Promo: Double Take

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

WORLD GYM

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

3:22 AM

 

The solitary gym, lying underneath the bowels of Fenway Park, is tranquil in the early morning. Cars buzz by on the Mass. Turnpike, and the gentle hum of the revving engines mingles with the buzz of the fluorescent lights that illuminate the dank gym. Suddenly…

 

CLANK!

 

The weights slam to the ground as a sweaty and exhausted Boston Strangler slumps to the ground. The dumbbell rolls a few feet before gently thudding against a wall. Strangler looks up, the perspiration rolling off his face in small beads as he stares at the victorious weights. “I used to bench 400 pounds easy”, he mutters to himself. “Hell, I coulda lifted HVT himself. And now, here I am struggling with 300. This just ain’t right.”

 

Strangler starts to push himself up. His biceps, which, while still massive, have shrunken considerably, tremble under his bulk as he finally hops to his feet, trying to brush off the obvious exertion. He glances around the empty gym, and his eyes land on a small scale in the corner of the room. He strolls over and steps onto the scale. He watches the needle zoom around past 300, then come flying back before it finally lands around 270. The needle vibrates back and forth, then stops suddenly as Strangler’s foot goes crashing through the glass covering it. The crash reverberates through the empty gym before it fades into nothing. Strangler, still enraged, grabs the scale from the floor and hurls it toward the wall. The scale smashes into the wall and disintegrates into millions of pieces. Strangler puts a hand up in front of his face as gears come flying toward him. As the room falls quiet once again, Strangler looks down, the anger on his face turning to despair.

 

“Damn weight just won’t come back…I’ve been doing every goddamned thing I can, and nothing fucking works. I swear, if I don’t start gaining this weight back soon…”

 

“What? You’ll break ANOTHER one of my machines?”

 

Strangler turns slowly and sees the gym employee walking toward him. Strangler looks down at the man with an apologetic look on his face. “Hey….Harold. Sorry ‘bout that. It’s just that I can’t get back into my old shape. It’s killing me here.”

 

Harold stares into the big man’s face, a look of understanding on his face. “No problem…what’s your name again?”

 

“The name’s Al.”

 

“Well Al, this ain’t all that uncommon. You’re getting a little older. How old are ya, 30?”

 

“Yeah, 30. 31 in April.”

 

“You just ain’t the same person you used to be. You’re older, and you’re not gonna just hop right back into the shape you used to be in. You’re still a pretty big guy, though. How much bigger you need to be?”

 

“Bigger. A lot bigger. 300 pounds.”

 

“300? Jeez, man, that’s asking a lot. Well, you gotta do what you gotta do.” Harold starts to walk away, then turns back to Strangler. “Hey, you know….I got a friend who works at a lab. If you REALLY wanna get big…he could help you out. You know what I’m saying?”

 

Strangler’s frustrated looks morphs into immediate anger as he whirls toward Harold. “I just got out of rehab, buddy. It took me four fucking months to kick the habit. I got fired from my job because of those things. Don’t push me, OK?”

 

Harold hastily hops backwards: “Yo man, it’s cool. Calm down. How was I supposed to know?”

 

Strangler is about to reply before a single word from one of the televisions over the treadmills catches his attention: “Wilson”. He whirls around and sees Chris Wilson smiling for cameras in front of a tropical café, living it up. Strangler snarls as the newscaster begins to drone on again: “…opened his first restaurant in Aruba today. Wilson, a co-owner in the venture, will serve as the public face of the restaurant. And in local news…”

 

Strangler turns back to Harold. “Hey man, why don’t you gimme that guy’s number?”

 

 

426 COMMONWEALTH AVENUE

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

10:32 PM

 

 

Strangler sits alone, staring a hole through the television. As “Gilmore Girls” ends, Strangler flips off the television with a disgruntled sigh and leans back on the couch. He shifts awkwardly on his wallet, and pulls it out. As he goes to put the wallet on the table next to the couch, a piece of paper flutters to the ground. Strangler pauses, then reaches down and scoops it up. As he unfolds it, his eyes betray his conflicting thoughts. The phone number, accompanied by the man’s name, stare back at him, daring him to make the call. Strangler looks around nervously, almost afraid of being spied on. As he continues to stare back at the paper, his head begins to fill with a multitude of images. Chris Wilson’s face flashes in front of him, the steel chair in his hands gleaming as he sends it crashing down on top of Strangler’s skull. Tom Flesher, accompanied by the rest of HIS stable. The cold, barren room of the Dedham rehab center. Erek Taylor’s face as he realized that he was gone from the SWF forever. Grand Slam’s face when he let him back into the SWF. Harold’s face in the gym earlier today. His own shrunken arms and legs.

 

Strangler finally looks up, and glances at the clock before he reaches for the cordless phone next to him. He grabs the phone, and presses the power button. He glances down at the paper, then to the phone. He raises his trembling thumb, and with an apprehensive look on his face, glances back to the paper one last time. He starts to bring his thumb down…..straight onto the power button. He tosses the phone across the couch into a pillow, and jumps off the couch. “I gotta go to bed…I ain’t gonna let this beat me” murmurs Strangler. “I ain’t gonna let this beat me. I ain’t gonna let anyone beat me. Nobody… nobody…”

[Guest Kibagami]

Strangler's on the comeback trail.

 

Rock the fuck on.

 

K.

[Guest TheAntipop]

[Guest AnnieEclectic]

Hmmm.... Tweener Strangler? Face Strangler? Harold as a valet?

 

 

......times change, I like it. but it's 1001 words, yo. nice try

 

-Annie

[Guest 5_moves_of_doom]

Who the fuck is Harold?

 

Why the fuck is TBS watching "Gilmore Girls"?

 

All of these answers and more, when the Stangler finally returns.... dammit, return, fatty.