Post by Logan on May 22, 2011 6:37:46 GMT -5
Just on the outskirts of a small town in Greensboro, North Carolina, a small tan tent has been constructed on a lonesome street corner. The corner and surrounding roads show no signs of life, well, other than the ‘Scot, of course.. whom set up the tent to begin with. And, not to mention, that for this occasion, he has made a marvelous effort to look his best… dressed to the teeth, indeed. A tight pink skirt, black high heels, and tube top all but help the ‘Scot flaunt his manly/womanly beauty. He sits on a chair next to the tent, holding a small cardboard sign with scribbled writing that reads, “Save Doc Henry”, by his feet rests a small glass jar – a tip jar. Other than the dime that the ‘Scot personally denoted himself, the jar is completely empty. From up the road, the sound of an engine hums, and a hopeful patron drives by and slows to examine the mess on the corner. Eagerly, the ‘Scot thrusts the cardboard sign into the air and waves in a panic. The passerby oddly stares before continuing down the road.
the ‘Scot: D’aww…
The sign falls into the ‘Scot’s lap, along with his head.
the ‘Scot: I’m never going to raise any money…
Voice: Save Doc Henry?
Immediately, the ‘Scot’s ears perk and spots the source of the voice – an old fellow dressed in casual church-going clothes.
the ‘Scot: Yes sir, step right up, Bob.
Bob: My name isn’t Bob—
the ‘Scot: M’mm.. sassy… I like.
Seductively, the ‘Scot stands from his seat, his rear extended and humped for the old fellow to see.
Bob: Oh my..
The old man grins with embarrassment, taking his time to carefully eye the ‘Scot’s behind.
Bob: So.. helping Doc Harry.. huh..?
the ‘Scot: Henry.
A playful flirty giggle is followed with the ‘Scot’s correction.
Bob: M’m.. I’ll help him. Uh..
Nervously, the gentlemen studies his surroundings for anyone who might be watching.
Bob: I know a nice hotel nearby..
the ‘Scot: Hotel? The tent, baby, that’s our hotel.
This makes ‘Bob’ even more fidgety.
Bob: That?! You want to do that in there.. here?!
the ‘Scot: We have to – it’s right next to the tip jar.
Bob: You could just bring that tip jar with you..
the ‘Scot: Sorry.
Obviously turned off now, the ‘Scot’s posture straightens, and he points his nose to the air with pride.
the ‘Scot: I only have sex with strange people in tents on public sidewalks.
Bob: ….
The fellow begins more time studying the ‘Scot’s face rather than his bubble butt.
Bob: Wait..
A shocking expression unfolds.
Bob: You’re a man!
the ‘Scot: Only on the outside.
Now insulted, the ‘Scot begins glaring.
the ‘Scot: Who cares? Man or woman – the proceeds still go to Doc Henry.
The fellow begins backing cautiously away from the ‘Scot, before soon taking off in a run. Disappointed, the ‘Scot sinks back down into his chair, letting out a deep sigh. He then looks over to the glass jar.
the ‘Scot: Oh, Logan is going to be so upset with me.
Speaking of the devil – Logan appears just out of view, walking up the sidewalk and eventually meeting the ‘Scot at the corner.
Logan: M’m! That place down the road has got some kickass hotdogs, babygurl.
the ‘Scot: Oh… cool..
The bummed out ‘Scot sighs with depression.
Logan: What’s wrong?
Logan’s eyes soon fall on the empty tip jar.
Logan: OH. Hey, you don’t have anybody but yourself to blame..
the ‘Scot: I kn—
Logan: SHUT UP! I’m not finished. You’re to blame. Get those spirits up, hike that skirt up, cake on some more make up you stinky G-String wearing boudle!
Just as if Mickey was pounding the ring and driving fire into Rocky during a match – the ‘Scot suddenly perks up, face shooting into a focused glare.
the ‘Scot: Yeah!
Logan: Doc Henry is counting on us!
the ‘Scot: He is!
Logan: Do you want to let Doc Henry down?!
the ‘Scot: No—
Logan: SHUT UP! I said do you want to let Doc Henry down?!
the ‘Scot: NO!
Quickly, Logan bitch slaps the ‘Scot. This forces the ‘Scot into a series of moans and other strange noises.
the ‘Scot: M’mm.. ahh.. God.. yes – I am in this, Logan! I’m not going to let you down, or Doc Henry. I’m going to get every dollar from every person that was ever born in this town!
Logan: Now, for the benefit of the people that do not know why you’re here, and, why you’re raising money for a boudle like Doc Henry…
Grabbing the ‘Scot by his wig, Logan turns and aims the ‘Scot’s face towards the camera lens. The transvestite smiles with delight, adjusting himself in the chair, and addressing the ones watching.
the ‘Scot: I am perfectly sure that you are wondering why ANYONE, let alone us, would take our time and make an effort to raise money for Doc Henry. It’s quite simple. Connector City is offering it’s own health insurance this week. And, yes, this is a one time only plan. Logan, being a generous man that he is.. decided that it’d only be right to pay for Doc Henry’s medical bills. He is a fellow Southerner, after all. Connector City takes care of their people –
Standing in front of the ‘Scot and blocking his view from the camera, Logan adds on.
Logan: I don’t give a damn about Doc Henry.
The camera refocuses it’s attention on the ‘Scot once Logan steps back out of the way.
Logan: And don’t try to make this sound like more than it is, boudle. I could care less rather Doc can afford to get his little neck crinkled out.
Making such clear, Logan quiets, letting the ‘Scot finish.
the ‘Scot: Right. But, either way, the rare health plan will be available this week to help aid Doc Henry’s ass whooping bills. And, to raise this money, I am offering myself to this small town just outside of Greensboro. Yes, offering myself willingly and readily.
The transvestite winks into the camera.
the ‘Scot: I am also offering phone services. M’hm. Whenever you’re feeling lonely, make sure to dial 1-323-HOT-LIPS..
The camera’s microphone picks up on a cough from Logan.
the ‘Scot: Oh, I mean… 1-323-DOC-HELP.
Shrugging, the ‘Scot chews his lower lip, continuing.
the ‘Scot: Doesn’t really matter. Either number provides the same thing.
A finger is snapped into the camera.
Logan: Over here. Henry, I really hope you appreciate what the ‘Scot is doing here. Because, more than likely, after this Monday, you’re never going to be the same. After Monday – it’ll be a numb elbow that you’ll never be able to shake, random spasms of the neck muscles, a twitching eyeball, a cracked rib that won’t heal right, or a big fat stamp on your ass that says the Foot of Treachery was here!
You’ll never be the same. You can prep yourself up for this match however you like. It’s not changing the fact that this Monday, you’ll be in a cage – in a cage with Mr. WCF, Mr. Collard Green Ass Whooper, Mr. ME.
I seen that little promo of yours. Yes, Doc, I DID take a little time out just for you – a little time that I’ll NEVER get back. What the hell were you doing? Dressing strange men in my wrestling gear? Tying them down on tables? Performing your moves on them? Rubbing them? Touching them? SHUT UP! And I thought the ‘Scot was a freak.
Obviously, I had you pegged right from the get go. Yes, you DO miss Johnny Reb. Yes, you’d rather him be sitting in your lap and not a on bench right now. Yes, Doc, you know where I am going with this. But, that doesn’t matter – you’re nothing but a boudle either way. And, do you know what happens to boudles, Doc? They get tickets. Then, they take those tickets, they cash them in, and it’s not a little prize they win… no, Doc, it’s a trip – a trip straight to Connector City!
You aren’t the only one getting a ticket, Doc Henry. No.. don’t feel special, boudle. This isn’t all about you. Someone else has got a ticket. Matter of fact, they preordered a ticket. A ticket for.. June, the sixth. Yeah. That was real cute. Playing those little stupid messages at Slam last week, oh – look at me, look at me, I’m the mystery guy, Logan is going to get beat up, blah, blah, blah, I like tombstones and skulls with blood and stuff, I sooo scary! … When did WCF start employing fifth graders? Well, you succeeded, mystery man, you successfully have my attention – but only because watching Doc Henry talk trash is like watching paint dry. It’s comforting to know that I have other options to put my interest into this week. So, yes, mystery boudle.. you got me to bite. Who are you? I have a feeling I’m not going to care.
Now – now – now.. if it’s Hellz Angel or someone to that aspect, then, welcome back, babygurl! Long time no see in good ole’ Connector City. Yeah. THAT’s the type of mystery boudle I want. Give me some Steve Carr’s, AJ Jam’s, Trent Hunter’s, hell.. I’ll even take some Outcast’s. Let’s get that old fat boudle back here. Hear me? This shit better be worth my while, mystery guy. Because I swear.. if you turn out to be some stupid ass like Captain Punishment or something… eh.. I’d just walk away. You wouldn’t even get a ticket. No. I think I’d just calmly call the police, tell them I have a stalker, and file for harassment.
So… that just about wraps up the flavors of the week. Right, ‘Scot?
Having lost attention of the ‘Scot , he is now discovered inside a steamy tent. The tent itself bounces to whatever sick pleasuring motions that are made inside. Logan turns away and exits from the sidewalk. The camera falls down to focus on the glass tip jar… which now is home to a fresh crisp five dollar bill. The camera cuts.
the ‘Scot: D’aww…
The sign falls into the ‘Scot’s lap, along with his head.
the ‘Scot: I’m never going to raise any money…
Voice: Save Doc Henry?
Immediately, the ‘Scot’s ears perk and spots the source of the voice – an old fellow dressed in casual church-going clothes.
the ‘Scot: Yes sir, step right up, Bob.
Bob: My name isn’t Bob—
the ‘Scot: M’mm.. sassy… I like.
Seductively, the ‘Scot stands from his seat, his rear extended and humped for the old fellow to see.
Bob: Oh my..
The old man grins with embarrassment, taking his time to carefully eye the ‘Scot’s behind.
Bob: So.. helping Doc Harry.. huh..?
the ‘Scot: Henry.
A playful flirty giggle is followed with the ‘Scot’s correction.
Bob: M’m.. I’ll help him. Uh..
Nervously, the gentlemen studies his surroundings for anyone who might be watching.
Bob: I know a nice hotel nearby..
the ‘Scot: Hotel? The tent, baby, that’s our hotel.
This makes ‘Bob’ even more fidgety.
Bob: That?! You want to do that in there.. here?!
the ‘Scot: We have to – it’s right next to the tip jar.
Bob: You could just bring that tip jar with you..
the ‘Scot: Sorry.
Obviously turned off now, the ‘Scot’s posture straightens, and he points his nose to the air with pride.
the ‘Scot: I only have sex with strange people in tents on public sidewalks.
Bob: ….
The fellow begins more time studying the ‘Scot’s face rather than his bubble butt.
Bob: Wait..
A shocking expression unfolds.
Bob: You’re a man!
the ‘Scot: Only on the outside.
Now insulted, the ‘Scot begins glaring.
the ‘Scot: Who cares? Man or woman – the proceeds still go to Doc Henry.
The fellow begins backing cautiously away from the ‘Scot, before soon taking off in a run. Disappointed, the ‘Scot sinks back down into his chair, letting out a deep sigh. He then looks over to the glass jar.
the ‘Scot: Oh, Logan is going to be so upset with me.
Speaking of the devil – Logan appears just out of view, walking up the sidewalk and eventually meeting the ‘Scot at the corner.
Logan: M’m! That place down the road has got some kickass hotdogs, babygurl.
the ‘Scot: Oh… cool..
The bummed out ‘Scot sighs with depression.
Logan: What’s wrong?
Logan’s eyes soon fall on the empty tip jar.
Logan: OH. Hey, you don’t have anybody but yourself to blame..
the ‘Scot: I kn—
Logan: SHUT UP! I’m not finished. You’re to blame. Get those spirits up, hike that skirt up, cake on some more make up you stinky G-String wearing boudle!
Just as if Mickey was pounding the ring and driving fire into Rocky during a match – the ‘Scot suddenly perks up, face shooting into a focused glare.
the ‘Scot: Yeah!
Logan: Doc Henry is counting on us!
the ‘Scot: He is!
Logan: Do you want to let Doc Henry down?!
the ‘Scot: No—
Logan: SHUT UP! I said do you want to let Doc Henry down?!
the ‘Scot: NO!
Quickly, Logan bitch slaps the ‘Scot. This forces the ‘Scot into a series of moans and other strange noises.
the ‘Scot: M’mm.. ahh.. God.. yes – I am in this, Logan! I’m not going to let you down, or Doc Henry. I’m going to get every dollar from every person that was ever born in this town!
Logan: Now, for the benefit of the people that do not know why you’re here, and, why you’re raising money for a boudle like Doc Henry…
Grabbing the ‘Scot by his wig, Logan turns and aims the ‘Scot’s face towards the camera lens. The transvestite smiles with delight, adjusting himself in the chair, and addressing the ones watching.
the ‘Scot: I am perfectly sure that you are wondering why ANYONE, let alone us, would take our time and make an effort to raise money for Doc Henry. It’s quite simple. Connector City is offering it’s own health insurance this week. And, yes, this is a one time only plan. Logan, being a generous man that he is.. decided that it’d only be right to pay for Doc Henry’s medical bills. He is a fellow Southerner, after all. Connector City takes care of their people –
Standing in front of the ‘Scot and blocking his view from the camera, Logan adds on.
Logan: I don’t give a damn about Doc Henry.
The camera refocuses it’s attention on the ‘Scot once Logan steps back out of the way.
Logan: And don’t try to make this sound like more than it is, boudle. I could care less rather Doc can afford to get his little neck crinkled out.
Making such clear, Logan quiets, letting the ‘Scot finish.
the ‘Scot: Right. But, either way, the rare health plan will be available this week to help aid Doc Henry’s ass whooping bills. And, to raise this money, I am offering myself to this small town just outside of Greensboro. Yes, offering myself willingly and readily.
The transvestite winks into the camera.
the ‘Scot: I am also offering phone services. M’hm. Whenever you’re feeling lonely, make sure to dial 1-323-HOT-LIPS..
The camera’s microphone picks up on a cough from Logan.
the ‘Scot: Oh, I mean… 1-323-DOC-HELP.
Shrugging, the ‘Scot chews his lower lip, continuing.
the ‘Scot: Doesn’t really matter. Either number provides the same thing.
A finger is snapped into the camera.
Logan: Over here. Henry, I really hope you appreciate what the ‘Scot is doing here. Because, more than likely, after this Monday, you’re never going to be the same. After Monday – it’ll be a numb elbow that you’ll never be able to shake, random spasms of the neck muscles, a twitching eyeball, a cracked rib that won’t heal right, or a big fat stamp on your ass that says the Foot of Treachery was here!
You’ll never be the same. You can prep yourself up for this match however you like. It’s not changing the fact that this Monday, you’ll be in a cage – in a cage with Mr. WCF, Mr. Collard Green Ass Whooper, Mr. ME.
I seen that little promo of yours. Yes, Doc, I DID take a little time out just for you – a little time that I’ll NEVER get back. What the hell were you doing? Dressing strange men in my wrestling gear? Tying them down on tables? Performing your moves on them? Rubbing them? Touching them? SHUT UP! And I thought the ‘Scot was a freak.
Obviously, I had you pegged right from the get go. Yes, you DO miss Johnny Reb. Yes, you’d rather him be sitting in your lap and not a on bench right now. Yes, Doc, you know where I am going with this. But, that doesn’t matter – you’re nothing but a boudle either way. And, do you know what happens to boudles, Doc? They get tickets. Then, they take those tickets, they cash them in, and it’s not a little prize they win… no, Doc, it’s a trip – a trip straight to Connector City!
You aren’t the only one getting a ticket, Doc Henry. No.. don’t feel special, boudle. This isn’t all about you. Someone else has got a ticket. Matter of fact, they preordered a ticket. A ticket for.. June, the sixth. Yeah. That was real cute. Playing those little stupid messages at Slam last week, oh – look at me, look at me, I’m the mystery guy, Logan is going to get beat up, blah, blah, blah, I like tombstones and skulls with blood and stuff, I sooo scary! … When did WCF start employing fifth graders? Well, you succeeded, mystery man, you successfully have my attention – but only because watching Doc Henry talk trash is like watching paint dry. It’s comforting to know that I have other options to put my interest into this week. So, yes, mystery boudle.. you got me to bite. Who are you? I have a feeling I’m not going to care.
Now – now – now.. if it’s Hellz Angel or someone to that aspect, then, welcome back, babygurl! Long time no see in good ole’ Connector City. Yeah. THAT’s the type of mystery boudle I want. Give me some Steve Carr’s, AJ Jam’s, Trent Hunter’s, hell.. I’ll even take some Outcast’s. Let’s get that old fat boudle back here. Hear me? This shit better be worth my while, mystery guy. Because I swear.. if you turn out to be some stupid ass like Captain Punishment or something… eh.. I’d just walk away. You wouldn’t even get a ticket. No. I think I’d just calmly call the police, tell them I have a stalker, and file for harassment.
So… that just about wraps up the flavors of the week. Right, ‘Scot?
Having lost attention of the ‘Scot , he is now discovered inside a steamy tent. The tent itself bounces to whatever sick pleasuring motions that are made inside. Logan turns away and exits from the sidewalk. The camera falls down to focus on the glass tip jar… which now is home to a fresh crisp five dollar bill. The camera cuts.
