Getting Hot and Bothered (EoD JH Title Match)
Oct 19, 2020 21:10:59 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz, bloodiedfox, and 1 more like this
Post by Mongo the Destroyer on Oct 19, 2020 21:10:59 GMT -5
*The camera opens up on Randy Angel. He’s looking JACKED- and by JACKED I mean SLOSHED….that’s the same thing right? I mean basically there’s no difference…right? Randy is in what appears to be a gym in what appears to be a tank top and appears to be trying to lift something very heavy? Can this be? Is J-ROK’s favorite son actually working out? He struggles and struggles and soon his arm rises up to his face. He’s wearing those weighted arm bands and is holding….a bottle of beer? Really? That’s it? He cocks some of it back hen lowers his arm with a deep sigh. Triple Quake slides in from the right.*
Quake: YOU CAN DO IT! YES! KEEP GOING!
Randy: I don’t know man, we’re really pushing it.
*Quake pops a couple Flintstones vitamins*
Quake: I AM THE MENTAL HITMAN AND I’M TELLING YOU THAT YOU CAN DO IT! IT’S ALL ABOUT THE CONTEST, AND HOW YOU RECREATE IN IT!
*He pops a couple more chewable vitamins as Randy lifts his other arm and takes a swig from a can.*
Quake: YEAH! HOLD HIM DOWN!
*Randy looks at the camera.*
Randy: Hello there RRW…ites. You really didn’t think you could hold my signature match without me showing up did you?
Quake: I would have drank my way in if you didn’t SLITHER into it
Randy: UUUUUHHHHH….
*He takes a sip of beer.*
Randy: Well I did, and now I’m in this match. And as you can see, I’m getting my tolerance back up to the most intolerable levels to make sure that I can throw anything at you come Sunday.
*Quake pops some more little chalky Flintstones into his mouth, hulking up as he does*
Randy: Marston- you think you’re so cool with your forever title reign with what, two or three defenses? I didn’t count but let me tell you a number I did count-
Quake: TWO! WE GOT TWO WORDS FOR YA!
*They both answer at the same time and it’s complete nonsense so I’m not even going to try to make sense of whatever they tried to say.*
Randy: YEAH! QUAKE GETS IT!
*He rockets the bottle to his mouth and starts chugging.*
Randy: You’re nothing Marston, just some good two-shoes who looks way too fat for this match but somehow weighs in. My brother would chew you up and spit you out- but he doesn’t drink with quite the variety that I do. So you get me instead to actually bring some prestige to your reign!
Quake: YEAH!
*Quake licks Randy’s sweat then leans back.*
Quake: Hmmm, only twenty proof still. We’re gonna have to go harder.
*Laboriously, Randy Angel puts the beer down and picks up…a bottle of whiskey. He then struggles to bring it to his lips like a wrestler trying to reach the top of a ladder before taking a pretty solid nip*
Randy: PHEW! But you know who else likes to go harder? Jimmy Vanguard! I have very little worry that Jimmy won’t drink anything he needs to. The question is- if he drinks me would that make me a weapon? Did he figure out a way around this stipulation to re-omit me from the match!?
*Both men stop and stare into space. Randy takes a swig, with less effort than before*
Quake: Woah.
*Quake takes a handful of crunchy, delicious, Flintstone members and jacks himself up on them*
Randy: But you think that scares me? Nah. Alcohol poisoning is more lethal than your sensual ways and that hasn’t scared me in decades! So you can grab me, jostle me, rile me, and promise me a good time but when I get into that ring I’m there for one reason!
Quake: TELL HIM WHAT IT IS!
Randy: TO DRINK!
*They high five. Yes, that was it. Oh and Randy swigs the booze.*
Randy: I’m gonna drink you both under the table and then when you’re good and soused I’ll pull out my secret weapon……all the containers I drank from. And then I’ll bash you in the face with them.
Quake: YES! YOU ARE THE GARTER SNAKE FOR A REASON!
Randy: Darn right! You guys are in my ring come Sunday and I’m gonna take the XHF Junior Heavyweight Championship and then show it to my brother!
Quake: AND WE’LL DRINK!
Randy: ...AND WE’LL DRINK!
*Quake shoves more Flintstones vitamins into his gullet and makes a face like he has to poop because that’s what Triple H would do and you know it. Randy takes another swig of the whiskey*
Randy: So come Sunday, when all is said and done and you all are getting your stomachs pumped- I’ll be standing….or stumbling…tall. And you’ll just be some more bottles on the floor.
*Quake violently pushes Randy.*
Quake: It’s time.
Randy: Oh no….
Quake: That’s right.
*Quake holds up a Heineken mini-keg.*
Quake: Medicine ball time.
*Quake throws the mini-keg at Randy, who holds it to his mouth and presses the spigot.*
Quake: CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!
*And he does, and we fade out.*
Quake: YOU CAN DO IT! YES! KEEP GOING!
Randy: I don’t know man, we’re really pushing it.
*Quake pops a couple Flintstones vitamins*
Quake: I AM THE MENTAL HITMAN AND I’M TELLING YOU THAT YOU CAN DO IT! IT’S ALL ABOUT THE CONTEST, AND HOW YOU RECREATE IN IT!
*He pops a couple more chewable vitamins as Randy lifts his other arm and takes a swig from a can.*
Quake: YEAH! HOLD HIM DOWN!
*Randy looks at the camera.*
Randy: Hello there RRW…ites. You really didn’t think you could hold my signature match without me showing up did you?
Quake: I would have drank my way in if you didn’t SLITHER into it
Randy: UUUUUHHHHH….
*He takes a sip of beer.*
Randy: Well I did, and now I’m in this match. And as you can see, I’m getting my tolerance back up to the most intolerable levels to make sure that I can throw anything at you come Sunday.
*Quake pops some more little chalky Flintstones into his mouth, hulking up as he does*
Randy: Marston- you think you’re so cool with your forever title reign with what, two or three defenses? I didn’t count but let me tell you a number I did count-
Quake: TWO! WE GOT TWO WORDS FOR YA!
*They both answer at the same time and it’s complete nonsense so I’m not even going to try to make sense of whatever they tried to say.*
Randy: YEAH! QUAKE GETS IT!
*He rockets the bottle to his mouth and starts chugging.*
Randy: You’re nothing Marston, just some good two-shoes who looks way too fat for this match but somehow weighs in. My brother would chew you up and spit you out- but he doesn’t drink with quite the variety that I do. So you get me instead to actually bring some prestige to your reign!
Quake: YEAH!
*Quake licks Randy’s sweat then leans back.*
Quake: Hmmm, only twenty proof still. We’re gonna have to go harder.
*Laboriously, Randy Angel puts the beer down and picks up…a bottle of whiskey. He then struggles to bring it to his lips like a wrestler trying to reach the top of a ladder before taking a pretty solid nip*
Randy: PHEW! But you know who else likes to go harder? Jimmy Vanguard! I have very little worry that Jimmy won’t drink anything he needs to. The question is- if he drinks me would that make me a weapon? Did he figure out a way around this stipulation to re-omit me from the match!?
*Both men stop and stare into space. Randy takes a swig, with less effort than before*
Quake: Woah.
*Quake takes a handful of crunchy, delicious, Flintstone members and jacks himself up on them*
Randy: But you think that scares me? Nah. Alcohol poisoning is more lethal than your sensual ways and that hasn’t scared me in decades! So you can grab me, jostle me, rile me, and promise me a good time but when I get into that ring I’m there for one reason!
Quake: TELL HIM WHAT IT IS!
Randy: TO DRINK!
*They high five. Yes, that was it. Oh and Randy swigs the booze.*
Randy: I’m gonna drink you both under the table and then when you’re good and soused I’ll pull out my secret weapon……all the containers I drank from. And then I’ll bash you in the face with them.
Quake: YES! YOU ARE THE GARTER SNAKE FOR A REASON!
Randy: Darn right! You guys are in my ring come Sunday and I’m gonna take the XHF Junior Heavyweight Championship and then show it to my brother!
Quake: AND WE’LL DRINK!
Randy: ...AND WE’LL DRINK!
*Quake shoves more Flintstones vitamins into his gullet and makes a face like he has to poop because that’s what Triple H would do and you know it. Randy takes another swig of the whiskey*
Randy: So come Sunday, when all is said and done and you all are getting your stomachs pumped- I’ll be standing….or stumbling…tall. And you’ll just be some more bottles on the floor.
*Quake violently pushes Randy.*
Quake: It’s time.
Randy: Oh no….
Quake: That’s right.
*Quake holds up a Heineken mini-keg.*
Quake: Medicine ball time.
*Quake throws the mini-keg at Randy, who holds it to his mouth and presses the spigot.*
Quake: CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!
*And he does, and we fade out.*
