Post by Deleted on Sept 28, 2013 19:39:57 GMT -5
Waylon Cash sits on the end of his bed, staring at a poster of Burt Reynolds as the Bandit, leaning on his signature Trans Am. The wrestler lets out a sigh, and flops backward onto the cushioned surface.
Waylon:What would you do, Bandit? What would you do?
He doesn't have long to contemplate this question. Roxxanne steps into the room, in the middle of a conversation on her cell phone.
Roxxy:I don't know. I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be interested. One second... Hey hon. I have a woman on the phone, she says they need a celebrity for Real Time tonight. I guess Lil Wayne dropped out.
Waylon:Real Time with Bill Maher?
Roxxy:Yeah, I told them you wouldn't be intere-
Waylon:I'll do it. How am I gettin' there?
Roxxy doesn't answer right away, out of shock.
Roxxy:She says they're willing to have a first class ticket waiting for you at the airport. You'll have to leave pretty quick if you wanna make it.
Waylon:Tell her to get the ticket ready. I'll be there.
He jumps to his feet, and begins ripping off his clothes. He grabs a pair of jeans, and a black Johnny Cash T-shirt, throwing them over his body, before gathering his essentials. He gives Roxxanne a quick kiss on the cheek, and bolts toward the elevator. The trip is mostly uneventful. Waylon arrives in L.A., and gets out to the pick-up zone fairly easily without any baggage. He immediately spots the man holding up the sign that says “Cash” and runs over to him.
Waylon:Hey there buddy. You my driver?
Driver:[orange]Yes sir. We need to hurry. Show starts in an hour.[/color]
Waylon quickly slides into the back seat, and they begin their journey. It's slow moving through the Los Angeles traffic, but they reach the building in twenty minutes. As soon as they pull up to the front door, a sever looking woman with a headset grabs Waylon by the arm, and yanks him out of the car. She speaks with the rapid fire precision of a Thompson machine gun.
Handler:We need to hurry. Now Bill's gonna bring you out halfway through the panel, have you promote War, probably ask you about marijuana legalization, blah blah blah. Don't feel pressured to ix it up with the other panelists, they're some of the best in the industry. If you're not being spoken to, just laugh when Bill makes a joke and look like you're having a good time, understand?
Waylon has no time to answer as he is dragged past people running every which way, scrambling to put a television show together. The handler eventually sets Cash down in a chair, where a make-up specialist starts working on him right away.
Handler:Now, it's live TV, but it's HBO, so feel free to swear, but don't go nuts with it. Also, try not to talk over Bill when he's making a point. He hates that. You ready?
Waylon:Ready as I'll ever be.
Handler:Alright, wait here until someone comes to get you.
She flees from the room, as the make-up woman puts on a few finishing touches, and steps out of the room to find out if anyone else needs her services. Waylon has no time to himself, as his phone rings right after she leaves.
Waylon:Hello?
Roxxy:Hey baby. Just wanted to make sure you got there safe. How's it going?
Waylon:Fine. They got me sittin' and waitin' for my cue.
Roxxy:Well good luck hon. Out of curiosity, why did you all of a sudden decide to do this one after telling me you didn't want to do the extra stuff?
Waylon:This is Bill Maher. One of my heroes. Besides, I get to be real. I can say what I really feel.
Roxxy:Alright... just don't be too real.
Cash chuckles at his fiance's concern.
Waylon:I'll behave. I promise.
Roxxy:Alright I love you baby.
Waylon:Love you too.
As soon as they hang up, the handler bursts back into the room.
Handler:The panel's tanking! They want you out there ASAP!
Waylon hops up, and follows the frazzled woman out to the stage, and waits just beyond the curtain to hear his name. From her he can see Bill Maher sitting in his chair at the end of the desk.
Bill:Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special guest tonight. He is a professional wrestler and liberal activist. This Sunday he competes on WCF's annual War pay per view, ladies and gentlemen, Waylon Cash!
The wrestler steps out to a tepid response form the trendy L.A. Crowd. He waves, and shakes hands with the panelists, before taking his seat. The bright lights shine in his face, as he tries to look apst them to the other people on stage.
Bill:So Waylon, you're a professional wrestler from what I understand. What's that like. I think you might be the first oen we've ever had on a show, take us into a little of what that's like.
Waylon:It ain't an easy life. I've had some ridiculous shit happen to me in my career. It's definitely not for the faint of heart. I mean, we basically bleed for a livin'. I don't know anyone else who can put that on a resume.
The lien gets a chuckle out of Bill, which sends Waylon's mood soaring.
Bill:Now, you've got a match coming up called War, tell us what that's gonna be all about.
Waylon:War is a really unpredictable match. It's basically a free for all involvin' everyone in the company. It's a match where anything really can happen. I'll tell you this though, I can predict one thing about that match this year. I'm gonna be the champion at the end of it. Ain't no question about that.
Bill:Well, I gotta love that confidence, and I have to tell you: I'm not a huge fan of pro wrestling, but you've got me interested. I remember seeing them do a bit about you on MSNBC talking about all your activism and the work you do with various groups. It's really inspiring.
Waylon:I just try to do my part to make the world a little better.
Bill makes a joke about Republicans, then turns back to the panel, and asks a question about Syria that Waylon doesn't notice. The compliments from Bill have put him into an intoxicated state, where the rest of the show just passes by in a blissful haze. Waylon doesn't regain his conscious state until the female handler is helping him off of the stage.
Handler:Not bad for a first timer. Bill actually asked that you stop by his dressing room.
Waylon:What?!
He doesn't hear her response. He doesn't notice much of anything until she knocks on the door, and they hear a voice beckon them inside. Waylon steps through the opening to see Bill Maher's face smiling back at him form behind the desk. The handler leaves the room quickly, leaving them alone.
Bill:Thanks you so much for filling in on such short notice. You did a really good job helping me fill time there. Those assholes are brutal. In all honesty it's my fault. I should have never had them book Grover Norquist and Elizabeth Warren on the same show. Lesson learned I guess.
Waylon only offers a nervous smile as Bill goes on.
Bill:Listen... I heard you like to party.
He gives Waylon a grin, before reaching into his desk, and pulling out a rather large bag of cocaine.
Waylon:Uh... yeah, sure.
Bill:Awesome! All of the guests I'm getting lately are straight laced political types. No one wants to have any fun anymore. Except Brian Williams. That guy can fucking party. I once watched him throw a hooker off the roof of a hotel. She landed in a pool, she was fine, but Brian had no idea the pool was down there. He was so messed up on peyote, he thought his name was Professor Dangersqueaks.
Waylon laughs, as Bill pours some of the shit powder onto a mirror, and begins chopping it into lines.
Bill:It's not like it was in the nineties. Everyone partied back then. You know I once stayed up for three days straight with Salmon Rushdie and Joan Rivers drinking whiskey and writing a remake of Short Circuit we never ended up filming. Those were good times... Bush fuckin' ruined everything.
The TV host rolls up a one dollar bill, and uses it to suck one of the lines into his right nostril.
Bill:That's what I'm talking about! Have at it.
He passes the makeshift straw to Waylon, who dives down and does a line. He pops up, and Bill grabs the straw from him, doing two more before speaking.
Bill:I want something to eat. Let's go get something to eat. I'm driving!
Waylon considers protesting, but goes with it, following the man through the studio, and down to the parking garage. They jog across the asphalt, and slide into Bill's black sedan. Maher fires it up, and sends them speeding out onto the street. The encounter a traffic jam right away, upsetting the wired host. He leans his head out of the window, and begins screaming at the other drivers.
Bill:Outta my way fuckholes! I got places to be!
He slips back inside, and slams on the horn.
Bill:I hate this city. No one knows how to drive.
The drive continues on that way, until they find an empty on ramp, and start seeding along the freeway. The wind whips past the open window, as Waylon slowly sucks down a cigarette, and Bill wildly air guitars along with the song on the radio. After a half hour of driving, Waylon gets curious.
Waylon:Where we goin'?
Bill turns down the radio to answer his question.
Bill:I figured we could grab some Mexican.
Waylon:Cool, you know a good place out here?
Bill:The best. We're going straight to the source.
Waylon:Wait... what's that mean?
Bill looks over to his traveling companion with a gleam in his eye.
Bill:We're going to Mexico!
Waylon tries to protest, but he is interrupted by red and blue flashing lights behind the speeding car.
Waylon:Holy shit. Bill, pull over!
Bill:Fuck that! I'm not letting the cops stop our party! We're getting close to the border. They can't chase us past that. Let's rock and roll!
Bill weaves in and out of traffic, the police car following closely behind. It isn't long before one becomes three, and they're being yelled at over the cop's speaker system.
Cop:Pull over now!
Bill:Eat my nuts, pig!
Bill cackles, as he narrowly avoids plowing into the back of a semi truck.
Waylon:What the fuck are you doin'?! Pull over!
Bill:I'm living the party!
One of the cop cars pulls up and taps the back bumper, almost sending them skidding out of control. Bill regains the car, and reaches into the glove box, removing a large hand gun.
Waylon:Oh, what the fuck?!
Bill:It might get a little crazy.
As if on cue, the cop car clips them again, sending them spinning. They eventually come to a stop, facing a line of blinding headlights. Waylon jumps out of the car, and runs toward the cops with his hands in the air.
Waylon:I'm not with him! I'm a hostage!
Once he is safely behind the line of cops, he turns to watch the scene unfold. Nothing happens at first, but soon Bill climbs out of the driver's seat holding his firearm.
Bill:You can't stop the party!
Cop:Put the gun down, and put your hands in the air!
Bill:Suck on this, soldiers of fascism!
Maher takes a few shots toward the crowd, before half of his head disappears in a splatter of gray and red. Waylon sees the image before he hears the gunshot. He watches as Bill Maher flops to the ground. His lifeless body lays their, as the cops slowly surround, and begins checking the car. Waylon can only stand wide-eyed, starring at the carnage. It's a long time before any words come from his mouth.
Waylon:I really gotta stop doin' talk shows.
Waylon:What would you do, Bandit? What would you do?
He doesn't have long to contemplate this question. Roxxanne steps into the room, in the middle of a conversation on her cell phone.
Roxxy:I don't know. I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be interested. One second... Hey hon. I have a woman on the phone, she says they need a celebrity for Real Time tonight. I guess Lil Wayne dropped out.
Waylon:Real Time with Bill Maher?
Roxxy:Yeah, I told them you wouldn't be intere-
Waylon:I'll do it. How am I gettin' there?
Roxxy doesn't answer right away, out of shock.
Roxxy:She says they're willing to have a first class ticket waiting for you at the airport. You'll have to leave pretty quick if you wanna make it.
Waylon:Tell her to get the ticket ready. I'll be there.
He jumps to his feet, and begins ripping off his clothes. He grabs a pair of jeans, and a black Johnny Cash T-shirt, throwing them over his body, before gathering his essentials. He gives Roxxanne a quick kiss on the cheek, and bolts toward the elevator. The trip is mostly uneventful. Waylon arrives in L.A., and gets out to the pick-up zone fairly easily without any baggage. He immediately spots the man holding up the sign that says “Cash” and runs over to him.
Waylon:Hey there buddy. You my driver?
Driver:[orange]Yes sir. We need to hurry. Show starts in an hour.[/color]
Waylon quickly slides into the back seat, and they begin their journey. It's slow moving through the Los Angeles traffic, but they reach the building in twenty minutes. As soon as they pull up to the front door, a sever looking woman with a headset grabs Waylon by the arm, and yanks him out of the car. She speaks with the rapid fire precision of a Thompson machine gun.
Handler:We need to hurry. Now Bill's gonna bring you out halfway through the panel, have you promote War, probably ask you about marijuana legalization, blah blah blah. Don't feel pressured to ix it up with the other panelists, they're some of the best in the industry. If you're not being spoken to, just laugh when Bill makes a joke and look like you're having a good time, understand?
Waylon has no time to answer as he is dragged past people running every which way, scrambling to put a television show together. The handler eventually sets Cash down in a chair, where a make-up specialist starts working on him right away.
Handler:Now, it's live TV, but it's HBO, so feel free to swear, but don't go nuts with it. Also, try not to talk over Bill when he's making a point. He hates that. You ready?
Waylon:Ready as I'll ever be.
Handler:Alright, wait here until someone comes to get you.
She flees from the room, as the make-up woman puts on a few finishing touches, and steps out of the room to find out if anyone else needs her services. Waylon has no time to himself, as his phone rings right after she leaves.
Waylon:Hello?
Roxxy:Hey baby. Just wanted to make sure you got there safe. How's it going?
Waylon:Fine. They got me sittin' and waitin' for my cue.
Roxxy:Well good luck hon. Out of curiosity, why did you all of a sudden decide to do this one after telling me you didn't want to do the extra stuff?
Waylon:This is Bill Maher. One of my heroes. Besides, I get to be real. I can say what I really feel.
Roxxy:Alright... just don't be too real.
Cash chuckles at his fiance's concern.
Waylon:I'll behave. I promise.
Roxxy:Alright I love you baby.
Waylon:Love you too.
As soon as they hang up, the handler bursts back into the room.
Handler:The panel's tanking! They want you out there ASAP!
Waylon hops up, and follows the frazzled woman out to the stage, and waits just beyond the curtain to hear his name. From her he can see Bill Maher sitting in his chair at the end of the desk.
Bill:Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special guest tonight. He is a professional wrestler and liberal activist. This Sunday he competes on WCF's annual War pay per view, ladies and gentlemen, Waylon Cash!
The wrestler steps out to a tepid response form the trendy L.A. Crowd. He waves, and shakes hands with the panelists, before taking his seat. The bright lights shine in his face, as he tries to look apst them to the other people on stage.
Bill:So Waylon, you're a professional wrestler from what I understand. What's that like. I think you might be the first oen we've ever had on a show, take us into a little of what that's like.
Waylon:It ain't an easy life. I've had some ridiculous shit happen to me in my career. It's definitely not for the faint of heart. I mean, we basically bleed for a livin'. I don't know anyone else who can put that on a resume.
The lien gets a chuckle out of Bill, which sends Waylon's mood soaring.
Bill:Now, you've got a match coming up called War, tell us what that's gonna be all about.
Waylon:War is a really unpredictable match. It's basically a free for all involvin' everyone in the company. It's a match where anything really can happen. I'll tell you this though, I can predict one thing about that match this year. I'm gonna be the champion at the end of it. Ain't no question about that.
Bill:Well, I gotta love that confidence, and I have to tell you: I'm not a huge fan of pro wrestling, but you've got me interested. I remember seeing them do a bit about you on MSNBC talking about all your activism and the work you do with various groups. It's really inspiring.
Waylon:I just try to do my part to make the world a little better.
Bill makes a joke about Republicans, then turns back to the panel, and asks a question about Syria that Waylon doesn't notice. The compliments from Bill have put him into an intoxicated state, where the rest of the show just passes by in a blissful haze. Waylon doesn't regain his conscious state until the female handler is helping him off of the stage.
Handler:Not bad for a first timer. Bill actually asked that you stop by his dressing room.
Waylon:What?!
He doesn't hear her response. He doesn't notice much of anything until she knocks on the door, and they hear a voice beckon them inside. Waylon steps through the opening to see Bill Maher's face smiling back at him form behind the desk. The handler leaves the room quickly, leaving them alone.
Bill:Thanks you so much for filling in on such short notice. You did a really good job helping me fill time there. Those assholes are brutal. In all honesty it's my fault. I should have never had them book Grover Norquist and Elizabeth Warren on the same show. Lesson learned I guess.
Waylon only offers a nervous smile as Bill goes on.
Bill:Listen... I heard you like to party.
He gives Waylon a grin, before reaching into his desk, and pulling out a rather large bag of cocaine.
Waylon:Uh... yeah, sure.
Bill:Awesome! All of the guests I'm getting lately are straight laced political types. No one wants to have any fun anymore. Except Brian Williams. That guy can fucking party. I once watched him throw a hooker off the roof of a hotel. She landed in a pool, she was fine, but Brian had no idea the pool was down there. He was so messed up on peyote, he thought his name was Professor Dangersqueaks.
Waylon laughs, as Bill pours some of the shit powder onto a mirror, and begins chopping it into lines.
Bill:It's not like it was in the nineties. Everyone partied back then. You know I once stayed up for three days straight with Salmon Rushdie and Joan Rivers drinking whiskey and writing a remake of Short Circuit we never ended up filming. Those were good times... Bush fuckin' ruined everything.
The TV host rolls up a one dollar bill, and uses it to suck one of the lines into his right nostril.
Bill:That's what I'm talking about! Have at it.
He passes the makeshift straw to Waylon, who dives down and does a line. He pops up, and Bill grabs the straw from him, doing two more before speaking.
Bill:I want something to eat. Let's go get something to eat. I'm driving!
Waylon considers protesting, but goes with it, following the man through the studio, and down to the parking garage. They jog across the asphalt, and slide into Bill's black sedan. Maher fires it up, and sends them speeding out onto the street. The encounter a traffic jam right away, upsetting the wired host. He leans his head out of the window, and begins screaming at the other drivers.
Bill:Outta my way fuckholes! I got places to be!
He slips back inside, and slams on the horn.
Bill:I hate this city. No one knows how to drive.
The drive continues on that way, until they find an empty on ramp, and start seeding along the freeway. The wind whips past the open window, as Waylon slowly sucks down a cigarette, and Bill wildly air guitars along with the song on the radio. After a half hour of driving, Waylon gets curious.
Waylon:Where we goin'?
Bill turns down the radio to answer his question.
Bill:I figured we could grab some Mexican.
Waylon:Cool, you know a good place out here?
Bill:The best. We're going straight to the source.
Waylon:Wait... what's that mean?
Bill looks over to his traveling companion with a gleam in his eye.
Bill:We're going to Mexico!
Waylon tries to protest, but he is interrupted by red and blue flashing lights behind the speeding car.
Waylon:Holy shit. Bill, pull over!
Bill:Fuck that! I'm not letting the cops stop our party! We're getting close to the border. They can't chase us past that. Let's rock and roll!
Bill weaves in and out of traffic, the police car following closely behind. It isn't long before one becomes three, and they're being yelled at over the cop's speaker system.
Cop:Pull over now!
Bill:Eat my nuts, pig!
Bill cackles, as he narrowly avoids plowing into the back of a semi truck.
Waylon:What the fuck are you doin'?! Pull over!
Bill:I'm living the party!
One of the cop cars pulls up and taps the back bumper, almost sending them skidding out of control. Bill regains the car, and reaches into the glove box, removing a large hand gun.
Waylon:Oh, what the fuck?!
Bill:It might get a little crazy.
As if on cue, the cop car clips them again, sending them spinning. They eventually come to a stop, facing a line of blinding headlights. Waylon jumps out of the car, and runs toward the cops with his hands in the air.
Waylon:I'm not with him! I'm a hostage!
Once he is safely behind the line of cops, he turns to watch the scene unfold. Nothing happens at first, but soon Bill climbs out of the driver's seat holding his firearm.
Bill:You can't stop the party!
Cop:Put the gun down, and put your hands in the air!
Bill:Suck on this, soldiers of fascism!
Maher takes a few shots toward the crowd, before half of his head disappears in a splatter of gray and red. Waylon sees the image before he hears the gunshot. He watches as Bill Maher flops to the ground. His lifeless body lays their, as the cops slowly surround, and begins checking the car. Waylon can only stand wide-eyed, starring at the carnage. It's a long time before any words come from his mouth.
Waylon:I really gotta stop doin' talk shows.
