Post by Logan on May 17, 2010 16:05:24 GMT -5
Mickey Page: Get the gawd damn cake off my face.
Makeup Artist: It’s for the promo.
Mickey Page: Fuck you! Where’s my Pats?!
Without any booze, Page finds himself doing a promo . . sober. Not something he particularly enjoys. Why would he be doing a promo anyway? Another ponders the question. . .
Logan: H’m?
Logan, whom is in the same WCF related building as Page, overhears Page’s gentlemen-like language whilst passing the opened doorway to Page’s room. Logan keeps out of Page’s sight, leaning his back to the wall and cocking his head to listen in.
Mickey Page: Seriously, dude, remove the fuckin’ brush and get me a beer.
The hairdresser snarls and exits the room failing to notice the sneaky-sneaky Face of Treachery. The hairdressers rear end gets eye raped by Logan as she makes her exit down the hall. Mickey Page sounds off to himself.
Mickey Page: That weasel whore needs a lesson in manners. Oh, Mickey, your eyeliner is rubbing off. . . let me molest your face with stuff. Fuck that! I don’t need people coloring me like a kitty picture. I’m Mickey fuckin’ Page, my own man. And if she wants dick than that’s what she’ll get when the tramp returns—
Staring off into the wall like a confused child, Logan has no idea what Mickey Page is on about. However, he does have a bit of a reason for being here. Ever-so-often Logan’ll will enjoy to play a prank or two on the new guys, so, this seemed like a fitting opportunity. Logan left to find something amusing to use against Page, and Page continued bickering.
Mickey Page: What I need is something like a title, that’d be good for everyone. Sure, I had plenty of title shots in the short stay . . but . .fuck it, give me another one! Now!
Remembering WCF usually keeps a room that stores beer for the boozers, Logan gets himself going into that direction. He imagines the plan in his head; finding a lucky case of Pats Blue Ribbon, bringing it back to Page’s room and busting in soaking him down with bar. Yeah, that’d be fun. He didn’t however expect to bump into anyone on the way, though, and judging by whom he bumped into, it clearly put Logan’s prank on halt. Jay Price stood in Logan’s tracks. Only a mere three feet separated them. The look at each other, neither saying a word for what seems like hours. Every door down the length of the hallway opens just a few inches as people peer out from the rooms with anticipation of what is sure to come.
Jay Price: Welcome back.
Price takes a few steps closer until he's almost nose to nose with the Face Of Treachery.
Jay Price: Bitch.
That, without little difficulty, brought Logan to clinch his fists at his side while now standing toe to toe with Price.
Logan: . . . bitch?
Logan’s shocked yet troubled face couldn’t help but mouth the insulting word once again.
Logan: Bitch. . .?
The doors down the hallway inched open even more. Anyone, fan or not, could easily be drawn into the bug-light tension these two demonstrated.
Logan: Jay Price.
Despite speaking with calmness, Logan gave off a serious tone.
Logan: . . . SHUT UP!
Nearly spitting in his face with the furious remark, Logan narrowed his eyes and stared deep into Price’s. The audience, which consisted of people peeking through cracked doors. . . gasped. Jay Price, however, does not gasp. He smirks.
Jay Price: I see you still like to watch guys through their locker room doors.
Price looks down and notices the lack of a hot dog in his hand
Jay Price: I see you finally got over your love affair with Oscar Meyer. What'd you do, move onto bigger and more plastic types of fun?
Words no longer did any good. He had already told him to shut it, so, abandoning back and fourth shit-talk, Logan’s clutched fist rose from below and brought it’s attention to Price’s jaw. A stiff elbow drove into his chin immediately after denying Jay the chance to properly react, and, in what seemed like a billion years since their last encounter. . . Logan violently hugged Price and drove him into the hallway floor raining lefts and rights. ”Hatefuck” jams off a nearby radio. Price blocks one of the punches and uses the chance to push Logan up against the opposite wall before unloading with punch after punch to the midsection. Price then pulls Logan off of the wall and throws him up against the opposite wall before banging the back of his head against it.
Jay Price: Who's the boudle now bitch?
Logan: YOU!
Logan ducked his head and rammed his broad shoulder into Price’s midsection – carrying and smashing his body into the other wall. They struggled with each other, before eventually, Logan got Price back down on the ground with a piercing elbow to the forehead. Mounting Price, Logan wrapped his hand around the back of Price’s head and proceeded to drop several stiff right fists into Price’s face. Trying to find a way out of the destructive plummeting of Logan’s hand, Price was able to roll his head to the side and avoid another knuckle sandwich – which accumulated in Logan’s hand smashing the tile floor. Price quickly got back on his feet and kicked the side of Logan whom was already knelt down. Logan’s body fell onto the floor and Price took quick advantage – kicking his foot rapidly into Logan’s chest. Gasping for air, Logan desperately wants the mudhole stomping to stop, and it eventually does when Logan reaches up grabbing Price’s foot and twisting him down to the ground. Logan keeps his forceful grasp on Jay’s foot, twisting as hard as he can with hopes to break the bastards ankle. But Price is able to push himself up off of the ground with his hands and his free leg and roll forward, sending Logan over him and onto his back.
Jay Price: Seriously? You tried to put me in a subminssion hold? That makes as much sense as Lerch walking into a titty bar.
Price grabs hold of Logan's head from behind and puts him in a headlock. As he torques his neck he continues the trash talk.
Jay Price: See this is how you do a real hold. You have to add...
Price torques the neck again hard.
Jay Price: ...some real fucking pressure.
Logan, sputtering as he does so, slowly pushes himself up to his feet.
Logan: . . . PRICE!
Logan throws an elbow backwards into Price's midsection that loosens the grip a tiny bit. He then starts a barrage of elbows, each one loosening the grip until finally Price can't take it anymore and he lets go. Logan follows into the broken-up hold, grabbing Jay’s head and firmly locking it into his arm to now switch places. Logan begins to crank back on Price’s neck. Keeping Price’s neck harshly hooked in his arm, Logan backs himself into a wall sending the top of Jay’s head crashing into it.
Logan: How has that neck been doing, anyway? You fuckin’ bitch!
Angrily, Logan uses his free hand to punch on Price’s back. We hear a slight groan roar from Price which is soon followed by a near growl of rage. Price shifts his weight and manages to lift Logan from the hold and throw him over his back. Logan smacks the hard floor and wenches in pain.
Jay Price: It's doing a hell of a lot better than your butthurt.
Price drops a hellacious looking elbow onto Logan and stays on the ground as he rolls over, clutching his chest in pain.
Jay Price: By the way, how was your vacation? Still missing that slut of an ex-girlfriend Shannan Lerch?
Without hesitation from his agonizing state, Logan throws a fist with his back on the floor and nails Price in the side. Logan and Jay Price stumble to their feet simultaneously.
Logan: No more than you miss being Torture’s bitch.
Logan grins and Price instantly charges after him. Price spears Logan full force into the wall – denting it in. Logan hurls in a mixture of pain and rage, grabbing Price’s exterior and roughly slinging him off his feet onto the floor. Logan gets down and grabs Price by the neck wrenching his head into his arms for a sleeper hold. Price fights the sleeper hold, trying to avoid the Connector that everyone watching knows will follow. He throws elbows left and right into Logan's sides until finally Logan has to let go from the pain. Price then turns around, kicks Logan in the midsection, grabs hold of him and spins him around before throwing him headfirst through the dented drywall and into another room. Price cracks his neck and enters the room through the nearby door as Logan is still lying on the ground breathing heavily. Price looks around and notices the room they're in is a locker room. He also notices the pink thong underwear and the little black dress on the floor.
Jay Price: Giggedy.
He then turns his attention back to Logan, who has rolled onto his stomach and is trying to get back up. Price waits until he's up on his hands and knees and runs at him, looking to hit the Hit and Run... but Logan senses it coming and scurries backwards. Price runs right by him and trips over a black duffel bag on the ground, spilling the contents inside. Black and lime-green apparel scatter the floor. The colors Logan wear now, fashionably. However . . this isn’t Logan’s.
Logan: Rick Mad?
Despite being in the middle of a fuckin’ war zone, Logan takes time to study the contents on the floor. Price, not seeming to share the same interest as Logan . . . charges and hits Logan with a stiff knee to the head. Logan manages to take the shot and roll backwards, setting up, and standing to his feet. Logan reaches forward and grabs Price by the throat shoving him into a locker door. Price snarls at Logan, punching him in the face. Logan stumbles backwards, Price takes another swing, Logan ducks and counters hitting Price in the face with a stiff jab. The two, pretty exhausted at this point, effortlessly growl at one another and throw punches. Their fists smash off each others faces before they soon find themselves lazily exchanging punches. The war dies momentarily. . . for now.
Jay Price: . . .
Logan: . . .
Breathing heavily, they stare at one another with hatred. The stare down last long enough for them both to mentally come to a mutual agreement. And. . . like they had never met, Price and Logan turn backs and tiresomely head into different directions. The cameras switch back to Mickey Page whom is still talking to himself as much as he can.
Mickey Page: That fuckin’ whore needs me, she does, yeah. She may act like she doesn’t want a thing to do with me. . . but, ha, I know she’s dirty. And when it comes to dirty, no one does it like me. Just wait till she gets back in here, I’ll show her my dick. She wants i—
In an event that seems completely random to Page, a beaten Logan passes the door way and throws a half-drunken Pats Blue Ribbon at Page’s head. The warm sticky beer splashes against his head and wets his face. Page simply. . . blinks.
Mickey Page: What the fuck?
Writing Credits:
Logan
Jay Price
Mickey Page
Makeup Artist: It’s for the promo.
Mickey Page: Fuck you! Where’s my Pats?!
Without any booze, Page finds himself doing a promo . . sober. Not something he particularly enjoys. Why would he be doing a promo anyway? Another ponders the question. . .
Logan: H’m?
Logan, whom is in the same WCF related building as Page, overhears Page’s gentlemen-like language whilst passing the opened doorway to Page’s room. Logan keeps out of Page’s sight, leaning his back to the wall and cocking his head to listen in.
Mickey Page: Seriously, dude, remove the fuckin’ brush and get me a beer.
The hairdresser snarls and exits the room failing to notice the sneaky-sneaky Face of Treachery. The hairdressers rear end gets eye raped by Logan as she makes her exit down the hall. Mickey Page sounds off to himself.
Mickey Page: That weasel whore needs a lesson in manners. Oh, Mickey, your eyeliner is rubbing off. . . let me molest your face with stuff. Fuck that! I don’t need people coloring me like a kitty picture. I’m Mickey fuckin’ Page, my own man. And if she wants dick than that’s what she’ll get when the tramp returns—
Staring off into the wall like a confused child, Logan has no idea what Mickey Page is on about. However, he does have a bit of a reason for being here. Ever-so-often Logan’ll will enjoy to play a prank or two on the new guys, so, this seemed like a fitting opportunity. Logan left to find something amusing to use against Page, and Page continued bickering.
Mickey Page: What I need is something like a title, that’d be good for everyone. Sure, I had plenty of title shots in the short stay . . but . .fuck it, give me another one! Now!
Remembering WCF usually keeps a room that stores beer for the boozers, Logan gets himself going into that direction. He imagines the plan in his head; finding a lucky case of Pats Blue Ribbon, bringing it back to Page’s room and busting in soaking him down with bar. Yeah, that’d be fun. He didn’t however expect to bump into anyone on the way, though, and judging by whom he bumped into, it clearly put Logan’s prank on halt. Jay Price stood in Logan’s tracks. Only a mere three feet separated them. The look at each other, neither saying a word for what seems like hours. Every door down the length of the hallway opens just a few inches as people peer out from the rooms with anticipation of what is sure to come.
Jay Price: Welcome back.
Price takes a few steps closer until he's almost nose to nose with the Face Of Treachery.
Jay Price: Bitch.
That, without little difficulty, brought Logan to clinch his fists at his side while now standing toe to toe with Price.
Logan: . . . bitch?
Logan’s shocked yet troubled face couldn’t help but mouth the insulting word once again.
Logan: Bitch. . .?
The doors down the hallway inched open even more. Anyone, fan or not, could easily be drawn into the bug-light tension these two demonstrated.
Logan: Jay Price.
Despite speaking with calmness, Logan gave off a serious tone.
Logan: . . . SHUT UP!
Nearly spitting in his face with the furious remark, Logan narrowed his eyes and stared deep into Price’s. The audience, which consisted of people peeking through cracked doors. . . gasped. Jay Price, however, does not gasp. He smirks.
Jay Price: I see you still like to watch guys through their locker room doors.
Price looks down and notices the lack of a hot dog in his hand
Jay Price: I see you finally got over your love affair with Oscar Meyer. What'd you do, move onto bigger and more plastic types of fun?
Words no longer did any good. He had already told him to shut it, so, abandoning back and fourth shit-talk, Logan’s clutched fist rose from below and brought it’s attention to Price’s jaw. A stiff elbow drove into his chin immediately after denying Jay the chance to properly react, and, in what seemed like a billion years since their last encounter. . . Logan violently hugged Price and drove him into the hallway floor raining lefts and rights. ”Hatefuck” jams off a nearby radio. Price blocks one of the punches and uses the chance to push Logan up against the opposite wall before unloading with punch after punch to the midsection. Price then pulls Logan off of the wall and throws him up against the opposite wall before banging the back of his head against it.
Jay Price: Who's the boudle now bitch?
Logan: YOU!
Logan ducked his head and rammed his broad shoulder into Price’s midsection – carrying and smashing his body into the other wall. They struggled with each other, before eventually, Logan got Price back down on the ground with a piercing elbow to the forehead. Mounting Price, Logan wrapped his hand around the back of Price’s head and proceeded to drop several stiff right fists into Price’s face. Trying to find a way out of the destructive plummeting of Logan’s hand, Price was able to roll his head to the side and avoid another knuckle sandwich – which accumulated in Logan’s hand smashing the tile floor. Price quickly got back on his feet and kicked the side of Logan whom was already knelt down. Logan’s body fell onto the floor and Price took quick advantage – kicking his foot rapidly into Logan’s chest. Gasping for air, Logan desperately wants the mudhole stomping to stop, and it eventually does when Logan reaches up grabbing Price’s foot and twisting him down to the ground. Logan keeps his forceful grasp on Jay’s foot, twisting as hard as he can with hopes to break the bastards ankle. But Price is able to push himself up off of the ground with his hands and his free leg and roll forward, sending Logan over him and onto his back.
Jay Price: Seriously? You tried to put me in a subminssion hold? That makes as much sense as Lerch walking into a titty bar.
Price grabs hold of Logan's head from behind and puts him in a headlock. As he torques his neck he continues the trash talk.
Jay Price: See this is how you do a real hold. You have to add...
Price torques the neck again hard.
Jay Price: ...some real fucking pressure.
Logan, sputtering as he does so, slowly pushes himself up to his feet.
Logan: . . . PRICE!
Logan throws an elbow backwards into Price's midsection that loosens the grip a tiny bit. He then starts a barrage of elbows, each one loosening the grip until finally Price can't take it anymore and he lets go. Logan follows into the broken-up hold, grabbing Jay’s head and firmly locking it into his arm to now switch places. Logan begins to crank back on Price’s neck. Keeping Price’s neck harshly hooked in his arm, Logan backs himself into a wall sending the top of Jay’s head crashing into it.
Logan: How has that neck been doing, anyway? You fuckin’ bitch!
Angrily, Logan uses his free hand to punch on Price’s back. We hear a slight groan roar from Price which is soon followed by a near growl of rage. Price shifts his weight and manages to lift Logan from the hold and throw him over his back. Logan smacks the hard floor and wenches in pain.
Jay Price: It's doing a hell of a lot better than your butthurt.
Price drops a hellacious looking elbow onto Logan and stays on the ground as he rolls over, clutching his chest in pain.
Jay Price: By the way, how was your vacation? Still missing that slut of an ex-girlfriend Shannan Lerch?
Without hesitation from his agonizing state, Logan throws a fist with his back on the floor and nails Price in the side. Logan and Jay Price stumble to their feet simultaneously.
Logan: No more than you miss being Torture’s bitch.
Logan grins and Price instantly charges after him. Price spears Logan full force into the wall – denting it in. Logan hurls in a mixture of pain and rage, grabbing Price’s exterior and roughly slinging him off his feet onto the floor. Logan gets down and grabs Price by the neck wrenching his head into his arms for a sleeper hold. Price fights the sleeper hold, trying to avoid the Connector that everyone watching knows will follow. He throws elbows left and right into Logan's sides until finally Logan has to let go from the pain. Price then turns around, kicks Logan in the midsection, grabs hold of him and spins him around before throwing him headfirst through the dented drywall and into another room. Price cracks his neck and enters the room through the nearby door as Logan is still lying on the ground breathing heavily. Price looks around and notices the room they're in is a locker room. He also notices the pink thong underwear and the little black dress on the floor.
Jay Price: Giggedy.
He then turns his attention back to Logan, who has rolled onto his stomach and is trying to get back up. Price waits until he's up on his hands and knees and runs at him, looking to hit the Hit and Run... but Logan senses it coming and scurries backwards. Price runs right by him and trips over a black duffel bag on the ground, spilling the contents inside. Black and lime-green apparel scatter the floor. The colors Logan wear now, fashionably. However . . this isn’t Logan’s.
Logan: Rick Mad?
Despite being in the middle of a fuckin’ war zone, Logan takes time to study the contents on the floor. Price, not seeming to share the same interest as Logan . . . charges and hits Logan with a stiff knee to the head. Logan manages to take the shot and roll backwards, setting up, and standing to his feet. Logan reaches forward and grabs Price by the throat shoving him into a locker door. Price snarls at Logan, punching him in the face. Logan stumbles backwards, Price takes another swing, Logan ducks and counters hitting Price in the face with a stiff jab. The two, pretty exhausted at this point, effortlessly growl at one another and throw punches. Their fists smash off each others faces before they soon find themselves lazily exchanging punches. The war dies momentarily. . . for now.
Jay Price: . . .
Logan: . . .
Breathing heavily, they stare at one another with hatred. The stare down last long enough for them both to mentally come to a mutual agreement. And. . . like they had never met, Price and Logan turn backs and tiresomely head into different directions. The cameras switch back to Mickey Page whom is still talking to himself as much as he can.
Mickey Page: That fuckin’ whore needs me, she does, yeah. She may act like she doesn’t want a thing to do with me. . . but, ha, I know she’s dirty. And when it comes to dirty, no one does it like me. Just wait till she gets back in here, I’ll show her my dick. She wants i—
In an event that seems completely random to Page, a beaten Logan passes the door way and throws a half-drunken Pats Blue Ribbon at Page’s head. The warm sticky beer splashes against his head and wets his face. Page simply. . . blinks.
Mickey Page: What the fuck?
Writing Credits:
Logan
Jay Price
Mickey Page
