo you done done it now, boah… I got that thingajigger there from yer’ FRIEND Doris.”
After a long silence we hear Gordy sheepishly ask…
“You think we glue ‘er back together she’ll notice?”
*spffftttz* again, this time to black.