PROMO

[Guest 5_moves_of_doom]

Fun to write, not so fun to read, but I thought I'd post it anyway.

 

 

 

 

PROMO: “Frost and Loathing In Las Vegas”

 

"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." - Dr. Johnson

 

 

”We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.”

 

ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!!

 

The bloody lipstick red convertible of one Tom Flesher speeds down the freeway at full speed, Tom at the wheel, and a vegetable-minded Velvet Hammer in the passenger seat, complete with cheap wrap-around glasses and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. The flag of Iceland, tied to the back hood of the car with some dental floss and jump rope, billows furiously in the wind behind the car, highlighting the path of chaos and uproar that the SWF Tag Team Champions make on their way to SWF Lockdown. “European Sun” by the Velvet Underground blares from the car’s radio, and we close in on Tom, who has chosen a Hawaiian shirt of his own, a safari hat, and large, auburn-tinted sunglasses as his wardrobe for the trip.

 

”I remember saying something like,”

 

“Holy shit King’s going to blow up! Why’d you have to take so much time putting on your fucking pants Roberto!? This ain’t Lake Minnetonka!”

 

Comes Frost’s growling reply: “As your tag team partner I advise you to pull over immediately and take six shots of tequila.

 

”I could tell by the way his lips set on fire and he spoke out of his ears that I was already the influence of some type of drug, but once you’re in this state of mind, I suppose there’s no turning back.”

 

The convertible pulls over onto the side of the sandy, barren road, almost dashing its brains or engines or what have you across the Nevada landscape by running into a medium-sized cactus, but narrowly misses the prickly green, before coming to a complete stop.

 

“Wait here,”

 

”I said.”

 

“I’ll be back in twenty-three shakes of a lamb’s tail. I need to find out just how much time we have!”

 

”I said, noticing that the time could not be told by the car clock due to excessive vomit having dried a thick, glazed shield over it, much like pudding skin.”

 

“Do what the people want!” Frost screams. Who knows what he’s saying after about three pints of vodka. Nonetheless, he gets out of the car as well, in search of more drugs to feed his mad craving.

 

”We had a large vat of Mexican Tequila mixed with some sort of Russian motor-oil, a dirty dry olive martini inside a “Largest Thermometer in the World” flask, five sheets of LSD, a salt shaker half full of Pixie Dust, a whole galaxy of vodkas, gins, beers, cream sodas... Also an Ecto Cooler straight out of Slimer’s ass, a quart of rum, sixteen bottles of wine, six pints of raw ether and two dozen boxes of Girl Scout cookies.

 

Frost opens up the car’s trunk to reveal the above-mentioned items, taking out the Pixie dust as Tom is already washing away two sheets of LSD with some Mexican Tequila.

 

”Time… the time… the show started at 7 o’ clock, and we needed the time. I suddenly had an idea.”

 

Tom Flesher makes a crazed dive at the sand, hastily trying to create a makeshift sundial out of his tequila bottle. Meanwhile, Frost sets Tom’s Tag Team Title Belt on the front windshield of the car, and cuts a line of Pixie dust onto it.

 

“Holy uncanny collection of photographic snoods Batman!” Tom shouts to no one in particular, before guzzling some more tequila, and setting his sundial back down in the sand again. “Aooga! Frosty! I can’t tell which one of these fucking shadows is the one that tells time!”

 

”Then, the Snow Demon turned around, and that’s when it happened! Flames fumed from his ears! He clenched his fists, which had now both turned into some sort of hacksaw annnnd… a Rush album it looked like. And then, he spoke:”

 

“Os espelhos no champanhe da cor-de-rosa do teto no gelo e na ela disseram-nos são tudo prisioneiros justos aqui de nosso próprio dispositivo e nas câmaras do mestre recolheram para a festa que stab a com suas steely facas mas apenas não podem matar a coisa do último da besta eu me recordo estava funcionando para a porta eu tive que encontrar a passagem para trás ao lugar eu era antes que relaxe dissesse o nightman nós estivessem programados recieve o pudesse verificar para fora em qualquer altura que de você gostassem mas você pode nunca sair.“

 

”…Woohah.”

 

“What do you mean by that!?!?!?!?”

 

“Whatknlfg?”

 

“Nevermind, I’m not an Eagles fan!”

 

”I screamed these prophetic words before going back to my sundial, as Frost undid his white Yatch-Club-esuqe jeans and began to urinate on the road, right next to our car: The Red Shark.”

 

“Don’t get any liquids on the tire! We need friction!”

 

”I said.”

 

“What’d you say, you fuckin’ face… person…” Frost says, struggling to maintain his balance.

 

“I don’t know! Why does the writing keep changing tenses!?”

 

“Huh?” Frost will say.

 

“Nevermind, we need to get back on the road. Resistance is futile.”

 

”I stood up, my left shoe mysteriously missing now. I didn’t know where we were anymore, but I did know that we had a time limit, and to fail to meet that time limit meant chastisement. ‘This was truly an amazing paradox,’ I thought… though I’m thinking right now. Suddenly, I began to factor multiple aspects of our situation into the problem: Food, money, sex. But Food would be the big one of all big ones, oh yes… If we stayed much longer, I didn’t know if I could resist resorting to cannibalism to satisfy my munchies.”

 

Tom turns to face his tag team partner, who clears the drugs off of the car hood, and then collapses in the sand.

 

”Perhaps I could sneak up on him when he wasn’t looking, maybe with a boot of some sort… and then bang the back of his Gulliver real good, until he no longer moved. Then I could drag him out into the middle of the desert, and dissect him piece by piece using the plastic utensils and dining-ware that we

 

had brought along on the trip in case of a pick nick. I could eat the major organs… the heart, the liver, the gizzard, and then sell the rest of his insides, as well as his sexual organs, to some Koreans, who in turn would give me a lift the rest of the--…”

 

Tom’s mouth closes shut like a trash compactor. His eyes go bloodshot and dart from side to side as he notices a suspicious Frost staring at him through a callydascope, which he found who knows where.

 

“(O)(O)” go Taamo’s eyes.

 

“JESUS! Did I just say that!

 

”Or just think it? Was I talking? Could they hear me?

 

Tom hops up to his feet, but immediately as he does, a giant flying squirrel lunges from a cactus, right at his face! Tom ducks, only to be swarmed by several of the airborne marsupials!

 

”Holy Jesus! What are these God forbidden rodents!?”

 

Tom quickly unbuttons his shirt.

 

“It’s fucking hot out here! This is squirrel country!”

 

“What the ‘ell you talkin’ about you… you mother fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkughghhhghgughghugh…” Frost trails off.

 

”No need to tell him about these squirrels’ I thought inside of my thoughts.”

 

“The wind says to get a move on! Come on! You’re driving you walrus!”

 

“Cookookachoo motherfucker.”

 

“Quiet Ringo! In the fucking car!” Tom orders as he puts one of his boots inside of his shirts and begins swinging hysterically at the imaginary squirrels that surround him like a herd of Joheeva’s Witnesses publicities.

 

Frost stumbles into the front seat of the car, and slouches in front of the driver’s wheel, immediately putting the petal to the metal and taking off!

 

“Fucker! That’s not funny! These fucking squirrels will tear me to shreads!” Tom screams, hitting back and forth with his boot-in-shirt combo.

 

“Deeeeeeez nutssssssss” Frost slurs, dozens of dazzling sunflowers lining a circle around his head, almost like a ring of dazzling sunflower seeds, only not, because they’re flowers now.

 

The car stops alive in its tracks, and Tom gallops a few yards towards it before collapsing into the sand, screaming out “NOTHING IS WRIT!!” before getting up to his knees and crawling the rest of the way. He opens the car door and collapses inside.

 

“God’s mercy on you, swine!!”

 

“We should kidnap a maid and pretend that our names our ‘Arthur Rock’ and ‘Arthur Rock.”

 

“Those are the same names, you fool!”

 

“Foul is fair and fair is foul, fucker…-er-er-er-er-er! Say, you got a fresh adrenaline gland to chew on?”

 

“Those of us who had been up all night were in no mood for coffee and donuts. We wanted strong drink. We were, after all, the Absolute Cream of the National Sporting Press and we were gathered here, in Las Vegas, for a very special assignment. And when it comes to things like this you don't fool around.”

 

“Where the fuck is the opium?” Frost presses down on the gas pedal, but his hands are busy searching about the floor of the car in search of something.

 

“Just drive, I’m having an ego trip at the gates of hell.”

 

”My heart was filled with joy. I felt like a monster reincarnation of Horatio Alger... a man on the move... and just sick enough to be totally confident.”

 

“VIVVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA LAS VEGAS!!! VIVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA LAS VEGAS!!!” Frost drunkingly howls up at the sunny moon, singing along with the radio, though it’s not turned on.

 

The red sharks speeds off into the distance, the SWF Tag Team Champions and various assortments of drugs within its murky depths. Tonight, they’re in Las Vegas to fight. And Doggonnit, they’ll win, too.

 

“Mustard ain’t no good without no roast beef.” – Chico Marx

 

---FIN---

 

[Guest Powerplay]

... That was fucked up. Do it again.

[Guest Ace309]

Great. Now I have to compete in a bucket hat and aviators.

[Guest WrestlingDeacon]

So, Tom catchs me in chat and says, "TNT wants to write some crazy promo with Flesher and Frost taking off of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." To which I replied, "sure, sounds like fun. I bequeath my blessing." I blame myself for a lot of things in life; running over that rabbi, forcing that Thai stripper to pull a gun, talking Amber into sex in the library, and now I can add this to the list. It's not easy being me.

[Guest 5_moves_of_doom]

So, Tom catchs me in chat and says, "TNT wants to write some crazy promo with Flesher and Frost taking off of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." To which I replied, "sure, sounds like fun. I bequeath my blessing." I blame myself for a lot of things in life; running over that rabbi, forcing that Thai stripper to pull a gun, talking Amber into sex in the library, and now I can add this to the list. It's not easy being me.

Yeah, Frost made the decision to feud with Ash, too. You can blame him for "Stash The Ash," then.

[Guest Ace309]

I don't recall you using the word 'bequeath.'

[Guest Goodear]

Damn why couldn't this promo have gone up a few days ago? Fucked up Frost and Tom serving as referees would have ruled the roost.

[Guest WrestlingDeacon]

Yes, thank you for reminding me of another blight on my conscious with Stash the Ash. You drive me closer and closer to eating an entire cheesecake to drown my pain, TNT.

 

Tom, I was paraphrasing. Isn't "bequeath" a nice grandiose word anyway?

[Guest Beingz0wningj00]

Heh

 

This reminds me of a match/promo I've been wanting to do, where I write the first person point of view... what you don't find out though... is halfway through the match, the shrooms which he just happened to eat earlier kicked in.

 

 

POWERBOMB... OH MY GOD!!! I CAN FLY!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Stay the fuck back! *shuffle dances while he shadow boxes* Bring it on Darth... I can kick yo ass!