Post by Lawnmower Jones on Oct 20, 2011 2:04:44 GMT -5
(The scene opens with a shot of a regular, 32 inch Panasonic flat screen television. On the television are two suits--a female and a male.
(The female is Julia Devries, a thirty something anchor who once had a passion for news and strived to be the Katie Couric of her generation. But in 1997, when she was on a healthy day diet of light beer, Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and Jenny Jones at her overpriced private college in North Carolina, her advisers failed to inform her that, 14 years from now, Katie Couric would be this generation’s Katie Couric. As such, Julia has been relegated to a steady dosage of Botox injections, Nordstrom’s power suits, and interviewing dorks with an MBA and ED.)
The male is Ronald Moss: a balding fifty something with poor eyesight and pale skin. He most likely hasn’t spent an extensive amount of time outdoors in years, and when he does venture outside, he wears too much sunblock on his nose. He is, without a doubt, the type of tourist who buys the overpriced Panama hat and takes far too many pictures. He’s why foreign countries loathe Americans. He wears a ring on his left digitis mendicilis (fourth finger), but he hasn’t had carnal interaction with his wife in years. She cheats on him, and he does his best to cheat on her--seeing as he’s a boring, unattractive bald man with erectile dysfunction, his advances rarely move. Instead, he’s left masturbating to sensationalized pornography that features multiple women with fake breasts and faces, and a man with the ability to ejaculate like he’s spilling milk from a carton. He is an “expert finance analyst”--although one has to wonder, what exactly that means in this economy? Ronald is on this unimportant program to explain.)
Ronald Moss: Basically, we need to look at it like this: you can highlight the entire economic crisis by Warren Buffett investing $5 billion into Bank of America. I mean, the transaction took less than 24 hours! Bank of America is a company that couldn’t ever even produce profit sheets in 24 days! T-t-t-this is absurd!
(Ronald is all too excited to be talking about this. Julia, however, is not. She feigns a look of interest, squints her eyes, shuffles her paper and prepares to ask the question everyone’s waiting for her to ask.)
Julia Devries: So what does this mean?
Ronald Moss: It means that Bank of America is in deep, deep trouble, Julia! You’d have better odds taking your money to a casino! Huhuhuhuhuh!
(Julia fakes a smile. She turns to the camera to sign off.)
(Ronald doesn’t turn to the camera. He keeps his eyes on Julia’s chest-a decent size, mind you. Her second button from the top is unbuttoned. Even with his horrible eyesight, Ronald has conditioned himself to almost supernaturally focus on what’s important. He peers as hard as he can without being obvious into her shirt to see a small glimmer of toasty tan skin and a bead of sweat. Although the opening is miniscule-nonexistent, even-it serves to represent the chance that Ronald has with this woman even talking to him when the camera switches off. Regardless, he will be masturbating about doing lewd and lascivious things to her in this exact spot.)
Julia Devries: Well, I guess the old phrase “take it to the bank” does NOT apply to Bank of America.
(She gives one more half-hearted smile before the camera zooms out.)
(The camera on the screen and the camera filming this segment zoom out simultaneously. We see a collection of TV’s, all bunched together, showing the same images. We are in a department store--the electronics section. Lawnmower Jones is standing in front of the plethora of televisions--some big, some small; some fat, some skinny; some widescreen, some full screen; some Sony, some Panasonic--all TV’s, representing what is the melting pot known as America.)
(Jones absorbs the information he’s just heard. He shakes his head in disapproval. It can’t be known whether Jones shakes his head because he actually is some sort of financial wizard, or if he just wants to pretend to know. Either way, the head shakes.)
(Jones turns around and begins walking. He stops in the home and garden section--this must be like heaven’s like. He smiles as he comes across a lawnmower. It’s not a forced smile, or one that shows teeth. Instead, it’s a genuine smile, where his eyes sink. He bends down and begins to rub the black engine. Chills are sent up his spine.)
Male voice: Can I help you with anything, sir?
(Jones quickly shoots up. A younger man--no older than 23--wearing a blue “Sears” polo with a nametag that reads Kyle has approached Jones. He has floppy hair and a thin frame. His neck pushes his head forward from his body, and his Adam’s Apple is the size of a large man’s testicle. He has a goofy look on his face and a cracked voice.)
Lawnmower Jones: No, I ‘on’t be needin’ no help.
Kyle: This is a good model.
(Jones nods in approval.)
Kyle: A bit outdated, but if you’re shopping on a budget, it gets the job done.
(A look of anger has crept across Jones’s face. He turns to the kid slowly.)
Lawnmower Jones: What the ‘ell do ewww think ewww know ‘bout it, then? Tis be the best damn model evah!
Kyle: Well, it’s good, sure! But there’s other options-
Lawnmower Jones: There be no other options, laddie. Twenty one inches, rear bag, dual point adjusters with six options--not to mention a damn 158cc engine with a twenty percent easier pull start! This is a mower’s mower, a man’s mower! Too often ye kids get all fahncy and lazay and need those damn sit down ones! Those are cheatin’, lad. I on’t care ‘ow much ya make off ‘em: they ain’t real. This…this be real.
(Kyle can sense the pride in Jones’s voice. Jones is considerably larger than him. Which makes Kyle’s next comment a precarious one.)
Kyle: That’s fine, sir. Some people would rather butcher their lawns with piece of shit dinosaurs, and that’s their right.
(Jones won’t stand for it any longer. He grabs the puny punk by his mop top and unloads a few rights before picking him up and suplexing him. The eight guests who aren’t smart enough to realize Sears is a horribly outdated store shriek in awe. Jones, now on the ground with Kyle, begins locking the Jonesmission in on the kid. Store managers and a few civilians try to intervene, but Jones is too strong. The Jonesmission is already too hard to break for most professional wrestlers. What could mere citizens do?)
Lawnmower Jones: Take it back, ya lil’ faggot!
(Kyle gargles. He can’t speak. His face is extremely red. He’s near the point of passing out.)
Lawnmower Jones: Lonnie ain’t no piece of shit dinosaur! Aghhhhhhhhh!
(The scene cuts to Lawnmower Jones in the mall security office. An older mallcop--white, bald head, gray goatee--is at a table opposite of Jones. Jones sits with his hands constrained.)
Mall security: When the real cops get here, you’re gonna be in big trouble.
Lawnmower Jones: Jones figured as much.
Mall security: I think you broke his trachea.
(Jones lowers his head.)
Lawnmower Jones: I think ya can buy a newww one of dem.
Mall security: No, you can’t.
(There’s a silence for a moment.)
Mall security: You know, I’m actually a big fan. I watch the WCF every week. I used to get tickets, but the last management regime blew and raised the prices.
(Jones’s head shoots up. He may have an opening.)
Lawnmower Jones: Yer a big fan of Jones, eh?
Mall security: No, not you. You’re a fucking freak. And now I see it for myself. I used to think you were just some weird gimmick. But you just almost killed a minimum wage Sears employee for insulting a lawnmower.
(Jones bows his head.)
Lawnmower Jones: Sorry.
Mall security: It’s okay. I like you better than that clown guy, though. That guy gave my son nightmares. Ain’t that funny? There’s actually a guy who’s worse than you?
Lawnmower Jones: We be teamin’ at Slam this week! Gahhh, I on’t think I can contain meself from beatin’ ‘im down. That damn clown be clownin’ around in me business for too long now! I on’t even care ‘bout Balfore or Blake.
Mall security: Oh, yeah! My son really likes Odin! I dunno what it is these days. I'm more partial to Dake Ken, but he's since disappeared, ya know? Kids generally tend to gravitate towards the huge monster bozo’s--no pun intended--who couldn’t pass a speech class to save their lives. But hey, the guy has a helluva t-shirt, huh?
(The security officer chuckles and writes something down.)
Mall security: Say, uh, you’re kinda short, ya know? Aren’t you afraid you’re gonna get squashed? He’s like nine feet tall, that Odin!
Lawnmower Jones: You think Jones is scared of him?! I already locked in the Jonesmission once! I’ll do it again this week! What’s that phrase that be goin’ around--it ain’t the size of the dog, but whether o’ not Mike Vick lets ‘im live? Keep peace of mind, laddie, because there ain’t a dog big ‘nuff to stop Jones! Jones backs down from nooo one!
(Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Two police officers step in.)
Mall security: Mr. Jones and me were just talking. He was telling me about some fairy tale world where he’s going to kill Odin Balfore. So, go ahead and add that to your list of grievances, officers.
Police officer one: Alright, Mr. Jones. Please stand up and put your arms behind your back.
(The scene fades out as Jones stands up.)
(Will Lawnmower Jones make it to Slam? Or will he be in jail? Is Lawnmower Jones’ anus equipped for jail, or is Jones more likely the giver? Is Kyle alive? How was Ronald’s wank session to Julia? Find out in the next promo!)
(The female is Julia Devries, a thirty something anchor who once had a passion for news and strived to be the Katie Couric of her generation. But in 1997, when she was on a healthy day diet of light beer, Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and Jenny Jones at her overpriced private college in North Carolina, her advisers failed to inform her that, 14 years from now, Katie Couric would be this generation’s Katie Couric. As such, Julia has been relegated to a steady dosage of Botox injections, Nordstrom’s power suits, and interviewing dorks with an MBA and ED.)
The male is Ronald Moss: a balding fifty something with poor eyesight and pale skin. He most likely hasn’t spent an extensive amount of time outdoors in years, and when he does venture outside, he wears too much sunblock on his nose. He is, without a doubt, the type of tourist who buys the overpriced Panama hat and takes far too many pictures. He’s why foreign countries loathe Americans. He wears a ring on his left digitis mendicilis (fourth finger), but he hasn’t had carnal interaction with his wife in years. She cheats on him, and he does his best to cheat on her--seeing as he’s a boring, unattractive bald man with erectile dysfunction, his advances rarely move. Instead, he’s left masturbating to sensationalized pornography that features multiple women with fake breasts and faces, and a man with the ability to ejaculate like he’s spilling milk from a carton. He is an “expert finance analyst”--although one has to wonder, what exactly that means in this economy? Ronald is on this unimportant program to explain.)
Ronald Moss: Basically, we need to look at it like this: you can highlight the entire economic crisis by Warren Buffett investing $5 billion into Bank of America. I mean, the transaction took less than 24 hours! Bank of America is a company that couldn’t ever even produce profit sheets in 24 days! T-t-t-this is absurd!
(Ronald is all too excited to be talking about this. Julia, however, is not. She feigns a look of interest, squints her eyes, shuffles her paper and prepares to ask the question everyone’s waiting for her to ask.)
Julia Devries: So what does this mean?
Ronald Moss: It means that Bank of America is in deep, deep trouble, Julia! You’d have better odds taking your money to a casino! Huhuhuhuhuh!
(Julia fakes a smile. She turns to the camera to sign off.)
(Ronald doesn’t turn to the camera. He keeps his eyes on Julia’s chest-a decent size, mind you. Her second button from the top is unbuttoned. Even with his horrible eyesight, Ronald has conditioned himself to almost supernaturally focus on what’s important. He peers as hard as he can without being obvious into her shirt to see a small glimmer of toasty tan skin and a bead of sweat. Although the opening is miniscule-nonexistent, even-it serves to represent the chance that Ronald has with this woman even talking to him when the camera switches off. Regardless, he will be masturbating about doing lewd and lascivious things to her in this exact spot.)
Julia Devries: Well, I guess the old phrase “take it to the bank” does NOT apply to Bank of America.
(She gives one more half-hearted smile before the camera zooms out.)
(The camera on the screen and the camera filming this segment zoom out simultaneously. We see a collection of TV’s, all bunched together, showing the same images. We are in a department store--the electronics section. Lawnmower Jones is standing in front of the plethora of televisions--some big, some small; some fat, some skinny; some widescreen, some full screen; some Sony, some Panasonic--all TV’s, representing what is the melting pot known as America.)
(Jones absorbs the information he’s just heard. He shakes his head in disapproval. It can’t be known whether Jones shakes his head because he actually is some sort of financial wizard, or if he just wants to pretend to know. Either way, the head shakes.)
(Jones turns around and begins walking. He stops in the home and garden section--this must be like heaven’s like. He smiles as he comes across a lawnmower. It’s not a forced smile, or one that shows teeth. Instead, it’s a genuine smile, where his eyes sink. He bends down and begins to rub the black engine. Chills are sent up his spine.)
Male voice: Can I help you with anything, sir?
(Jones quickly shoots up. A younger man--no older than 23--wearing a blue “Sears” polo with a nametag that reads Kyle has approached Jones. He has floppy hair and a thin frame. His neck pushes his head forward from his body, and his Adam’s Apple is the size of a large man’s testicle. He has a goofy look on his face and a cracked voice.)
Lawnmower Jones: No, I ‘on’t be needin’ no help.
Kyle: This is a good model.
(Jones nods in approval.)
Kyle: A bit outdated, but if you’re shopping on a budget, it gets the job done.
(A look of anger has crept across Jones’s face. He turns to the kid slowly.)
Lawnmower Jones: What the ‘ell do ewww think ewww know ‘bout it, then? Tis be the best damn model evah!
Kyle: Well, it’s good, sure! But there’s other options-
Lawnmower Jones: There be no other options, laddie. Twenty one inches, rear bag, dual point adjusters with six options--not to mention a damn 158cc engine with a twenty percent easier pull start! This is a mower’s mower, a man’s mower! Too often ye kids get all fahncy and lazay and need those damn sit down ones! Those are cheatin’, lad. I on’t care ‘ow much ya make off ‘em: they ain’t real. This…this be real.
(Kyle can sense the pride in Jones’s voice. Jones is considerably larger than him. Which makes Kyle’s next comment a precarious one.)
Kyle: That’s fine, sir. Some people would rather butcher their lawns with piece of shit dinosaurs, and that’s their right.
(Jones won’t stand for it any longer. He grabs the puny punk by his mop top and unloads a few rights before picking him up and suplexing him. The eight guests who aren’t smart enough to realize Sears is a horribly outdated store shriek in awe. Jones, now on the ground with Kyle, begins locking the Jonesmission in on the kid. Store managers and a few civilians try to intervene, but Jones is too strong. The Jonesmission is already too hard to break for most professional wrestlers. What could mere citizens do?)
Lawnmower Jones: Take it back, ya lil’ faggot!
(Kyle gargles. He can’t speak. His face is extremely red. He’s near the point of passing out.)
Lawnmower Jones: Lonnie ain’t no piece of shit dinosaur! Aghhhhhhhhh!
(The scene cuts to Lawnmower Jones in the mall security office. An older mallcop--white, bald head, gray goatee--is at a table opposite of Jones. Jones sits with his hands constrained.)
Mall security: When the real cops get here, you’re gonna be in big trouble.
Lawnmower Jones: Jones figured as much.
Mall security: I think you broke his trachea.
(Jones lowers his head.)
Lawnmower Jones: I think ya can buy a newww one of dem.
Mall security: No, you can’t.
(There’s a silence for a moment.)
Mall security: You know, I’m actually a big fan. I watch the WCF every week. I used to get tickets, but the last management regime blew and raised the prices.
(Jones’s head shoots up. He may have an opening.)
Lawnmower Jones: Yer a big fan of Jones, eh?
Mall security: No, not you. You’re a fucking freak. And now I see it for myself. I used to think you were just some weird gimmick. But you just almost killed a minimum wage Sears employee for insulting a lawnmower.
(Jones bows his head.)
Lawnmower Jones: Sorry.
Mall security: It’s okay. I like you better than that clown guy, though. That guy gave my son nightmares. Ain’t that funny? There’s actually a guy who’s worse than you?
Lawnmower Jones: We be teamin’ at Slam this week! Gahhh, I on’t think I can contain meself from beatin’ ‘im down. That damn clown be clownin’ around in me business for too long now! I on’t even care ‘bout Balfore or Blake.
Mall security: Oh, yeah! My son really likes Odin! I dunno what it is these days. I'm more partial to Dake Ken, but he's since disappeared, ya know? Kids generally tend to gravitate towards the huge monster bozo’s--no pun intended--who couldn’t pass a speech class to save their lives. But hey, the guy has a helluva t-shirt, huh?
(The security officer chuckles and writes something down.)
Mall security: Say, uh, you’re kinda short, ya know? Aren’t you afraid you’re gonna get squashed? He’s like nine feet tall, that Odin!
Lawnmower Jones: You think Jones is scared of him?! I already locked in the Jonesmission once! I’ll do it again this week! What’s that phrase that be goin’ around--it ain’t the size of the dog, but whether o’ not Mike Vick lets ‘im live? Keep peace of mind, laddie, because there ain’t a dog big ‘nuff to stop Jones! Jones backs down from nooo one!
(Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Two police officers step in.)
Mall security: Mr. Jones and me were just talking. He was telling me about some fairy tale world where he’s going to kill Odin Balfore. So, go ahead and add that to your list of grievances, officers.
Police officer one: Alright, Mr. Jones. Please stand up and put your arms behind your back.
(The scene fades out as Jones stands up.)
(Will Lawnmower Jones make it to Slam? Or will he be in jail? Is Lawnmower Jones’ anus equipped for jail, or is Jones more likely the giver? Is Kyle alive? How was Ronald’s wank session to Julia? Find out in the next promo!)
