Post by Jonny Fly on Jan 26, 2014 15:11:57 GMT -5
The following scene is a continuation of the RP linked below, used with permission:
wcfwrestling.proboards.com/thread/18943/man-waylon?page=1&scrollTo=135932
January 7th, 2014
Jorge and Jey Diaz have recently exited the dark alley. As they ride off in a taxi, two African-American men with baseball bats have surrounded Man Tits Waylon. Man Tits, as he’s affectionately called in this story, is some poor dude tied up to a rocking chair with cloth over his mouth. He’s not the real Waylon Cash, obviously, but he does have that same general look. Plus, he has man tits, if that part wasn’t already obvious. The baseball bat wielding men are about to commence an epic beat down of Senor Man Titties, when a shadowy figure emerges from behind them.
Jonny Fly.
Since we have no clue what city we’re in, it’s unknown as to why Fly is here…at this exact moment. He stands picturesque in his more expensive than Jayson Price’s drinking habit suit, shoes, and red tie. Fly takes a few steps forward and the click-clack of his shoes on the pavement draw the attention of Damon (the bald one) and Jayvon (the braided one). They turn to spot Fly, and they’re not happy about it.
Jayvon: Whatchu lookin’ at fool?
Fly giggles. That’s right. He giggles. It’s the manliest giggle ever.
Fly: I’m honestly not sure.
Damon: That’s a nice suit. It looks like you lost, homie.
Fly looks around the alley. Despite his dress, this is the streets. Of course, again, we don’t know where we are…but this is basically home for Fly.
Fly: Nope. I almost feel…at home.
Jayvon takes a step forward and comes face-to-face with Fly.
Jayvon: Yeah? Well that’s going to be one fucked up home.
In response, Fly begins giggling again. So many giggles. His casual attitude only serves to enrage his antagonists even further. Damon steps forward, also face-to-face with Fly.
Damon: Is there something funny here?
Fly manages to compose himself just long enough to answer the question.
Fly: Yes, there is. You two are what’s funny. I mean seriously, what the fuck is going on here? You see some white hick tied up on a rocking chair and you think that’s an invitation to bash his fuckin’ head in with a bat? Here’s a question – WHY DO YOU NEED A BAT? He’s tied up you fuckin’ pussies!
Damon and Jayvon look at one another, not having a good answer for that question.
Fly: Both of you are dumb fucks. Now, you have two options. Get the fuck out of my face or end up like Waylon over there.
Damon and Jayvon look at Waylon behind them. Smugly, one of them responds.
Jayvon: Yeah, I don’t think so honky.
With that, Jayvon swings his bat at Fly’s head. Fly doesn’t even both ducking, he simply grabs the bat out of the air with just one hand and yanks it away. Now it’s Damon swinging at Fly, but this time he ducks. Fly responds with a thunderous blow from his bat to Damon’s knee. Fly immediately spins and cracks Jayvon over the face, causing him to fall in a heap onto the pavement. Fly turns back to Damon to see him on the ground holding his knee in pain. Fly overs over him, holding his bat at his side.
Fly: Not so fuckin’ tough now are you?
Damon doesn’t respond. Unless of course crying is a response. Fly drops his bat and heads over to Man Tits Waylon. He takes the cloth out of his mouth.
Man Tits: I tell ya mister, dem boys were about to beat me good. Many thanks.
Fly: Don’t sweat it.
Fly unties the titastic one from the rocking chair and allows him to get back to his feet.
Man Tits: It’s been a crazy day. I wouldn’t ‘spose you’d be interested in getting’ a drink, would ya?
Fly: A drink? Sure.
Fly and Man Tits Waylon walk away from the rocking chair and Damon and Jayvon, making their way out of the alley. The scene comes to a close.
Friendship is a huge part of life.
Friends are individuals who provide you support. They are people that you can rely on. Mostly, they are people that enrich your lives. You don’t always come from the same backgrounds, likes the same things, or even have the same beliefs. However, you enjoy them for who they are.
A good friend is someone that you can trust, and shows you respect. They can make you smile, laugh, and will tell you the truth when nobody else will. When your name is Jonny Fly, friends come and go – mostly go. It’s always been a struggle for him to maintain friends, in the industry or otherwise. He’s not programmed like most people. He never relied on others for comfort or help. However, over the last month, things have been changing…
January 24th, 2014
Our next scene begins two and a half weeks after our first. Following his heroic rescue of Man Tits Waylon, Fly and Man Tits went out drinking and ended up striking a friendship. It just so happened that Man Tits was a big FlyFan and that helped them overcome their considerable differences, mainly in physical appearance. Actually, that’s a lie. Not the physical appearance part, but the FlyFan part. He’s not Flydophile at all. He specifically used the word “hero.” That was touching. Tonight, Fly and Man Tits, regular buddies these days, have decided to join up at Greenwood Park, a mechanic shop turned beer mecca in the heart of Brooklyn, New York.
We enter through the front doors of Greenwood Park and look out upon a 13,000 square foot establishment. The bar is on the left hand side of the room and is absolutely PACKED with people. Truthfully, the whole place is packed with wall-to-wall Brooklynites. To the right of the bar is the open dining section, mostly high-top tables surrounded by bar stools. The building itself has the appearance of a warehouse with a cement floor, cement block walls, an exposed metal ceiling, and garage doors on the far right that open up to an outdoor patio when it’s not 13 fuckin’ degrees like it is on this night. We begin to navigate through the dining section of Greenwood Park, keeping out camera focused on the left by the bar. That’s where we spot Jonny Fly perched up on a barstool next to Man Tits Waylon.
Fly and Papa Tatas appear to be in a conversation with one of the bartender’s. He’s a smaller man, likely in his mid-20’s, and whatever Fly and Man Cans are telling him isn’t making him very. He scowls at Fly before walking away. He walks over to the other bartender, a petite blonde, who also appears to be in her mid-20’s. The male bartender whispers something into her ear that prompts her to look over at Fly, who casually waves in her direction. She smiles and walks over to him. We zoom in to catch the dialogue.
Hot Bartender: Well, you two gentlemen aren’t making my partner very happy.
Fly takes a moment to make a closer inspection of the bartender. He looks her up and down, and satisfied with the visual vixen, he responds.
Fly: I hope you don’t mean partner like…partner, partner.
The bartender looks over at him and laughs.
Hot Bartender: Him? No, no, just co-workers.
Fly: Good, because you’re out of his league. I hope you don’t mind, that’s why we asked for you to serve us.
Hot Bartender: That’s very kind of you. I’ll be happy to help you two out tonight. Who’s your friend?
The bartender looks over at Man Tits, making special notice of his protruding he-hooters. She’s a bit taken aback, but keeps in professional nonetheless. By professional, I mean she’s overly complimentary and flirty in the effort of supersizing her tip amount.
Hot Bartender: He’s a cutie. Can I get you anything to drink, sweetie?
Man Tits blushes.
Man Tits: May I have your house Cab Sav, honey?
Hah. He ordered wine. The bartender looks at him quite surprised with his drink order. Fly covers for him.
Fly: This guy…always the joker. Funniest guy that I know. Bring him a Guinness. Make it two for me.
The bartender turns and walks away to retrieve the drink orders. Fly turns to Man Tits and question him regarding what just happened.
Fly: Dude…you can’t be ordering wine in a place like this. Especially when you’re hanging out with me. That brings a certain sort of stigma that neither of us want.
Man Tits: What be the big deal? I like me some wine.
Fly: Just drink your beer and try to fit in. If you do, by the end of the night, we’ll have ourselves all of the female company we want. Remember my motto, wine is for dates, beer and liquor are for one night stands. We’re looking for six hours of pleasure tonight, not six years of being miserable. Cool?
Man Tits: I gotcha, Fly. My only problem with beer is that it be effecting my testosterone. That shit goes right to my…
Fly: Chest?
Man Tits is sad. He looks at the ground. Fly slaps him on the back and cheers him up.
Fly: Don’t sweat it buddy. You’re with Jonny Fly tonight. I’m playing wing man. We’re going to get the ladies drooling all over you. That bartender –
Fly points over to the bartender who is currently pouring the second Guinness.
Fly: …is going home with you tonight. I’d bet my WCF World Title belt on it. That belt, by the way, that your doppleganger isn’t going to be taking from me at Payback.
Man Tits: What’s the deal with all that, anyway? Why do people be mistakin’ me with a professional wrestler?
Fly looks Waylon up and down. He laughs to himself and takes the cowboy hat off Waylon’s head. Yes, that’s right, Man Tits is wearing a flannel shirt, cowboys hat, and tight jeans in a gastropub. Fly might have his work cut out for him.
Fly: It’s the look, my friend. You guys have the same look, same drawl when you talk, and basically the same physique.
Fly smirks arrogantly at the subtle dig at the real Waylon Cash. He gives Man Tits his hat back.
Man Tits: I thought you and Waylon were the same height and weight?
…and then the smirk goes away.
Fly: Man, fuck you.
Just then the bartender brings over the two beers and sets them in front of Fly and Man-mories.
Fly: Tell me sweetheart, this guy over here to my right. Do you find him sexy?
Still working for those tips, the waitress responds in kind.
Hot Bartender: Heck yeah. He's got it going on for sure. Hey, I haven’t seen you two around here much. Is this your first time in?
Fly: He’s not from around here. If you couldn’t tell from his clothes, he’s a big oil tycoon down in Texas. This dude is loaded. I don’t know how he does it. He always has girls chasing him, but he’s a perfect gentlemen. He never takes advantage of them. Me on the other hand, I’d be tagging every one of them. Not this guy though…he’s a saint.
The bartender bats her eyes at Man Tits. Staring at him, she responds to Fly’s comments.
Hot Bartender: Well that’s certainly refreshing to hear. It’s too bad you’re not from around here.
She winks at Man Tits and takes off to attend to the other customers. Fly raises his glass and turns to Man Tits.
Fly: To you having nasty, dirty, sex with that little minx later tonight.
Man Tits raises his glass and he and Fly cheers. At the exact moment, a voice bellows out from behind them.
“LOOK AT THESE TWO MOTHERFUCKERS!”
Fly and Man Tits spin around in their bar stools to notice Jayson Allen Price standing behind them, double-fisting some mixed drinks. Price takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into his front shirt pocket.
Price: What are the chances I’d be finding ya’ll here?
Fly: I should be asking you the same question. This is New York, not Philadelphia.
Price looks confused. He looks around the room.
Price: New York, you say? Why the fuck am I in New York?
Fly: How much have you had to drink?
Price: Who the hell can keep track of such things? I’ve been drunk since the Caliban versus Black match.
Fly: That was like two weeks ago.
Price downs both of his drinks simultaneously and moves forward and puts them on the bar to prompt the bartender to refill them.
Price: I’m training for my match, Fly. Anyway, what’s with this whole hanging out with Waylon Cash thing? Aren’t the two of you supposed to be facing one another on Sunday?
Fly: No, no, that’s not Waylon Cash.
Price takes a step forward and is nearly face-to-face with Man Tits. He stares at him, then looks him up and down, the sniffs the air, and then…
Fly: Price! What the hell are you doing?
Price: It certainly looks and smells like Waylon.
Fly: This is Man Tits Waylon. I uh...don't know his real name. Anyway, he’s a friend.
Price blinks twice with a blank expression on his face. Then, suddenly, he bursts out laughing. He bends over holding his stomach. Poor Man Tits doesn’t look very happy. Fly reaches out and grabs Price by the arm and yanks him forward.
Fly: Hold it together, dude.
Price nods his head and takes a few seconds to regain his composure.
Price: Sorry…sorry…oh man, that was good.
Fly: He’s a cool dude. He does great Waylon Cash impressions. Man Tits, show him.
Man Tits: Alright. Ask me a question.
Price: Alright Waylon, if you could star in one movie what would it be?
Man Tits: Pirates of the Caribbean. I’d make a badass pirate. Plus, I like hats.
Price: It’d have been funnier if you said Busty Brunettes 3…not that I know that’s a movie or anything…I’m just saying.
Fly: Ignore him Waylon. Go ahead, tell me about your wrestling skills.
Man Tits: My key to being a good wrestler is surrounding myself with people who are better than me. Key contributors to my career include Steve Orbit, Roy Speede, FPV, Sarah Twilight, Benjamin Atreyu, John Gable Gobble, and Roxeanne Savage.
That actually prompts Price to laugh a bit.
Price: That’s actually pretty good. If you surround yourself with people who are better, you tend to fit in. Good strategy…Man Tits.
Man Tits beams proudly and then takes a sip of his drink.
Price: So Fly, what do you think of the real Waylon Cash? You going to defend that title again or what?
Fly: Come on Jayson, you know me…and the answer to that question. I’ve been listening to Waylon talk and I hear the defeat in his words. He’s a broken man. He’s at his wits end. This match is predator versus prey – the weak get eaten, and Waylon Cash is weak. The motherfucker literally told me to kill him and put him out of his misery.
Price: Do it.
Fly: Too easy. Waylon Cash acknowledges what I said earlier this week. I’m the one man who’s directly stopped him from achieving his goals in WCF. I’m the black cloud that hangs over his career. It’s driving him insane. For him, he wants closure. He either wants to get that elusive victory and lift that weight off his chest…or die…and take the easy way out. Why give him that?
Man Tits: Don’t kill me, bro.
Fly smiles and looks over to Man Tits.
Fly: I’m not going to kill Waylon. Simply beating him has much more of an impact. Psychologically, it’s going to absolutely ruin that motherfucker. It’s really not something personal. Again, I don’t think that he’s a bad guy. He just needs to understand his place, that’s all. He calls me a tyrant…because I win every match. He wants to free the world from my reign of power. It’s all just too over the top, still. Waylon Cash is nobody’s savior. Fuck, nobody even needs saved. He’s the only one around here looking for solace. He either needs to become a better wrestler or understand his place in the hierarchy. Either way, though, that hierarchy isn’t changing. He can call this a war, a crusade, or whatever other cliché term he wants. He can bring an army into the ring at Payback, it’s not going to matter. I don’t lose. I WON’T lose.
Fly pauses for a moment to take his glass of Guinness. He takes another large sip, wipes his mouth, and puts the glass down. He continues talking.
Fly: Waylon Cash doesn’t understand me. That’s painfully obvious. He calls me one of the ‘pretty’ people, and insinuates that life has been easy for me. A long series of events have made me who I am today, the wrestler that I am today, and none of those things have been easy. Today, things might look easy, but that’s because I’ve busted my fuckin’ ass to become the king of this industry. I deserve everything I have, and I won’t let some ignorant country fuck undersell that. Becoming THE Jonny Fly was a process, and you can’t appreciate that until you’ve gone down that same road. Waylon Cash enters the ring and expects to win because…he’s Waylon Cash and he’s righteous and going to try hard and whatthefuckeverwhat. I enter the ring and expect to win because I have over a decade’s worth of successes, failures, knowledge, and ability that make the best at what I do.
Jayson Price coughs. Also, his drinks have finally been refilled so he grabs them off the bar.
Fly: No offense, of course. My point is this; Waylon’s problems with me aren’t some class war bullshit. His problem is that I’m better than him, and he can’t accept it. He tries to rationalize my dominance over the WCF. He looks at me with his jealous eyes and thinks that it’s all fuckin’ rainbows and unicorns. The he looks at himself, slogging through the midcard, leader of a stable stuck in neutral, and without the fame and recognition that comes with being the industry’s top dog. Tired of being cast aside, he makes this match bigger than it is. This is his David versus Goliath. He’s going to win this match for the world.
Fly laughs, and smirks arrogantly. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
Fly: My therapist isn’t here, so I can say this. Waylon Cash is a bitch. He’s doing this all wrong. For fuck sake, he needs to get over himself. He’s where he’s at because that’s where he deserves to be. Someone tell him to stop feeling sorry for himself and man the fuck up. You don’t beat Jonny fuckin’ Fly by being a little emo warrior, crying about wanting to be like me, crying about being held down, crying about being ugly, crying….just to fuckin’ cry. It appears to me that Sarah Twilight was actually the second bitch to win the WCF World Title, because the way Waylon’s acting, I’m starting to doubt he has any balls after all.
Fly grabs his drink and finishes I with one last chug. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a fifty dollar bill and sets it on the table. He turns back to Price.
Fly: I’m going to tear this motherfucker apart. I’m going to leave him in that ring embarrassed once again. With the eyes of the entire fucking world on him, he will be exposed as the middling talent he’s always been. I’m going to prove everyone right; this dude should have never been put into the ring with me in the first place. It’s the god damn Era of Jonny Fly. That’s not a tag line, that’s a fact, that’s the reality that people like Waylon Cash need to realize.
Fly gets up from his seat.
Fly: He WILL realize it, because I’m going to beat it into him. When I’m done with him, he’s going to wish he brought that army after all.
Fly begins to walk away but quickly turns back around. He motions for the bartender to come over.
Fly: One last thing before I go, my friend here is a little shy and was wondering what you were doing when you get off?
Fly is point to Man Tits, who smiles. The bartender leans in toward him.
Hot Bartender: We close at midnight. Why don’t you come pick me up then? I’m sure we can find something to do.
Man Tits: Deal!
The bartender winks at him and then walks away.
Fly: Looks like you're not so ugly after all, Man Tits. Have fun tonight. I’ll catch up with you two later. Price…
Price: Yes?
Fly: Look out for him. Maybe slow down on the drinking too.
Price: Yes to the first, no to the second.
Fly shakes his head and simply walks away toward the exit. As he pushes through the door to the outside, he hears from behind him…
Price: TWO MORE DRINKS MOTHERFUCKERS!
The scene comes to a close.
wcfwrestling.proboards.com/thread/18943/man-waylon?page=1&scrollTo=135932
January 7th, 2014
Jorge and Jey Diaz have recently exited the dark alley. As they ride off in a taxi, two African-American men with baseball bats have surrounded Man Tits Waylon. Man Tits, as he’s affectionately called in this story, is some poor dude tied up to a rocking chair with cloth over his mouth. He’s not the real Waylon Cash, obviously, but he does have that same general look. Plus, he has man tits, if that part wasn’t already obvious. The baseball bat wielding men are about to commence an epic beat down of Senor Man Titties, when a shadowy figure emerges from behind them.
Jonny Fly.
Since we have no clue what city we’re in, it’s unknown as to why Fly is here…at this exact moment. He stands picturesque in his more expensive than Jayson Price’s drinking habit suit, shoes, and red tie. Fly takes a few steps forward and the click-clack of his shoes on the pavement draw the attention of Damon (the bald one) and Jayvon (the braided one). They turn to spot Fly, and they’re not happy about it.
Jayvon: Whatchu lookin’ at fool?
Fly giggles. That’s right. He giggles. It’s the manliest giggle ever.
Fly: I’m honestly not sure.
Damon: That’s a nice suit. It looks like you lost, homie.
Fly looks around the alley. Despite his dress, this is the streets. Of course, again, we don’t know where we are…but this is basically home for Fly.
Fly: Nope. I almost feel…at home.
Jayvon takes a step forward and comes face-to-face with Fly.
Jayvon: Yeah? Well that’s going to be one fucked up home.
In response, Fly begins giggling again. So many giggles. His casual attitude only serves to enrage his antagonists even further. Damon steps forward, also face-to-face with Fly.
Damon: Is there something funny here?
Fly manages to compose himself just long enough to answer the question.
Fly: Yes, there is. You two are what’s funny. I mean seriously, what the fuck is going on here? You see some white hick tied up on a rocking chair and you think that’s an invitation to bash his fuckin’ head in with a bat? Here’s a question – WHY DO YOU NEED A BAT? He’s tied up you fuckin’ pussies!
Damon and Jayvon look at one another, not having a good answer for that question.
Fly: Both of you are dumb fucks. Now, you have two options. Get the fuck out of my face or end up like Waylon over there.
Damon and Jayvon look at Waylon behind them. Smugly, one of them responds.
Jayvon: Yeah, I don’t think so honky.
With that, Jayvon swings his bat at Fly’s head. Fly doesn’t even both ducking, he simply grabs the bat out of the air with just one hand and yanks it away. Now it’s Damon swinging at Fly, but this time he ducks. Fly responds with a thunderous blow from his bat to Damon’s knee. Fly immediately spins and cracks Jayvon over the face, causing him to fall in a heap onto the pavement. Fly turns back to Damon to see him on the ground holding his knee in pain. Fly overs over him, holding his bat at his side.
Fly: Not so fuckin’ tough now are you?
Damon doesn’t respond. Unless of course crying is a response. Fly drops his bat and heads over to Man Tits Waylon. He takes the cloth out of his mouth.
Man Tits: I tell ya mister, dem boys were about to beat me good. Many thanks.
Fly: Don’t sweat it.
Fly unties the titastic one from the rocking chair and allows him to get back to his feet.
Man Tits: It’s been a crazy day. I wouldn’t ‘spose you’d be interested in getting’ a drink, would ya?
Fly: A drink? Sure.
Fly and Man Tits Waylon walk away from the rocking chair and Damon and Jayvon, making their way out of the alley. The scene comes to a close.
Friendship is a huge part of life.
Friends are individuals who provide you support. They are people that you can rely on. Mostly, they are people that enrich your lives. You don’t always come from the same backgrounds, likes the same things, or even have the same beliefs. However, you enjoy them for who they are.
A good friend is someone that you can trust, and shows you respect. They can make you smile, laugh, and will tell you the truth when nobody else will. When your name is Jonny Fly, friends come and go – mostly go. It’s always been a struggle for him to maintain friends, in the industry or otherwise. He’s not programmed like most people. He never relied on others for comfort or help. However, over the last month, things have been changing…
January 24th, 2014
Our next scene begins two and a half weeks after our first. Following his heroic rescue of Man Tits Waylon, Fly and Man Tits went out drinking and ended up striking a friendship. It just so happened that Man Tits was a big FlyFan and that helped them overcome their considerable differences, mainly in physical appearance. Actually, that’s a lie. Not the physical appearance part, but the FlyFan part. He’s not Flydophile at all. He specifically used the word “hero.” That was touching. Tonight, Fly and Man Tits, regular buddies these days, have decided to join up at Greenwood Park, a mechanic shop turned beer mecca in the heart of Brooklyn, New York.
We enter through the front doors of Greenwood Park and look out upon a 13,000 square foot establishment. The bar is on the left hand side of the room and is absolutely PACKED with people. Truthfully, the whole place is packed with wall-to-wall Brooklynites. To the right of the bar is the open dining section, mostly high-top tables surrounded by bar stools. The building itself has the appearance of a warehouse with a cement floor, cement block walls, an exposed metal ceiling, and garage doors on the far right that open up to an outdoor patio when it’s not 13 fuckin’ degrees like it is on this night. We begin to navigate through the dining section of Greenwood Park, keeping out camera focused on the left by the bar. That’s where we spot Jonny Fly perched up on a barstool next to Man Tits Waylon.
Fly and Papa Tatas appear to be in a conversation with one of the bartender’s. He’s a smaller man, likely in his mid-20’s, and whatever Fly and Man Cans are telling him isn’t making him very. He scowls at Fly before walking away. He walks over to the other bartender, a petite blonde, who also appears to be in her mid-20’s. The male bartender whispers something into her ear that prompts her to look over at Fly, who casually waves in her direction. She smiles and walks over to him. We zoom in to catch the dialogue.
Hot Bartender: Well, you two gentlemen aren’t making my partner very happy.
Fly takes a moment to make a closer inspection of the bartender. He looks her up and down, and satisfied with the visual vixen, he responds.
Fly: I hope you don’t mean partner like…partner, partner.
The bartender looks over at him and laughs.
Hot Bartender: Him? No, no, just co-workers.
Fly: Good, because you’re out of his league. I hope you don’t mind, that’s why we asked for you to serve us.
Hot Bartender: That’s very kind of you. I’ll be happy to help you two out tonight. Who’s your friend?
The bartender looks over at Man Tits, making special notice of his protruding he-hooters. She’s a bit taken aback, but keeps in professional nonetheless. By professional, I mean she’s overly complimentary and flirty in the effort of supersizing her tip amount.
Hot Bartender: He’s a cutie. Can I get you anything to drink, sweetie?
Man Tits blushes.
Man Tits: May I have your house Cab Sav, honey?
Hah. He ordered wine. The bartender looks at him quite surprised with his drink order. Fly covers for him.
Fly: This guy…always the joker. Funniest guy that I know. Bring him a Guinness. Make it two for me.
The bartender turns and walks away to retrieve the drink orders. Fly turns to Man Tits and question him regarding what just happened.
Fly: Dude…you can’t be ordering wine in a place like this. Especially when you’re hanging out with me. That brings a certain sort of stigma that neither of us want.
Man Tits: What be the big deal? I like me some wine.
Fly: Just drink your beer and try to fit in. If you do, by the end of the night, we’ll have ourselves all of the female company we want. Remember my motto, wine is for dates, beer and liquor are for one night stands. We’re looking for six hours of pleasure tonight, not six years of being miserable. Cool?
Man Tits: I gotcha, Fly. My only problem with beer is that it be effecting my testosterone. That shit goes right to my…
Fly: Chest?
Man Tits is sad. He looks at the ground. Fly slaps him on the back and cheers him up.
Fly: Don’t sweat it buddy. You’re with Jonny Fly tonight. I’m playing wing man. We’re going to get the ladies drooling all over you. That bartender –
Fly points over to the bartender who is currently pouring the second Guinness.
Fly: …is going home with you tonight. I’d bet my WCF World Title belt on it. That belt, by the way, that your doppleganger isn’t going to be taking from me at Payback.
Man Tits: What’s the deal with all that, anyway? Why do people be mistakin’ me with a professional wrestler?
Fly looks Waylon up and down. He laughs to himself and takes the cowboy hat off Waylon’s head. Yes, that’s right, Man Tits is wearing a flannel shirt, cowboys hat, and tight jeans in a gastropub. Fly might have his work cut out for him.
Fly: It’s the look, my friend. You guys have the same look, same drawl when you talk, and basically the same physique.
Fly smirks arrogantly at the subtle dig at the real Waylon Cash. He gives Man Tits his hat back.
Man Tits: I thought you and Waylon were the same height and weight?
…and then the smirk goes away.
Fly: Man, fuck you.
Just then the bartender brings over the two beers and sets them in front of Fly and Man-mories.
Fly: Tell me sweetheart, this guy over here to my right. Do you find him sexy?
Still working for those tips, the waitress responds in kind.
Hot Bartender: Heck yeah. He's got it going on for sure. Hey, I haven’t seen you two around here much. Is this your first time in?
Fly: He’s not from around here. If you couldn’t tell from his clothes, he’s a big oil tycoon down in Texas. This dude is loaded. I don’t know how he does it. He always has girls chasing him, but he’s a perfect gentlemen. He never takes advantage of them. Me on the other hand, I’d be tagging every one of them. Not this guy though…he’s a saint.
The bartender bats her eyes at Man Tits. Staring at him, she responds to Fly’s comments.
Hot Bartender: Well that’s certainly refreshing to hear. It’s too bad you’re not from around here.
She winks at Man Tits and takes off to attend to the other customers. Fly raises his glass and turns to Man Tits.
Fly: To you having nasty, dirty, sex with that little minx later tonight.
Man Tits raises his glass and he and Fly cheers. At the exact moment, a voice bellows out from behind them.
“LOOK AT THESE TWO MOTHERFUCKERS!”
Fly and Man Tits spin around in their bar stools to notice Jayson Allen Price standing behind them, double-fisting some mixed drinks. Price takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into his front shirt pocket.
Price: What are the chances I’d be finding ya’ll here?
Fly: I should be asking you the same question. This is New York, not Philadelphia.
Price looks confused. He looks around the room.
Price: New York, you say? Why the fuck am I in New York?
Fly: How much have you had to drink?
Price: Who the hell can keep track of such things? I’ve been drunk since the Caliban versus Black match.
Fly: That was like two weeks ago.
Price downs both of his drinks simultaneously and moves forward and puts them on the bar to prompt the bartender to refill them.
Price: I’m training for my match, Fly. Anyway, what’s with this whole hanging out with Waylon Cash thing? Aren’t the two of you supposed to be facing one another on Sunday?
Fly: No, no, that’s not Waylon Cash.
Price takes a step forward and is nearly face-to-face with Man Tits. He stares at him, then looks him up and down, the sniffs the air, and then…
Fly: Price! What the hell are you doing?
Price: It certainly looks and smells like Waylon.
Fly: This is Man Tits Waylon. I uh...don't know his real name. Anyway, he’s a friend.
Price blinks twice with a blank expression on his face. Then, suddenly, he bursts out laughing. He bends over holding his stomach. Poor Man Tits doesn’t look very happy. Fly reaches out and grabs Price by the arm and yanks him forward.
Fly: Hold it together, dude.
Price nods his head and takes a few seconds to regain his composure.
Price: Sorry…sorry…oh man, that was good.
Fly: He’s a cool dude. He does great Waylon Cash impressions. Man Tits, show him.
Man Tits: Alright. Ask me a question.
Price: Alright Waylon, if you could star in one movie what would it be?
Man Tits: Pirates of the Caribbean. I’d make a badass pirate. Plus, I like hats.
Price: It’d have been funnier if you said Busty Brunettes 3…not that I know that’s a movie or anything…I’m just saying.
Fly: Ignore him Waylon. Go ahead, tell me about your wrestling skills.
Man Tits: My key to being a good wrestler is surrounding myself with people who are better than me. Key contributors to my career include Steve Orbit, Roy Speede, FPV, Sarah Twilight, Benjamin Atreyu, John Gable Gobble, and Roxeanne Savage.
That actually prompts Price to laugh a bit.
Price: That’s actually pretty good. If you surround yourself with people who are better, you tend to fit in. Good strategy…Man Tits.
Man Tits beams proudly and then takes a sip of his drink.
Price: So Fly, what do you think of the real Waylon Cash? You going to defend that title again or what?
Fly: Come on Jayson, you know me…and the answer to that question. I’ve been listening to Waylon talk and I hear the defeat in his words. He’s a broken man. He’s at his wits end. This match is predator versus prey – the weak get eaten, and Waylon Cash is weak. The motherfucker literally told me to kill him and put him out of his misery.
Price: Do it.
Fly: Too easy. Waylon Cash acknowledges what I said earlier this week. I’m the one man who’s directly stopped him from achieving his goals in WCF. I’m the black cloud that hangs over his career. It’s driving him insane. For him, he wants closure. He either wants to get that elusive victory and lift that weight off his chest…or die…and take the easy way out. Why give him that?
Man Tits: Don’t kill me, bro.
Fly smiles and looks over to Man Tits.
Fly: I’m not going to kill Waylon. Simply beating him has much more of an impact. Psychologically, it’s going to absolutely ruin that motherfucker. It’s really not something personal. Again, I don’t think that he’s a bad guy. He just needs to understand his place, that’s all. He calls me a tyrant…because I win every match. He wants to free the world from my reign of power. It’s all just too over the top, still. Waylon Cash is nobody’s savior. Fuck, nobody even needs saved. He’s the only one around here looking for solace. He either needs to become a better wrestler or understand his place in the hierarchy. Either way, though, that hierarchy isn’t changing. He can call this a war, a crusade, or whatever other cliché term he wants. He can bring an army into the ring at Payback, it’s not going to matter. I don’t lose. I WON’T lose.
Fly pauses for a moment to take his glass of Guinness. He takes another large sip, wipes his mouth, and puts the glass down. He continues talking.
Fly: Waylon Cash doesn’t understand me. That’s painfully obvious. He calls me one of the ‘pretty’ people, and insinuates that life has been easy for me. A long series of events have made me who I am today, the wrestler that I am today, and none of those things have been easy. Today, things might look easy, but that’s because I’ve busted my fuckin’ ass to become the king of this industry. I deserve everything I have, and I won’t let some ignorant country fuck undersell that. Becoming THE Jonny Fly was a process, and you can’t appreciate that until you’ve gone down that same road. Waylon Cash enters the ring and expects to win because…he’s Waylon Cash and he’s righteous and going to try hard and whatthefuckeverwhat. I enter the ring and expect to win because I have over a decade’s worth of successes, failures, knowledge, and ability that make the best at what I do.
Jayson Price coughs. Also, his drinks have finally been refilled so he grabs them off the bar.
Fly: No offense, of course. My point is this; Waylon’s problems with me aren’t some class war bullshit. His problem is that I’m better than him, and he can’t accept it. He tries to rationalize my dominance over the WCF. He looks at me with his jealous eyes and thinks that it’s all fuckin’ rainbows and unicorns. The he looks at himself, slogging through the midcard, leader of a stable stuck in neutral, and without the fame and recognition that comes with being the industry’s top dog. Tired of being cast aside, he makes this match bigger than it is. This is his David versus Goliath. He’s going to win this match for the world.
Fly laughs, and smirks arrogantly. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
Fly: My therapist isn’t here, so I can say this. Waylon Cash is a bitch. He’s doing this all wrong. For fuck sake, he needs to get over himself. He’s where he’s at because that’s where he deserves to be. Someone tell him to stop feeling sorry for himself and man the fuck up. You don’t beat Jonny fuckin’ Fly by being a little emo warrior, crying about wanting to be like me, crying about being held down, crying about being ugly, crying….just to fuckin’ cry. It appears to me that Sarah Twilight was actually the second bitch to win the WCF World Title, because the way Waylon’s acting, I’m starting to doubt he has any balls after all.
Fly grabs his drink and finishes I with one last chug. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a fifty dollar bill and sets it on the table. He turns back to Price.
Fly: I’m going to tear this motherfucker apart. I’m going to leave him in that ring embarrassed once again. With the eyes of the entire fucking world on him, he will be exposed as the middling talent he’s always been. I’m going to prove everyone right; this dude should have never been put into the ring with me in the first place. It’s the god damn Era of Jonny Fly. That’s not a tag line, that’s a fact, that’s the reality that people like Waylon Cash need to realize.
Fly gets up from his seat.
Fly: He WILL realize it, because I’m going to beat it into him. When I’m done with him, he’s going to wish he brought that army after all.
Fly begins to walk away but quickly turns back around. He motions for the bartender to come over.
Fly: One last thing before I go, my friend here is a little shy and was wondering what you were doing when you get off?
Fly is point to Man Tits, who smiles. The bartender leans in toward him.
Hot Bartender: We close at midnight. Why don’t you come pick me up then? I’m sure we can find something to do.
Man Tits: Deal!
The bartender winks at him and then walks away.
Fly: Looks like you're not so ugly after all, Man Tits. Have fun tonight. I’ll catch up with you two later. Price…
Price: Yes?
Fly: Look out for him. Maybe slow down on the drinking too.
Price: Yes to the first, no to the second.
Fly shakes his head and simply walks away toward the exit. As he pushes through the door to the outside, he hears from behind him…
Price: TWO MORE DRINKS MOTHERFUCKERS!
The scene comes to a close.
