A different Bartender, MySpace and Annoying People
Oct 21, 2018 21:31:15 GMT -5
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Post by 'Jazzy' John McCarty on Oct 21, 2018 21:31:15 GMT -5
PROLOGUE
It is no surprise that we find John wandering towards the House of Blues late at night in the wondrous city that is New Orleans, Louisiana. He walks past a few drunkards along the way and some idiot wearing a Vincent Augustine shirt. Then again, all people wearing an Augustine shirt are idiots. He finally arrives at his destination, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar face.
A different bartender: Hello, sir, how may I help you today?
John: Ugh. Where's the Bartender?
Different bartender: Sir, I am the bartender.
John: No, the other one.
Different bartender: You mean Clyde?
John paused for a moment before realising that he had actually never known what the Bartender's name was.
John: Um... Maybe. Is he the OG one?
Different Bartender: I don't understand. What is OG?
John was already sick of the different bartender.
John: Fuck off.
John then almost immediately left the House of Blues.
It wasn't long before 'Jazzy' John McCarty winded up at his apartment, simply chilling. His 'Time Out' album by Dave Brubeck was playing throughout the house as he lay in his bed, scrolling through his phone. Since he had nothing better to do, he decided to check his social media.
CHAPTER 1 - TWITTER
John: Let's check Twitter... Ugh. I have to login. Username, all_that_jazz... Password, zappaisbeast123. Too easy.
After John's successful login, he stumbles upon a tweet by Noble Savage.
John: Hmm. What's this? @estrellaluiz1 showed a side of her no one expected... Not saying I like it, but I don't dislike it... And some Baby Metal song which doesn't really relate to anything. And it's trash, just like any Metal song.
John then sees a reply from Estrella herself.
John: Don't worry... I sent the... Wait a minute...
John cleared his throat.
John <reading in annoying high pitched voice>: Don't worry, I sent the mask back to Mexico where it truly belongs, and awww, I love Baby Metal! Thank you Noble!
John: Jesus Christ she's more annoying than my parents, if I could even call them that. Now what's next?
After only a few seconds, John finds another tweet to talk about.
John: WCF news... 'Jazzy' John McCarty still looking for first win since return!? What the hell!? This makes me sound weak! I've only been in 3 matches since my return, and I have 3 excuses. 1st, I was in WAR. I had a 1 in 41 chance of winning that, so you can't blame me for losing that. 2nd - Quinton fucking cheated and 3rd - there was no stopping DW that match. So stop it with this losing bullshit. It's trash. Now what mockery lies ahead now?
John then finds a post from Alex Richards
John: Never underestimate the guardians... Eh. Nothing important.
After scrolling further, he found a post by DW Wolf.
John: This guy's not too bad... What does he have to say? I'm taking Hardcore title from Singh. It's not a shitty tin belt. True. Oh, there's Kennedy with her 'still better than James Wolf' bullshit. Who's this? Joe Smarts? Who the fuck is he and why can't he spell? He must be a retard no one cares about. But do you know who people care about... Me.
John quickly decides to post a pic of himself.
John: Looking handsome as always. As jazzy as ever too. Hmm.. What should be the caption? Ah-ha! Behold, the jazziest of jazz.
Right away, he gets a like.
John: Whoa! I didn't think I looked that good.
He then gets a new follower.
John: Who's this? Hmm... jazzysuperfan812. He sounds like a fan. That must mean he's a smart guy. What's he been tweeting?
John <reading>: @jazzysuperfan812... Excited to see Jazzy tonight at Slam. He is sure to get that win against Wolf and Destroyer...
John paused for a moment.
John: Jesus Christ, he sounds and even looks like a loser. What else has he posted?
John looks through his twitter feed.
John <reading>: ...I love you Jazzy! <no longer reading> Look, I can accept a girl saying that, but a guy?
He looks again.
John <reading>: An ode to my wife, Carol.
John: There is an actual ode. And he says at the end 'I love you too Jazzy'. Oh no... He loves me more than his wife. That is sad.
After John was sick of reading tweets, he was all twittered out and decided to check something else.
CHAPTER 2 - MYSPACE
Nothing new.
CHAPTER 3 - INSTAGRAM
John: Let's check out the Insta. Ooh, I have a message.
<Message from the-mccartys: Hey son>
John: Fuck off. What else? Ooh, if it isn't Kennedy fucking Matthews.
John <with bitchy tone>: Like, nobody, yeah nobody, is ready for the queen.
John: Fucking bitch. I eliminated you in WAR and you're still getting better matches every week than me. Tell me how that works. If I had a shot at that TV title, I would give it my all, every week, all match long. Not whine to your parents about how life is unfair because you broke your fingernail. Well, I think that's what you do. I don't pay that much attention to you. You're not that important. What else?
It's not long before John finds a post by Scott Slayer.
John: Hmm, I didn't know he was active on instagram... What does it say? Oh, he's complaining he's not on the card. Boo-fucking-hoo. To be a wrestler, you need to understand that you might not be that main star that's on the card every week. Scotty here is just too stuck-up and arrogant to realise that he hasn't got any talent unlike me. Oh, he just posted again. What now?
Little pause as he reads.
John: He's on the card now? I can't believe the fools in WCF HQ actually changed the card so this whiny 2-year-old could get what he wanted. You might as well get him an ice cream too! This guy needs to be taught a lesson. After I'm done with him, he'll never be on the card again. And he really thinks he's better than me because he's won matches against an African prince and a drunkard? I want to give Scotty a reality check. And Kennedy too. I need to whip the whole WCF roster into shape. Great.
John scrolls down to see a message by Mama Mustache addressing Odin Balfore, or Hodin Balforeplay.
John <reading>: You anger made me a little hot in my moo-moo... Hunk of Norse meat.
John instantly turns off his phone, a little traumatized for a few seconds before realising that was a very Mustache thing to do and carries on with his Instagram marathon.
EPILOGUE
John: Jesus, it's already 2 o'clock at night. I need to sleep. Prove all them sons-of-bitches that I can actually win a match.
And with a quick turn off of the phone and the jazz CD came to an end, John drifted off to a deep sleep... Wait. Hold on a minute. Jazzy John just had a shocking thought.
John: Why the hell wasn't Vince on any of the social media? Is he some trucker called Vinny Joe? The only time you hear of him is when he wrestles in an opening match. I don't even know why I'm so low on the card while peeps like Estrella Luiz and Kennedy Matthews are getting title shots and facing WAR winners when I clearly have more talent than them. I really need to speak to Price about that. But back to Vincent. He doesn't really socialise or communicate. All I know is his name and his finisher. Which are both pathetic. Other than that, he's just boring, ordinary, effortless, plain and simple. You see, unlike me, he has no creative flair surrounding him. No seriously? Where is it? Right now, his creativity is as real as the Easter Bunny. And this Monday I am going to absolutely dominate Vinny. While Augustine may have the effort to have a conversation with two campers or terrorise a couple truck drivers, there is absolutely no way he can beat the one and only, 'Jazzy' John McCarty, even if I'm on a cold streak. So there. That's what I have to say about that.
And after that, he went to sleep, preparing for the next day, and focussing on winning the match on Monday. Which he will.
Oh, he will..
He definitely will.
Heck yeah he will.
He will definitely not not win. That means he will win.
He'll crush Vincent to the ground.
Yeah he will.
Oh yes... He will....
Yeah, I got nothing.
The end.
Note: Sorry this isn't color-coded. Then again, it didn't really need to be. There was only dialogue from two characters, one of which only had a few lines. I am also sorry that this is a bit late. But, it'll be alright. Right? Am I right? Please tell me if I'm alright?
It is no surprise that we find John wandering towards the House of Blues late at night in the wondrous city that is New Orleans, Louisiana. He walks past a few drunkards along the way and some idiot wearing a Vincent Augustine shirt. Then again, all people wearing an Augustine shirt are idiots. He finally arrives at his destination, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar face.
A different bartender: Hello, sir, how may I help you today?
John: Ugh. Where's the Bartender?
Different bartender: Sir, I am the bartender.
John: No, the other one.
Different bartender: You mean Clyde?
John paused for a moment before realising that he had actually never known what the Bartender's name was.
John: Um... Maybe. Is he the OG one?
Different Bartender: I don't understand. What is OG?
John was already sick of the different bartender.
John: Fuck off.
John then almost immediately left the House of Blues.
It wasn't long before 'Jazzy' John McCarty winded up at his apartment, simply chilling. His 'Time Out' album by Dave Brubeck was playing throughout the house as he lay in his bed, scrolling through his phone. Since he had nothing better to do, he decided to check his social media.
CHAPTER 1 - TWITTER
John: Let's check Twitter... Ugh. I have to login. Username, all_that_jazz... Password, zappaisbeast123. Too easy.
After John's successful login, he stumbles upon a tweet by Noble Savage.
John: Hmm. What's this? @estrellaluiz1 showed a side of her no one expected... Not saying I like it, but I don't dislike it... And some Baby Metal song which doesn't really relate to anything. And it's trash, just like any Metal song.
John then sees a reply from Estrella herself.
John: Don't worry... I sent the... Wait a minute...
John cleared his throat.
John <reading in annoying high pitched voice>: Don't worry, I sent the mask back to Mexico where it truly belongs, and awww, I love Baby Metal! Thank you Noble!
John: Jesus Christ she's more annoying than my parents, if I could even call them that. Now what's next?
After only a few seconds, John finds another tweet to talk about.
John: WCF news... 'Jazzy' John McCarty still looking for first win since return!? What the hell!? This makes me sound weak! I've only been in 3 matches since my return, and I have 3 excuses. 1st, I was in WAR. I had a 1 in 41 chance of winning that, so you can't blame me for losing that. 2nd - Quinton fucking cheated and 3rd - there was no stopping DW that match. So stop it with this losing bullshit. It's trash. Now what mockery lies ahead now?
John then finds a post from Alex Richards
John: Never underestimate the guardians... Eh. Nothing important.
After scrolling further, he found a post by DW Wolf.
John: This guy's not too bad... What does he have to say? I'm taking Hardcore title from Singh. It's not a shitty tin belt. True. Oh, there's Kennedy with her 'still better than James Wolf' bullshit. Who's this? Joe Smarts? Who the fuck is he and why can't he spell? He must be a retard no one cares about. But do you know who people care about... Me.
John quickly decides to post a pic of himself.
John: Looking handsome as always. As jazzy as ever too. Hmm.. What should be the caption? Ah-ha! Behold, the jazziest of jazz.
Right away, he gets a like.
John: Whoa! I didn't think I looked that good.
He then gets a new follower.
John: Who's this? Hmm... jazzysuperfan812. He sounds like a fan. That must mean he's a smart guy. What's he been tweeting?
John <reading>: @jazzysuperfan812... Excited to see Jazzy tonight at Slam. He is sure to get that win against Wolf and Destroyer...
John paused for a moment.
John: Jesus Christ, he sounds and even looks like a loser. What else has he posted?
John looks through his twitter feed.
John <reading>: ...I love you Jazzy! <no longer reading> Look, I can accept a girl saying that, but a guy?
He looks again.
John <reading>: An ode to my wife, Carol.
John: There is an actual ode. And he says at the end 'I love you too Jazzy'. Oh no... He loves me more than his wife. That is sad.
After John was sick of reading tweets, he was all twittered out and decided to check something else.
CHAPTER 2 - MYSPACE
Nothing new.
CHAPTER 3 - INSTAGRAM
John: Let's check out the Insta. Ooh, I have a message.
<Message from the-mccartys: Hey son>
John: Fuck off. What else? Ooh, if it isn't Kennedy fucking Matthews.
John <with bitchy tone>: Like, nobody, yeah nobody, is ready for the queen.
John: Fucking bitch. I eliminated you in WAR and you're still getting better matches every week than me. Tell me how that works. If I had a shot at that TV title, I would give it my all, every week, all match long. Not whine to your parents about how life is unfair because you broke your fingernail. Well, I think that's what you do. I don't pay that much attention to you. You're not that important. What else?
It's not long before John finds a post by Scott Slayer.
John: Hmm, I didn't know he was active on instagram... What does it say? Oh, he's complaining he's not on the card. Boo-fucking-hoo. To be a wrestler, you need to understand that you might not be that main star that's on the card every week. Scotty here is just too stuck-up and arrogant to realise that he hasn't got any talent unlike me. Oh, he just posted again. What now?
Little pause as he reads.
John: He's on the card now? I can't believe the fools in WCF HQ actually changed the card so this whiny 2-year-old could get what he wanted. You might as well get him an ice cream too! This guy needs to be taught a lesson. After I'm done with him, he'll never be on the card again. And he really thinks he's better than me because he's won matches against an African prince and a drunkard? I want to give Scotty a reality check. And Kennedy too. I need to whip the whole WCF roster into shape. Great.
John scrolls down to see a message by Mama Mustache addressing Odin Balfore, or Hodin Balforeplay.
John <reading>: You anger made me a little hot in my moo-moo... Hunk of Norse meat.
John instantly turns off his phone, a little traumatized for a few seconds before realising that was a very Mustache thing to do and carries on with his Instagram marathon.
EPILOGUE
John: Jesus, it's already 2 o'clock at night. I need to sleep. Prove all them sons-of-bitches that I can actually win a match.
And with a quick turn off of the phone and the jazz CD came to an end, John drifted off to a deep sleep... Wait. Hold on a minute. Jazzy John just had a shocking thought.
John: Why the hell wasn't Vince on any of the social media? Is he some trucker called Vinny Joe? The only time you hear of him is when he wrestles in an opening match. I don't even know why I'm so low on the card while peeps like Estrella Luiz and Kennedy Matthews are getting title shots and facing WAR winners when I clearly have more talent than them. I really need to speak to Price about that. But back to Vincent. He doesn't really socialise or communicate. All I know is his name and his finisher. Which are both pathetic. Other than that, he's just boring, ordinary, effortless, plain and simple. You see, unlike me, he has no creative flair surrounding him. No seriously? Where is it? Right now, his creativity is as real as the Easter Bunny. And this Monday I am going to absolutely dominate Vinny. While Augustine may have the effort to have a conversation with two campers or terrorise a couple truck drivers, there is absolutely no way he can beat the one and only, 'Jazzy' John McCarty, even if I'm on a cold streak. So there. That's what I have to say about that.
And after that, he went to sleep, preparing for the next day, and focussing on winning the match on Monday. Which he will.
Oh, he will..
He definitely will.
Heck yeah he will.
He will definitely not not win. That means he will win.
He'll crush Vincent to the ground.
Yeah he will.
Oh yes... He will....
Yeah, I got nothing.
The end.
Note: Sorry this isn't color-coded. Then again, it didn't really need to be. There was only dialogue from two characters, one of which only had a few lines. I am also sorry that this is a bit late. But, it'll be alright. Right? Am I right? Please tell me if I'm alright?
