Terry is Hungry Like the Wolf (Showcase/KWF)
May 24, 2017 17:44:09 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Rage (aka NoMercyMaster2001), and 2 more like this
Post by strangerdanger on May 24, 2017 17:44:09 GMT -5
Our scene opens up in what appears to be a trailer of some sort. Dingy lights flicker, and as our camera pans across the "living room", we hear roaring laughter, as we see Terry Bradshaw and his best friend, CK "Rat Bastard" Owens, chugging beers and cracking each other up with clever jokes.
Correction: They aren't cracking each other up with clever jokes. They're just spitting at each other and laughing about it. For CK "Rat Bastard" Owens, this sort of behavior is slightly understandable. He is, after all, notorious for being a raging alcoholic, who only has brief moments of sanity and clarity. For Terry Bradshaw, the behavior is even more understandable, because he's just completely insane, and we, the viewers, are constantly left wondering whether or not he is actually living in reality, or experiencing some kind of terrifying hallucination.
: CK, old pal, you sure do know how to raise the spirits of a dear friend. I want you to know that I treasure our ever lasting friendship, for you have been nothing but a good influence on me and my character. You and I, we've been through a lot together, and through it all, you've been my rock, my moral compass, my best friend. The world would be a better place if everyone was more like you.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens finishes chugging a beer, and then snorts some kind of mysterious white powder off the top of his coffee table.
: Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant. And if you throw a party, invited everyone you knew... you would see the biggest gift would be from me, and the card attached would say "Thank you for being a friend."
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens, barely conscious at this point, lets out a loud and stinky belch before cracking open another beer. At this point, we can't even be too sure that he's listening to anything Terry is saying. The clever drunk that he is, though, he proves us all wrong.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Aren't those lyrics to the Golden Girls theme song, or something?
: No. I made that up.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Wow. Well that was beautiful. Allow me to return the sentiment, in kind.
Terry closes his eyes and smiles, waiting for his best friend to say something kind and friendly. Instead, CK simply spits in Terry's face. Terry continues to smile for some reason, as he wipes the spit off his cheek.
: Owens, you rascal, you surely are the best friend a man could ever hope to have.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: I appreciate you saying that, Rancor. But I gotta tell ya, pal, it's not exactly R.W.F. style to kiss ass like that. You and I, we drink, we fight, and we rule the wrestling world. That's what we do. We don't write cheesy poems to each other like a pair of tree-hugging hippies, we don't glad-hand compliments to each other like a homosexual couple. Although if we did, you should know I'd be on top and you'd be my bottom during sex.
Terry sticks out his chest proudly, and smiles.
: Never once in my life was I ever on top during sex, and I don't plan to start now.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: That's the spirit, Rancor. Y'see, when you're in a relationship with me, you live a simple life. You don't worry about whether it's a Monday, or a Tuesday, or a Sunday. All you need to know is that there are days when you get fucked in the ass, and days that you don't.
Terry thinks long and hard on this as he sips on a beer, nodding his head. His eyes suddenly narrow, as if he has come to a startling revelation. You'd think that as a straight man, or asexual at the very least, that he would take issue with Owens' veiled threat of butt sex, possibly {No Means No}. Instead Terry glosses right over that and onto something he considers to be more important.
: Y'know something, for over 10 years now, you've been calling me Rancor. Don't get me wrong, it's a super cool name, and over time I've grown fond of it. I usually sign my name as "Rancor", or "Terry Bradshaw aka Rancor" at this point, y'know to avoid confusion. Hell, I make my wife call me Rancor when she pummels me into the matress of our bed during really rough sex. But I've gotta ask... why do you never call me by my Christian name, Terry FUCKIN Bradshaw?
CK Owens, who was in the middle of a long swig of beer, spits his beer out and begins to roar with laughter. No, not because Terry still thinks he's married, even though his ex-wife (who has AIDs) divorced him years ago. He's laughing at something else.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Oh Rancor, that's a good one. I hope you can maintain your charming wit and sense of humor throughout the duration of your upcoming battle with the feared warrior, Gold-Borg!
: Gold-Borg? Oh, yeah. That dude. I'll be honest, I'm not really too worried about him. If he saw what I did to that wretched Clock last week, he'll mind his manners and take notice that he is stepping into the ring at Showcase with not just a worthy adversary, but a superior one.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: HA! You sure about that, Rancor? I mean he's a warrior. Battle tested and ready for combat. I reckon, he's more concerned with NOT murdering you, than he is with winning the match. This guy has the eye of the tiger, and loss is not even an option in his mind.
Owens snorts another line of the mysterious white powder. We can't be sure what it is exactly, but there is an open box of baking soda sitting right next to him, which could be a clue.
: Eye of the tiger? That's cute, but it's not gonna be enough to stop Terry Bradshaw. Ask the Clock, he'll tell you. On Sunday at Showcase, my fury shall come crashing down upon my opponent, like the fury of a thousand waves!
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Yeah? So, walk me through this, Rancor. What exactly is gonna be your strategy going into this match?
: Well, first, I was gonna spit right in his face, to show him that I'm not really scared.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Great start, I love it. Then what?
: Well, I never really thought about it much past that part. I don't know. Maybe stab him?
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Rancor, you idiot, that's not gonna work. He's covered in gold plated armor. You'd have to stab him directly in the mouth or something.
: Good thinking. I'll stab him in the mouth!
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: No, no, no. This is a wrestling match, Rancor. You've gotta do better than that. Give me something else.
: Umm..umm... alright. So I spit in his face...
Owens nods, as he pulls out a HUGE bottle of whiskey from inside his jacket. Don't ask how it fit in there, it just does. His jacket is like an infinite supply of booze.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Yep. Got that. Then what? Think about wrestling moves.
: Ummm...ummm. Okay, then I'll go for maybe an arm bar...
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Mhmm, alright. That's definitely a wrestling move. Keep going...
: Ummm...and then I'll stab him in the mouth!
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Listen Rancor, let's just clear this up right now. You can't stab him in the mouth. In fact, don't even bring a knife to the ring with you at all. It will do you no good.
: Good point. I'll use an ice pick.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: NO. Damnit Rancor, you're not hearing me. DO NOT TRY TO STAB GOLD-BORG IN THE MOUTH. Don't bring a knife, don't bring an ice pick, don't bring a sword, don't bring any stabbing weapons to the ring for your match. For one thing, he seems like a pretty honorable opponent. For another, you'll be competing in front of a live audience, and your match will likely be broadcast on some type of television network or streaming service. You don't want to stab anyone with all those eyes on you, it's just not smart. Gold-Borg doesn't want to murder you, in fact it seems like he's gonna try hard NOT to murder you, so the least you could do is show him the same courtesy.
Terry ponders this as he opens up another beer. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens, thinking that Terry has opened the beer for him, takes it from Terry's hand, does a shot, and then begins to chug away on the beer. Terry sadly grabs another bottle and opens it.
: I think I'm beggining to see your point. So you're saying... don't stab or murder him during our match.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Thank fuck, you stupid asshole. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.
: So, if I'm to understand this correctly...what YOU'RE saying...is to go after his family instead.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: WHAT? No! We're not even sure he has a family! He comes from a place called The Afterword, we don't know what that is, let alone how you'd get there!
: So we both get in the ring, match starts, bell rings. I promptly spit in his face, put him in an arm-bar, then run out of the ring, grab the BIGGEST KNIFE I can find, then seek out his children, and-
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: NO. You crazy bastard! Listen closely fuck-face, I don't know what kind of rules apply in this match, but if you just run out of the ring and start hunting for a supernatural family that may or may not even exist, you're liable to lose the match. I mean, if you just leave the building after the bell rings, I don't see how you can win. Just stick to mind games, and pure wrestling. That's it, okay? Mind games, and wrestling.
Terry lets out a scoff, and smugly takes another drink from his beer.
: On that point we can agree, Owens, old buddy. I'm one step ahead of you, and the mind games have already begun. I sent a letter to Meryl Streep just yesterday. It said "I'm gonna get you, you bitch! I'm gonna get your family too, and I'm gonna {No Means No} all of you for decades and decades and decades and deca-
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens does another shot and then interrupts Terry.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: WHAT? Rancor you fool, why in the living HELL would you send something like that to that bitch Meryl Streep?! What's she got to do with any of this?
: Oh, gosh darn it. You're right, Rat Bastard, you filthy rodent, you're right. I sent that letter back when I thought I was booked to face Meryl Streep at Showcase. You need to take a little responsibility for that one though, Bastard. You're the one who originally told me I was facing Meryl Streep originally, anyway.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Yeah, and I corrected that mistake last week when I called you. Doesn't come close to explaining why you just sent that letter to her yesterday.
: Oh, well, I wrote several drafts of the letter. I started working on it about two weeks ago, and after I realized I was facing Gold-Borg instead, I figured, "Well, you've come this far Terry, no reason to stop now." I figure she'll most likely pass the message on to Gold-Borg anyway.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: You had every reason to stop. You're not facing Meryl Streep in a wrestling match, you fuckin idiot! Besides, she's protected. I doubt she talks to Gold-Borg, and even if she does, she most likely passed the message on to the police, not you! She's probably got the cops looking for you right now. And like you told me earlier, you were just recently released from jail after burning down that hospital. After all the assault charges, I don't know how you got out of that one.
: Pfft, give me a break. That whole hospital thing was just a minor transgression, everybody knows it. There's no way Streep will ever know it was me harassing her. I signed the letter "Sincerely, your sworn enemy for life and all of eternity, Terry Bradshaw, aka Rancor. P.S. I'll never give up in my quest to burn down everything in your life until you're all that's left, and then I'm gonna stab you in the mouth." And then I put my return address on the envelope in case she wanted to get back to me.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Then she knows EXACTLY WHO YOU ARE! RANCOR, YOU FOOL! Listen, you're getting us way off track here. How do you plan on playing mind games with your ACTUAL opponent at Showcase, the warrior they call Gold-Borg?!
: Oh, that's an easy one. Step One: Wait for the bell to ring, and then spit in his face.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Listen, Rancor, you've been repeating yourself for awhile now. I fuckin' get it dude. Spit in his face, arm-bar. Then what?
: ....You don't think the arm-bar will be enough to pin him?
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: NEVER in the history of any wrestling match, has an arm-bar finished a match. You're gonna need more than that.
: ...TWO arm-bars! Two, right in a row! Gold-Borg doesn't stand a chance!
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: ...You know what? Fuck it. Take a little nap, and think about it.
Owens suddenly cracks his whiskey bottle over Bradshaw's head, knocking him out cold and cutting his head open in the process. Bradshaw falls to the ground, and is completely laid out, as CK "Rat Bastard" Owens continues to drink more beer in peace.
4 HOURS LATER...
Terry awakes from his unconscious state to find Owens pouring beer on him, trying to wake him up.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Rancor, you jackass. The cops are knocking on my trailer door. They know you're here. What the fuck have you gotten us into, Rancor? Rancor? RANCOR!!!!!!
Terry can hear the loud pounding on the door.
Police Officer #1: MR. OWENS? THIS IS THE POLICE. WE HAVE A WARRANT TO SEARCH YOUR TRAILER, WE BELIEVE A MISTER TERRY BRADSHAW IS HIDING OUT HERE.
: Shh, shh, listen, Rat Bastard Owens. I'll handle this. Just give me a minute. Answer the door, and distract the cops for a second. I'll take it from there.
As CK "Rat Bastard" Owens goes to answer the door, Terry vanishes behind the kitchen counter in the trailer. Owens opens the door.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Yes officers, how can I uhhh... help you?
Police Officer #1: Sir, we have got a warrant from the judge to search your property. We understand that you are a known associate of Terry Bradshaw. He recently escaped from prison, after being convicted of burning down a hospital. He's on the run, and we have a right to search this trailer for him.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: He escaped?!? What? That fucker told me-
Terry suddenly knocks CK Owens out of the door way, and casually leans up against the door frame. He is clearly wearing an unconvincing disguise, of, what we can only assume, he THINKS all British people look like.
: 'Ello, Gov'na! Names SIR WInston Rancorton II, knighted by Prince Charles himself not long after the death of dear Princess Diana, bless her soul. I 'ear you lot been lookin' for a vicious brute by the name o' Terry FUCKIN Bradshaw, yes? Well chip chip cheerio! Best you know now, ain't no Terry Bradshaw 'round this neck of the woods. Take care now, God save the Queen.
Terry tips his top hat at the police officers, and attempts to close the door, but the police officer stops him.
Police Officer #1: Mr. Bradshaw, we know it's you. Your disguise isn't very convincing. Now we've been warned that you are mentally unstable, and a danger to yourself and those around you. So we are only going to ask once. Please come with us sir, we are placing you under arrest.
: Oy! Who's Gold-Borg, ye ask? Well, ye best watch out for that one. A real threat to society, he is! But don't you worry about that, I've got a feeling ol Terry Bradshaw will straighten him out soon enough! Why, I recently spoke to Her Majesty over the ol' telly, not but an hour ago, and she said she'll be pullin for Mr. Bradshaw in her own right!
Police Officer: Terry, please stop with that God awful British impression, you're not fooling anyone. Come with us?
: By jove, I coulda sworn I've already identified meself as SIR Winston Rancorton the IV.
Police Officer #1: ...You said You were Sir Winston Rancorton II just a moment ago.
Terry looks very unsettled by this astute observation from the police officer. He begins to panic for a moment and wipes some sweat from his forhead, then smiles and continues the charade.
: Right ye are, young lad, I was just testin ye. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a pot of gold to hide, just yonder beneath the rainbow! Arrrrr, mateys!
Police Officer #1: Okay... you were doing a terrible British impression just a moment ago, and now I can't tell if you're pretending to be a leprechaun or a pirate.
: Top of the mornin' to ya, CUNT.
Terry then spits in the Police Officer's face, and immediately retreats into CK Owen's trailer. Owens, for his part, is already passed out drunk on the floor, happy as could be. The police officers make their way into the trailer, pursuing Terry Bradshaw with great caution.
: I tried to play nice with you pigs, but you chose to play hard ball! You decided to be real STICK IN MY CRAW, you know that? Now you pay the price. MOSH! THRASHER! HILLBILLY JIM! ATTACK!
From the other side of the trailer, three huge wolves come charging forward, barking and growling. Why did Terry decide to name them Mosh, Trasher, and Hillbilly Jim? We may never know. They leap at the police officers from behind, and tackle them to the ground, ripping and clawing at them viciously. Who woulda known, Terry was keeping live wild wolves hidden in CK Owens' apartment! Terry takes off his disguise.
: Surprise, mother fuckers! Now you shall see my true form! For, unbeknownst to you, I was never Winston Rancorton IX at all! I made that up! Behold! For it is I, Terry Bradshaw. Now I hope you don't mind, but I've got a match to prepare for at Showcase! Smell ya later, suckers!
Terry begins to leave the trailer, but stops, and bends down over CK "Rat Bastard" Owens' unconscious body.
: Hope you don't mind the mess, CK, old buddy. Sorry if my latest visit was any trouble at all. But I'm sure you'll pull through, you always do! I'll catch ya later, good friend! But it's like you said, I have a match to prepare for! Adios, amigo!
With that, Terry jumps headfirst out of a closed window in the trailer, shattering the glass in the process. Laughing maniaclly, Terry laughs as he runs out into the night, leaving the police officers to fight off Terry's vicious pack of wolves, as our scene abruptly fades out on a chaotic note.
Correction: They aren't cracking each other up with clever jokes. They're just spitting at each other and laughing about it. For CK "Rat Bastard" Owens, this sort of behavior is slightly understandable. He is, after all, notorious for being a raging alcoholic, who only has brief moments of sanity and clarity. For Terry Bradshaw, the behavior is even more understandable, because he's just completely insane, and we, the viewers, are constantly left wondering whether or not he is actually living in reality, or experiencing some kind of terrifying hallucination.
: CK, old pal, you sure do know how to raise the spirits of a dear friend. I want you to know that I treasure our ever lasting friendship, for you have been nothing but a good influence on me and my character. You and I, we've been through a lot together, and through it all, you've been my rock, my moral compass, my best friend. The world would be a better place if everyone was more like you. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens finishes chugging a beer, and then snorts some kind of mysterious white powder off the top of his coffee table.
: Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant. And if you throw a party, invited everyone you knew... you would see the biggest gift would be from me, and the card attached would say "Thank you for being a friend."CK "Rat Bastard" Owens, barely conscious at this point, lets out a loud and stinky belch before cracking open another beer. At this point, we can't even be too sure that he's listening to anything Terry is saying. The clever drunk that he is, though, he proves us all wrong.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Aren't those lyrics to the Golden Girls theme song, or something?
: No. I made that up.CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Wow. Well that was beautiful. Allow me to return the sentiment, in kind.
Terry closes his eyes and smiles, waiting for his best friend to say something kind and friendly. Instead, CK simply spits in Terry's face. Terry continues to smile for some reason, as he wipes the spit off his cheek.
: Owens, you rascal, you surely are the best friend a man could ever hope to have. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: I appreciate you saying that, Rancor. But I gotta tell ya, pal, it's not exactly R.W.F. style to kiss ass like that. You and I, we drink, we fight, and we rule the wrestling world. That's what we do. We don't write cheesy poems to each other like a pair of tree-hugging hippies, we don't glad-hand compliments to each other like a homosexual couple. Although if we did, you should know I'd be on top and you'd be my bottom during sex.
Terry sticks out his chest proudly, and smiles.
: Never once in my life was I ever on top during sex, and I don't plan to start now. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: That's the spirit, Rancor. Y'see, when you're in a relationship with me, you live a simple life. You don't worry about whether it's a Monday, or a Tuesday, or a Sunday. All you need to know is that there are days when you get fucked in the ass, and days that you don't.
Terry thinks long and hard on this as he sips on a beer, nodding his head. His eyes suddenly narrow, as if he has come to a startling revelation. You'd think that as a straight man, or asexual at the very least, that he would take issue with Owens' veiled threat of butt sex, possibly {No Means No}. Instead Terry glosses right over that and onto something he considers to be more important.
: Y'know something, for over 10 years now, you've been calling me Rancor. Don't get me wrong, it's a super cool name, and over time I've grown fond of it. I usually sign my name as "Rancor", or "Terry Bradshaw aka Rancor" at this point, y'know to avoid confusion. Hell, I make my wife call me Rancor when she pummels me into the matress of our bed during really rough sex. But I've gotta ask... why do you never call me by my Christian name, Terry FUCKIN Bradshaw? CK Owens, who was in the middle of a long swig of beer, spits his beer out and begins to roar with laughter. No, not because Terry still thinks he's married, even though his ex-wife (who has AIDs) divorced him years ago. He's laughing at something else.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Oh Rancor, that's a good one. I hope you can maintain your charming wit and sense of humor throughout the duration of your upcoming battle with the feared warrior, Gold-Borg!
: Gold-Borg? Oh, yeah. That dude. I'll be honest, I'm not really too worried about him. If he saw what I did to that wretched Clock last week, he'll mind his manners and take notice that he is stepping into the ring at Showcase with not just a worthy adversary, but a superior one. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: HA! You sure about that, Rancor? I mean he's a warrior. Battle tested and ready for combat. I reckon, he's more concerned with NOT murdering you, than he is with winning the match. This guy has the eye of the tiger, and loss is not even an option in his mind.
Owens snorts another line of the mysterious white powder. We can't be sure what it is exactly, but there is an open box of baking soda sitting right next to him, which could be a clue.
: Eye of the tiger? That's cute, but it's not gonna be enough to stop Terry Bradshaw. Ask the Clock, he'll tell you. On Sunday at Showcase, my fury shall come crashing down upon my opponent, like the fury of a thousand waves!CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Yeah? So, walk me through this, Rancor. What exactly is gonna be your strategy going into this match?
: Well, first, I was gonna spit right in his face, to show him that I'm not really scared. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Great start, I love it. Then what?
: Well, I never really thought about it much past that part. I don't know. Maybe stab him? CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Rancor, you idiot, that's not gonna work. He's covered in gold plated armor. You'd have to stab him directly in the mouth or something.
: Good thinking. I'll stab him in the mouth! CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: No, no, no. This is a wrestling match, Rancor. You've gotta do better than that. Give me something else.
: Umm..umm... alright. So I spit in his face... Owens nods, as he pulls out a HUGE bottle of whiskey from inside his jacket. Don't ask how it fit in there, it just does. His jacket is like an infinite supply of booze.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Yep. Got that. Then what? Think about wrestling moves.
: Ummm...ummm. Okay, then I'll go for maybe an arm bar...CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Mhmm, alright. That's definitely a wrestling move. Keep going...
: Ummm...and then I'll stab him in the mouth!CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Listen Rancor, let's just clear this up right now. You can't stab him in the mouth. In fact, don't even bring a knife to the ring with you at all. It will do you no good.
: Good point. I'll use an ice pick. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: NO. Damnit Rancor, you're not hearing me. DO NOT TRY TO STAB GOLD-BORG IN THE MOUTH. Don't bring a knife, don't bring an ice pick, don't bring a sword, don't bring any stabbing weapons to the ring for your match. For one thing, he seems like a pretty honorable opponent. For another, you'll be competing in front of a live audience, and your match will likely be broadcast on some type of television network or streaming service. You don't want to stab anyone with all those eyes on you, it's just not smart. Gold-Borg doesn't want to murder you, in fact it seems like he's gonna try hard NOT to murder you, so the least you could do is show him the same courtesy.
Terry ponders this as he opens up another beer. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens, thinking that Terry has opened the beer for him, takes it from Terry's hand, does a shot, and then begins to chug away on the beer. Terry sadly grabs another bottle and opens it.
: I think I'm beggining to see your point. So you're saying... don't stab or murder him during our match.CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Thank fuck, you stupid asshole. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.
: So, if I'm to understand this correctly...what YOU'RE saying...is to go after his family instead. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: WHAT? No! We're not even sure he has a family! He comes from a place called The Afterword, we don't know what that is, let alone how you'd get there!
: So we both get in the ring, match starts, bell rings. I promptly spit in his face, put him in an arm-bar, then run out of the ring, grab the BIGGEST KNIFE I can find, then seek out his children, and-CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: NO. You crazy bastard! Listen closely fuck-face, I don't know what kind of rules apply in this match, but if you just run out of the ring and start hunting for a supernatural family that may or may not even exist, you're liable to lose the match. I mean, if you just leave the building after the bell rings, I don't see how you can win. Just stick to mind games, and pure wrestling. That's it, okay? Mind games, and wrestling.
Terry lets out a scoff, and smugly takes another drink from his beer.
: On that point we can agree, Owens, old buddy. I'm one step ahead of you, and the mind games have already begun. I sent a letter to Meryl Streep just yesterday. It said "I'm gonna get you, you bitch! I'm gonna get your family too, and I'm gonna {No Means No} all of you for decades and decades and decades and deca-CK "Rat Bastard" Owens does another shot and then interrupts Terry.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: WHAT? Rancor you fool, why in the living HELL would you send something like that to that bitch Meryl Streep?! What's she got to do with any of this?
: Oh, gosh darn it. You're right, Rat Bastard, you filthy rodent, you're right. I sent that letter back when I thought I was booked to face Meryl Streep at Showcase. You need to take a little responsibility for that one though, Bastard. You're the one who originally told me I was facing Meryl Streep originally, anyway.CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Yeah, and I corrected that mistake last week when I called you. Doesn't come close to explaining why you just sent that letter to her yesterday.
: Oh, well, I wrote several drafts of the letter. I started working on it about two weeks ago, and after I realized I was facing Gold-Borg instead, I figured, "Well, you've come this far Terry, no reason to stop now." I figure she'll most likely pass the message on to Gold-Borg anyway. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: You had every reason to stop. You're not facing Meryl Streep in a wrestling match, you fuckin idiot! Besides, she's protected. I doubt she talks to Gold-Borg, and even if she does, she most likely passed the message on to the police, not you! She's probably got the cops looking for you right now. And like you told me earlier, you were just recently released from jail after burning down that hospital. After all the assault charges, I don't know how you got out of that one.
: Pfft, give me a break. That whole hospital thing was just a minor transgression, everybody knows it. There's no way Streep will ever know it was me harassing her. I signed the letter "Sincerely, your sworn enemy for life and all of eternity, Terry Bradshaw, aka Rancor. P.S. I'll never give up in my quest to burn down everything in your life until you're all that's left, and then I'm gonna stab you in the mouth." And then I put my return address on the envelope in case she wanted to get back to me. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Then she knows EXACTLY WHO YOU ARE! RANCOR, YOU FOOL! Listen, you're getting us way off track here. How do you plan on playing mind games with your ACTUAL opponent at Showcase, the warrior they call Gold-Borg?!
: Oh, that's an easy one. Step One: Wait for the bell to ring, and then spit in his face. CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Listen, Rancor, you've been repeating yourself for awhile now. I fuckin' get it dude. Spit in his face, arm-bar. Then what?
: ....You don't think the arm-bar will be enough to pin him?CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: NEVER in the history of any wrestling match, has an arm-bar finished a match. You're gonna need more than that.
: ...TWO arm-bars! Two, right in a row! Gold-Borg doesn't stand a chance! CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: ...You know what? Fuck it. Take a little nap, and think about it.
Owens suddenly cracks his whiskey bottle over Bradshaw's head, knocking him out cold and cutting his head open in the process. Bradshaw falls to the ground, and is completely laid out, as CK "Rat Bastard" Owens continues to drink more beer in peace.
4 HOURS LATER...
Terry awakes from his unconscious state to find Owens pouring beer on him, trying to wake him up.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Rancor, you jackass. The cops are knocking on my trailer door. They know you're here. What the fuck have you gotten us into, Rancor? Rancor? RANCOR!!!!!!
Terry can hear the loud pounding on the door.
Police Officer #1: MR. OWENS? THIS IS THE POLICE. WE HAVE A WARRANT TO SEARCH YOUR TRAILER, WE BELIEVE A MISTER TERRY BRADSHAW IS HIDING OUT HERE.
: Shh, shh, listen, Rat Bastard Owens. I'll handle this. Just give me a minute. Answer the door, and distract the cops for a second. I'll take it from there. As CK "Rat Bastard" Owens goes to answer the door, Terry vanishes behind the kitchen counter in the trailer. Owens opens the door.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: Yes officers, how can I uhhh... help you?
Police Officer #1: Sir, we have got a warrant from the judge to search your property. We understand that you are a known associate of Terry Bradshaw. He recently escaped from prison, after being convicted of burning down a hospital. He's on the run, and we have a right to search this trailer for him.
CK "Rat Bastard" Owens: He escaped?!? What? That fucker told me-
Terry suddenly knocks CK Owens out of the door way, and casually leans up against the door frame. He is clearly wearing an unconvincing disguise, of, what we can only assume, he THINKS all British people look like.
: 'Ello, Gov'na! Names SIR WInston Rancorton II, knighted by Prince Charles himself not long after the death of dear Princess Diana, bless her soul. I 'ear you lot been lookin' for a vicious brute by the name o' Terry FUCKIN Bradshaw, yes? Well chip chip cheerio! Best you know now, ain't no Terry Bradshaw 'round this neck of the woods. Take care now, God save the Queen. Terry tips his top hat at the police officers, and attempts to close the door, but the police officer stops him.
Police Officer #1: Mr. Bradshaw, we know it's you. Your disguise isn't very convincing. Now we've been warned that you are mentally unstable, and a danger to yourself and those around you. So we are only going to ask once. Please come with us sir, we are placing you under arrest.
: Oy! Who's Gold-Borg, ye ask? Well, ye best watch out for that one. A real threat to society, he is! But don't you worry about that, I've got a feeling ol Terry Bradshaw will straighten him out soon enough! Why, I recently spoke to Her Majesty over the ol' telly, not but an hour ago, and she said she'll be pullin for Mr. Bradshaw in her own right! Police Officer: Terry, please stop with that God awful British impression, you're not fooling anyone. Come with us?
: By jove, I coulda sworn I've already identified meself as SIR Winston Rancorton the IV. Police Officer #1: ...You said You were Sir Winston Rancorton II just a moment ago.
Terry looks very unsettled by this astute observation from the police officer. He begins to panic for a moment and wipes some sweat from his forhead, then smiles and continues the charade.
: Right ye are, young lad, I was just testin ye. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a pot of gold to hide, just yonder beneath the rainbow! Arrrrr, mateys! Police Officer #1: Okay... you were doing a terrible British impression just a moment ago, and now I can't tell if you're pretending to be a leprechaun or a pirate.
: Top of the mornin' to ya, CUNT. Terry then spits in the Police Officer's face, and immediately retreats into CK Owen's trailer. Owens, for his part, is already passed out drunk on the floor, happy as could be. The police officers make their way into the trailer, pursuing Terry Bradshaw with great caution.
: I tried to play nice with you pigs, but you chose to play hard ball! You decided to be real STICK IN MY CRAW, you know that? Now you pay the price. MOSH! THRASHER! HILLBILLY JIM! ATTACK! From the other side of the trailer, three huge wolves come charging forward, barking and growling. Why did Terry decide to name them Mosh, Trasher, and Hillbilly Jim? We may never know. They leap at the police officers from behind, and tackle them to the ground, ripping and clawing at them viciously. Who woulda known, Terry was keeping live wild wolves hidden in CK Owens' apartment! Terry takes off his disguise.
: Surprise, mother fuckers! Now you shall see my true form! For, unbeknownst to you, I was never Winston Rancorton IX at all! I made that up! Behold! For it is I, Terry Bradshaw. Now I hope you don't mind, but I've got a match to prepare for at Showcase! Smell ya later, suckers! Terry begins to leave the trailer, but stops, and bends down over CK "Rat Bastard" Owens' unconscious body.
: Hope you don't mind the mess, CK, old buddy. Sorry if my latest visit was any trouble at all. But I'm sure you'll pull through, you always do! I'll catch ya later, good friend! But it's like you said, I have a match to prepare for! Adios, amigo! With that, Terry jumps headfirst out of a closed window in the trailer, shattering the glass in the process. Laughing maniaclly, Terry laughs as he runs out into the night, leaving the police officers to fight off Terry's vicious pack of wolves, as our scene abruptly fades out on a chaotic note.
