Post by FPV on Dec 18, 2013 23:29:10 GMT -5
This was it. His last tank of gas. His last chance at a dream he thought would be his destiny. Thought. Keyword.
Frank had been driving for hours, very nearly getting into a crash multiple times, only to have quick thinking save his ass at the last minute. He couldn't even remember when the last time he slept was. It didn't matter. He was determined to get somewhere. He would have put his search for another indie fed aside for now, as he had no money for gas and needed a job quick. The discount Creed CD was blaring through his radio. He didn't even fucking like Creed, he only bought the CD because it was all he could afford. And now he could afford nothing. He now considered it a colossal waste of his money and decided listening to the assholes on the highway honking their horns at him a better thing to listen to while driving.
After a few hours of not knowing where the hell he was going, he finally arrived at his destination: New Orleans. He had heard good things about this city, promising stories of indie feds looking for new talent at whatever cost. The seemingly perfect place to start. Also the seemingly worst place to run out of gas in. That's exactly what happened to Frank as he begin to pull in to the city. He gazed quickly at his fuel gauge before realizing his situation.
Frank: Son. Of. A. BITCH.
Multiple thoughts ran through his head, none of them positive, all of them negative. The memories of him breaking the news that he would be skipping out on college to his parents ran through his mind. All the other wrestling promotions had rejected him, and this city was his last hope. What if this didn't work out for him? Then he'd be screwed for sure. The humiliation would be too much for him. He couldn't let that happen, and he WASN'T going to let that happen. Bitterly trying to keep control of his situation, he hopped out his tiny little car and began to push it straight down the road. He would keep going until he found a job, and if he couldn't find a job by the end of the road...well fuck, then it was all over.
Frank Venable presents:
OLE SMOKEY'S PUB AND GRILL IV
(ACT ONE)
This little pub was Daniels bread and butter. Had been for as long as he could remember. He was living out his dream, serving the fine people of this city with the best food around. And if the less-than-fine people came in to cause trouble, oh well sonny, that's the works. Gotta take the good with the bad. Daniel had seen his share of crazy things happen. This was fucking N'awlins, of course shit was supposed to happen. He had even taken in a few people from time to time, helped them get back up on their feet. And as he saw Frank Venable trying to push his car down the road, he could sense that he would be doing it once again.
Daniel: Hey boy, you need some help?
He called out to Frank from the open door, hoping he had caught his attention. Frank stopped pushing for a moment to look at who was calling to him. He took a look at Daniels face and knew he could be trusted.
Frank: Yes...actually, I could use a lot of help if you don't mind.
Daniel: No problem, lemme help you get that thing out the road and into a parking spot.
Putting down the towel he had been using to clean one of the tables, Daniel sprinted out the door to help Frank push the car into the parking lot. That task became much more manageable once two sets of hands were working on it. Both men were still exhausted afterwards, though. They sat down on the ground beside the car to catch their breath.
Daniel: What's your name, kiddo?
Frank: It's Frank...Frank Venable.
Daniel: Nice to meet you Frank. Name's Daniel. You from around here?
Frank: Nah...Atlanta.
Daniel: Damn, Atlanta. Hadn't had a customer from Atlanta since God knows when. What's your business over here, sonny?
Frank: You'd probably laugh at me if I told you.
Daniel: Trust me, I've heard some wild shit in my time.
Daniel began playfully nudging Frank on the shoulder. It was funny, Daniel was about 6 years older then Frank was at the time, yet still acted as if he were still in college. Finally, Frank spilt the details.
Frank: I ame here because I heard there was an indie fed looking for new recruits.
Daniel: Indie fed? You mean the NEF?
Frank: The N'awlins Extreme Federation? That's the one.
Daniel: And you drove all the way from Atlanta to check out that little shithole?
Frank: This city was my last shot. Every other place turned me down. I'm not about to let my dream die, you know? You had a dream once, if I were to guess?
Daniel: Really? You can guess that from only a few seconds of conversation.
Frank: I mean...you've got a restaurant that you worked hard to get started, am I right?
Daniel: That you are.
Frank: And I can only assume that this place attracts a pretty good profit, right?
Daniel: Indeed.
Frank: So you're proof.
Daniel got up onto his feet, ready to get back to work.
Daniel: Proof of what?
Frank: That dreams can come true if you put your mind to them.
Daniel helped get Frank off the ground and onto his feet. Little did Daniel know that he would be doing this in the metaphorical sense very soon.
Daniel: Well look here, Sonny-boy, I really would like to help out, and seeing as though you're gonna be stuck here, I suppose I might as well make you useful. I'll give you a job here, but you gotta promise to me that you're being truthful here and not just pulling my leg. How much do you really want this wrestling job?
Frank: Sir...I've been driving for hours on end, with nothing but a Creed CD to keep me company...
Daniel: I've heard enough. You're hired. And the first thing you're gonna buy with your paycheck is a better taste in music.
And that's how it all started. Daniel led Frank inside the restaurant, and once going through those doors, Frank came just that much closer to realizing his dreams.
Funk: THAT'S RIGHT, SUCK IT BOUDLES!
Da Funk knew that games like Call of Duty pissed Frank off. It wasn't at all because of the gameplay, but it was because of what it did to the people who played them. Turn them into mindless zombies who only spoke in terms of noscopes and Prestige. Fucking disgusting. And people wondered why gamers had a bad reputation, when the main idea people got of them was that of a screaming 11-year old on a mic telling some rown ass man he never even knew that he would quote unquote "pork his mother in positions never conceived by man." Again, fucking disgusting. So why the hell was Funk playing this game in FPV's own New York apartment, knowing damn well it'd only tick him off?
No reason, really. This was just what he did for kicks and giggles.
FPV: Don't you find it funny, Funk?
Funk: What?
FPV: Us...using that word...that HE created?
Funk: Dude, EVERYONE uses that word now. You never realized that?
FPV: I dunno, I just feel...dirty saying that word now. Like I'm betraying myself a little, y'know?
Funk: How is saying a silly little word considered "betraying yourself?"
Frank took a long, long swig of the monster he clinched in his hand. On the table in front of him was another, should he get the urge to double down. It was going to be that kind of night.
FPV: Can imagine, just for one moment Funk, that you really hate a certain band. You hate the message their music spreads, you hate their image, their music...everything about them makes you want to puke. And yet you still listen to their stuff while in public because it's the cool thing to do. Imagine that feeling, how it...just fucking RIPS you up inside that you know that you're going against everything you sand for just to keep appearances. That's how I feel with Logan. How the fuck does he think I would still be able to consider him a friend, after hearing the shit he said about. And yet he acts as though he never said anything of this sort, saying "Oh, it's just a joke, don't take it so seriously." What he said that day...
Suddenly, images from that promo came flashing through FPV's mind...
"Speede: My answer is that Frank is a little boudle bitch and is hereby revoked of the privilege to call himself the boudle slayer, mainly because Roy Speede is now the new boudle slayer. P.S. Logan is the Hot Dog King/WCF God."
FPV: The SHIT that he and Roy spewed...
"Logan: How about the fact that he hasn’t been a nice friend to my son? That boudle stole all my catchphrases and then tried to kill my son in a Euthanasia Chamber match. It still pains me to this day what poor Roy had to go through.
Roy: Once, dad, he told me I was a disgrace to WCF. It hurt.
Logan: Roy, what do we say about listening to boudles?
Roy: Don’t. Then gouge their eyes out with a pelvic thrust.
Logan: EXACTLY! My you’re learning so fast. "
FPV: HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU CONSIDER THAT JOKING!?
Funk: Easy there, cowboy...
FPV: NO! YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, RIGHT NOW!
And in the next few seconds, Frank was on Funk like a wild animal, ready to strike. He was beginning to put actual, legit fear into Funk, his own best friend.
FPV: What the showed that day...that wasn't joking...that pure statements of contempt. To think, I thought me and him were cool, for him to go behind my back like that, and just throw me under the bus, IF THAT'S WHAT WE'RE PASSING OFF AS JOKES TODAY, THEN I'M NOT LAUGHING. I'm sick of this shit, Funk. Sick and fucking tired of it. I put my trust into people, only to have them pull this shit on me...what's to say that you won't do the same to me, in fact?
Funk: No...no, Frank you know me better then that...
FPV: Really? I thought I knew Waylon better then I actually did. I thought I knew Sarah better then I actually did. You see the pattern we got going on here, bro? It's only eventual that you're going to start having thoughts of betrayal, but when you do, and you go and make those thoughts public, just know that the pain Logan will go through Sunday night will PALE in comparison to how I will deal with you...friend.
The last word came out with a bite, almost piercing through Funk's usually thick skin. And with that Frank was off of him, walking to grab that unopened can of Monster. Funk was glad...now he knew not to piss Frank off more than he already was. As Frank looked his window towards the night time traffic, a few final words came out of his mouth.
FPV: This isn't even about titles. this is about respect now. And I will not rest until I have gotten what I know I deserve.
Wishing for some time to himself, Frank walked out of the room to go upstairs and drink his beverage in peace.
Frank had been driving for hours, very nearly getting into a crash multiple times, only to have quick thinking save his ass at the last minute. He couldn't even remember when the last time he slept was. It didn't matter. He was determined to get somewhere. He would have put his search for another indie fed aside for now, as he had no money for gas and needed a job quick. The discount Creed CD was blaring through his radio. He didn't even fucking like Creed, he only bought the CD because it was all he could afford. And now he could afford nothing. He now considered it a colossal waste of his money and decided listening to the assholes on the highway honking their horns at him a better thing to listen to while driving.
After a few hours of not knowing where the hell he was going, he finally arrived at his destination: New Orleans. He had heard good things about this city, promising stories of indie feds looking for new talent at whatever cost. The seemingly perfect place to start. Also the seemingly worst place to run out of gas in. That's exactly what happened to Frank as he begin to pull in to the city. He gazed quickly at his fuel gauge before realizing his situation.
Frank: Son. Of. A. BITCH.
Multiple thoughts ran through his head, none of them positive, all of them negative. The memories of him breaking the news that he would be skipping out on college to his parents ran through his mind. All the other wrestling promotions had rejected him, and this city was his last hope. What if this didn't work out for him? Then he'd be screwed for sure. The humiliation would be too much for him. He couldn't let that happen, and he WASN'T going to let that happen. Bitterly trying to keep control of his situation, he hopped out his tiny little car and began to push it straight down the road. He would keep going until he found a job, and if he couldn't find a job by the end of the road...well fuck, then it was all over.
Frank Venable presents:
OLE SMOKEY'S PUB AND GRILL IV
(ACT ONE)
This little pub was Daniels bread and butter. Had been for as long as he could remember. He was living out his dream, serving the fine people of this city with the best food around. And if the less-than-fine people came in to cause trouble, oh well sonny, that's the works. Gotta take the good with the bad. Daniel had seen his share of crazy things happen. This was fucking N'awlins, of course shit was supposed to happen. He had even taken in a few people from time to time, helped them get back up on their feet. And as he saw Frank Venable trying to push his car down the road, he could sense that he would be doing it once again.
Daniel: Hey boy, you need some help?
He called out to Frank from the open door, hoping he had caught his attention. Frank stopped pushing for a moment to look at who was calling to him. He took a look at Daniels face and knew he could be trusted.
Frank: Yes...actually, I could use a lot of help if you don't mind.
Daniel: No problem, lemme help you get that thing out the road and into a parking spot.
Putting down the towel he had been using to clean one of the tables, Daniel sprinted out the door to help Frank push the car into the parking lot. That task became much more manageable once two sets of hands were working on it. Both men were still exhausted afterwards, though. They sat down on the ground beside the car to catch their breath.
Daniel: What's your name, kiddo?
Frank: It's Frank...Frank Venable.
Daniel: Nice to meet you Frank. Name's Daniel. You from around here?
Frank: Nah...Atlanta.
Daniel: Damn, Atlanta. Hadn't had a customer from Atlanta since God knows when. What's your business over here, sonny?
Frank: You'd probably laugh at me if I told you.
Daniel: Trust me, I've heard some wild shit in my time.
Daniel began playfully nudging Frank on the shoulder. It was funny, Daniel was about 6 years older then Frank was at the time, yet still acted as if he were still in college. Finally, Frank spilt the details.
Frank: I ame here because I heard there was an indie fed looking for new recruits.
Daniel: Indie fed? You mean the NEF?
Frank: The N'awlins Extreme Federation? That's the one.
Daniel: And you drove all the way from Atlanta to check out that little shithole?
Frank: This city was my last shot. Every other place turned me down. I'm not about to let my dream die, you know? You had a dream once, if I were to guess?
Daniel: Really? You can guess that from only a few seconds of conversation.
Frank: I mean...you've got a restaurant that you worked hard to get started, am I right?
Daniel: That you are.
Frank: And I can only assume that this place attracts a pretty good profit, right?
Daniel: Indeed.
Frank: So you're proof.
Daniel got up onto his feet, ready to get back to work.
Daniel: Proof of what?
Frank: That dreams can come true if you put your mind to them.
Daniel helped get Frank off the ground and onto his feet. Little did Daniel know that he would be doing this in the metaphorical sense very soon.
Daniel: Well look here, Sonny-boy, I really would like to help out, and seeing as though you're gonna be stuck here, I suppose I might as well make you useful. I'll give you a job here, but you gotta promise to me that you're being truthful here and not just pulling my leg. How much do you really want this wrestling job?
Frank: Sir...I've been driving for hours on end, with nothing but a Creed CD to keep me company...
Daniel: I've heard enough. You're hired. And the first thing you're gonna buy with your paycheck is a better taste in music.
And that's how it all started. Daniel led Frank inside the restaurant, and once going through those doors, Frank came just that much closer to realizing his dreams.
Funk: THAT'S RIGHT, SUCK IT BOUDLES!
Da Funk knew that games like Call of Duty pissed Frank off. It wasn't at all because of the gameplay, but it was because of what it did to the people who played them. Turn them into mindless zombies who only spoke in terms of noscopes and Prestige. Fucking disgusting. And people wondered why gamers had a bad reputation, when the main idea people got of them was that of a screaming 11-year old on a mic telling some rown ass man he never even knew that he would quote unquote "pork his mother in positions never conceived by man." Again, fucking disgusting. So why the hell was Funk playing this game in FPV's own New York apartment, knowing damn well it'd only tick him off?
No reason, really. This was just what he did for kicks and giggles.
FPV: Don't you find it funny, Funk?
Funk: What?
FPV: Us...using that word...that HE created?
Funk: Dude, EVERYONE uses that word now. You never realized that?
FPV: I dunno, I just feel...dirty saying that word now. Like I'm betraying myself a little, y'know?
Funk: How is saying a silly little word considered "betraying yourself?"
Frank took a long, long swig of the monster he clinched in his hand. On the table in front of him was another, should he get the urge to double down. It was going to be that kind of night.
FPV: Can imagine, just for one moment Funk, that you really hate a certain band. You hate the message their music spreads, you hate their image, their music...everything about them makes you want to puke. And yet you still listen to their stuff while in public because it's the cool thing to do. Imagine that feeling, how it...just fucking RIPS you up inside that you know that you're going against everything you sand for just to keep appearances. That's how I feel with Logan. How the fuck does he think I would still be able to consider him a friend, after hearing the shit he said about. And yet he acts as though he never said anything of this sort, saying "Oh, it's just a joke, don't take it so seriously." What he said that day...
Suddenly, images from that promo came flashing through FPV's mind...
"Speede: My answer is that Frank is a little boudle bitch and is hereby revoked of the privilege to call himself the boudle slayer, mainly because Roy Speede is now the new boudle slayer. P.S. Logan is the Hot Dog King/WCF God."
FPV: The SHIT that he and Roy spewed...
"Logan: How about the fact that he hasn’t been a nice friend to my son? That boudle stole all my catchphrases and then tried to kill my son in a Euthanasia Chamber match. It still pains me to this day what poor Roy had to go through.
Roy: Once, dad, he told me I was a disgrace to WCF. It hurt.
Logan: Roy, what do we say about listening to boudles?
Roy: Don’t. Then gouge their eyes out with a pelvic thrust.
Logan: EXACTLY! My you’re learning so fast. "
FPV: HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU CONSIDER THAT JOKING!?
Funk: Easy there, cowboy...
FPV: NO! YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, RIGHT NOW!
And in the next few seconds, Frank was on Funk like a wild animal, ready to strike. He was beginning to put actual, legit fear into Funk, his own best friend.
FPV: What the showed that day...that wasn't joking...that pure statements of contempt. To think, I thought me and him were cool, for him to go behind my back like that, and just throw me under the bus, IF THAT'S WHAT WE'RE PASSING OFF AS JOKES TODAY, THEN I'M NOT LAUGHING. I'm sick of this shit, Funk. Sick and fucking tired of it. I put my trust into people, only to have them pull this shit on me...what's to say that you won't do the same to me, in fact?
Funk: No...no, Frank you know me better then that...
FPV: Really? I thought I knew Waylon better then I actually did. I thought I knew Sarah better then I actually did. You see the pattern we got going on here, bro? It's only eventual that you're going to start having thoughts of betrayal, but when you do, and you go and make those thoughts public, just know that the pain Logan will go through Sunday night will PALE in comparison to how I will deal with you...friend.
The last word came out with a bite, almost piercing through Funk's usually thick skin. And with that Frank was off of him, walking to grab that unopened can of Monster. Funk was glad...now he knew not to piss Frank off more than he already was. As Frank looked his window towards the night time traffic, a few final words came out of his mouth.
FPV: This isn't even about titles. this is about respect now. And I will not rest until I have gotten what I know I deserve.
Wishing for some time to himself, Frank walked out of the room to go upstairs and drink his beverage in peace.
