Post by Mole on Oct 14, 2008 14:22:56 GMT -5
We fade from black to the Quicken Loans Arena parking lot. A taxi slowly rolls to a stop outside the front doors. The door opens and a man in his mid 20’s steps out. His closely shorn brown hair rests upon a head of rugged handsomeness. On his face rests a million dollar smile. He walks toward the trunk, and waits for it to pop open before grabbing his duffle bag. Scrawled in Sharpie on the sides of the bag are the words ‘Chris Rodgers’. Rodgers, bag in hand, strolls to the door, where a man who could be more appropriately be described as a wall of muscle is standing.
Chris Rodgers: What’s going on man? Why are you standing in front of the door?
Wall of Muscle: Arena’s closed down early. The Dubyuh Eff Dubyuh Eff is setting up and they asked me to make sure that no one comes in unless they work for the Dubyuh Eff Dubyuh Eff. You don’t look like no wrestluh to me.
Chris Rodgers: Oh. Well, that sucks.
Muscle: Why does that suck, suh?
Chris Rodgers: Because I am a wrestler. If I don’t like a wrestler, then that sucks.
Rodger looks down and his smile fades.
Muscle: I’m sorry suh, but even if you looked like a wrestluh to me, you wouldn’t be let in. You’re not on the card.
Muscle pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. He opens it and then angles it towards Rodgers so that he can read it.
Chris Rodgers: Hmm… Rev vs Saku, something about Johnny Michaels and Kronic’s steak, and no Chris Rodgers. Well I’ll be damned. Well, couldn’t I at least go in to talk to Trace Demon or something to see if I could get on the card?
Muscle: Sorry suh, Mistah Demon was quite clear with his instructions. You’re not on the card, so you can’t come in. Besides, you haven’t even been in the Dubyuh Eff Dee See. You have to wrestle there before you can be in the big leagues.
Chris Rodgers: Wow… You really know your stuff, don’t ya, Mister…
Muscle points to the stitching of the word ‘Jerome’ on his tight black shirt.
Chris Rodgers: Mister Jeromy.
Jerome: Actually suh, it’s pronounced Jah-rome.
Chris Rodgers: I’m sorry about that Jah-rome. So, do you know where I can go to sign up for the WFDC?
Jerome: Actually, I do.
Jerome rips off a piece of the WFWF Loaded card and scribbles some directions onto it. Rodgers takes the paper, and thanks Jerome. He calls the cab company, and once the cab arrives, he waves to Jerome and gets into the cab. We fade to black.
We fade from black to the Quicken Loans Arena parking lot. A taxi slowly rolls to a stop outside the front doors. The door opens and a man in his mid 20’s steps out. His closely shorn brown hair rests upon a head of rugged handsomeness. On his face rests a million dollar smile. The smile quickly turns to a frown once Rodgers realizes where he is. He yanks the duffle bag out of the back seat of the cab and storms over to Jerome.
Chris Rodgers: Jerome, what the hell, man?
Jerome (chuckling): I’m sorry suh, I couldn’t resist. I figyud that you would have read the directions before paying for the cab ride. I’m sorry about that. Unfortunately, no one evuh says where the Dubya Eff Dee See’s events are held. They are usually house shows which means that they would go before the Dubya Eff Dubya Eff event. Howevuh, the last event was not a house show and there haven’t been any since then.
Chris Rodgers: Well, wouldn’t that have been better to just tell me before I spent 100 bucks on that cab ride? You had me riding around for 45 minutes!
Jerome: Once again, I apologize, suh. I didn’t think you would blindly take anothuh man’s directions without veruhfying that they make sense.
Chris Rodgers: Man… At this rate I’ll never be in the WFWF. Can I at least sit in front of the door until they open up?
Jerome: Of course, suh. I could use the company.
A thoroughly dejected Rodgers rests his back on the window and slides down into a sitting positon. Then, as though nothing had happened, his face becomes home to his trademark grin and he begins tapping his knees in anticipation.
Chris Rodgers: What’s going on man? Why are you standing in front of the door?
Wall of Muscle: Arena’s closed down early. The Dubyuh Eff Dubyuh Eff is setting up and they asked me to make sure that no one comes in unless they work for the Dubyuh Eff Dubyuh Eff. You don’t look like no wrestluh to me.
Chris Rodgers: Oh. Well, that sucks.
Muscle: Why does that suck, suh?
Chris Rodgers: Because I am a wrestler. If I don’t like a wrestler, then that sucks.
Rodger looks down and his smile fades.
Muscle: I’m sorry suh, but even if you looked like a wrestluh to me, you wouldn’t be let in. You’re not on the card.
Muscle pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. He opens it and then angles it towards Rodgers so that he can read it.
Chris Rodgers: Hmm… Rev vs Saku, something about Johnny Michaels and Kronic’s steak, and no Chris Rodgers. Well I’ll be damned. Well, couldn’t I at least go in to talk to Trace Demon or something to see if I could get on the card?
Muscle: Sorry suh, Mistah Demon was quite clear with his instructions. You’re not on the card, so you can’t come in. Besides, you haven’t even been in the Dubyuh Eff Dee See. You have to wrestle there before you can be in the big leagues.
Chris Rodgers: Wow… You really know your stuff, don’t ya, Mister…
Muscle points to the stitching of the word ‘Jerome’ on his tight black shirt.
Chris Rodgers: Mister Jeromy.
Jerome: Actually suh, it’s pronounced Jah-rome.
Chris Rodgers: I’m sorry about that Jah-rome. So, do you know where I can go to sign up for the WFDC?
Jerome: Actually, I do.
Jerome rips off a piece of the WFWF Loaded card and scribbles some directions onto it. Rodgers takes the paper, and thanks Jerome. He calls the cab company, and once the cab arrives, he waves to Jerome and gets into the cab. We fade to black.
== Some time later ==
We fade from black to the Quicken Loans Arena parking lot. A taxi slowly rolls to a stop outside the front doors. The door opens and a man in his mid 20’s steps out. His closely shorn brown hair rests upon a head of rugged handsomeness. On his face rests a million dollar smile. The smile quickly turns to a frown once Rodgers realizes where he is. He yanks the duffle bag out of the back seat of the cab and storms over to Jerome.
Chris Rodgers: Jerome, what the hell, man?
Jerome (chuckling): I’m sorry suh, I couldn’t resist. I figyud that you would have read the directions before paying for the cab ride. I’m sorry about that. Unfortunately, no one evuh says where the Dubya Eff Dee See’s events are held. They are usually house shows which means that they would go before the Dubya Eff Dubya Eff event. Howevuh, the last event was not a house show and there haven’t been any since then.
Chris Rodgers: Well, wouldn’t that have been better to just tell me before I spent 100 bucks on that cab ride? You had me riding around for 45 minutes!
Jerome: Once again, I apologize, suh. I didn’t think you would blindly take anothuh man’s directions without veruhfying that they make sense.
Chris Rodgers: Man… At this rate I’ll never be in the WFWF. Can I at least sit in front of the door until they open up?
Jerome: Of course, suh. I could use the company.
A thoroughly dejected Rodgers rests his back on the window and slides down into a sitting positon. Then, as though nothing had happened, his face becomes home to his trademark grin and he begins tapping his knees in anticipation.
