Post by RattyMcDaddy on Mar 23, 2022 2:59:05 GMT -5
We open on a tarmac. Gucci luggage is being loaded into the belly of a small leer jet.
The stairs drop down from the side of the plane, and shortly thereafter Hasbulla and Vlad scurry up the steps and disappear inside of the fuselage.
A black Lincoln Navigator pulls up. A driver gets out and proceeds to open the back door. Out steps Alexander Von Blankenship. Wearing a Rip City Damion Lillard jersey and some black skinny jeans, that sit just above the tops of his Dame 8 Adidas. He looks comfortable as he addresses the camera.
Oh, Shane, now your just blowing smoke up everyone's ass. First, you decline my offer to make this match extra special, even though I've accepted your terms for this ten minutes of good ol' hard work, or whatever the fuck it is. There is being afraid Shane, and then there is just being a plain out and out little bitch. You are more than scared Shane. I thought big bad super daddy would want to show his little snot-nosed crotch goblins that no matter the challenge, you take it head-on, you take the fight to those who don't respect you. Instead, you decide to show those little brats of yours that when a challenge comes your way, you duck and dodge it, avoid taking any risk and let the mean man pull your bitch card.
There is now a slight rise in the tone of Alexander's voice, and almost a seething hatred mixed with a bit of annoyance.
That's what the world saw, Shane. That's what the entire Fireside roster saw, Shane. That's how history is going to remember you, Shane. As a big county bumpkin bitch, who got his card man card pulled by someone he is bigger than, Shane. You didn't stop there though did you, Shane?
The S sound with every Shane that falls from his lips becomes sharper and sharper. He reaches back into the Navigator and pulls out a Gucci crossbody bag.
Then you claim at Fuel for The Fire, you are going to have to be *air quotes* The Bad Guy. Your not even good at being a good guy, how the fuck are you going to be a bad guy, Shannnne. It's a proven fact, that grown ass men who have had their man card pulled, and are proven scared bitches can't be bad guys. I get your desire to be a bad guy though Shannnnne. Your a piss poor excuse fake ass a father, a weak ass husband, and a crap-ass provider for your family. When your kids turn on their little tablets and hope on Tiktoc, they watch my videos don't they Shannnnnne. They see all of the followers, likes, and love that I get. I bet inside their little baby heads that wonder why Daddy isn't as cool or as badass as AVB. When you are slaving away in that field Shannnnne, I bet your old lady is on the Network, watching my promos, googling old armature boxing videos of me, admiring my blessed physical conditioning, and wondering why, and his she got stuck with a walking talking tree stump like you, Shannnnne. Why are your hoping and praying to go to the pay window at Fuel for The Fire, I'm flying where ever the fuck I want, in a private jet, wearing two hundred dollar sneakers, and three hundred dollar jeans. I bet I could buy your old ladies lovein' for a tank of gas for whatever shitty brand of asshole red neck truck you drive, and paying off the overdue power bill, your ignorant ass can't afford, Shannnnne. You don't have the killer inside of you that it takes to be a bad guy, Shannnnne. There is just too much bitch made in your soul, Shannnnne, and not enough hatred in your soul. You see Shannnnne, you want to live a moral life, do well by others, and do no harm when no harm is done to you. I, on the other hand, am morally bankrupt, could give a flying shit about doing well to others, and will do harm to you just because I love the language of violence, Shannnnnne. You are a mediocre good guy, at fucking best, and a complete fraud as a bad guy. You are pathetic.
The blessed one straps his cross-body bag around his body, glares at the camera, and then spits on the ground in disgust.
Now if you excuse me, I have a flight to take.
Alexander heads up the stairs and disappears into the plane, and the stairs close back inside.
Through the magic of the XHF Network and Television, we go back in time. A few short hours. The morning sun is glaring across large buildings in Manhattan.
The camera goes black and then onto a large oak door with a gold placard on it that reads:
Law Officers of Robbie Haribone.
Through the door, the camera goes, exposing a meeting already in progress with AVB, Hasbulla, Vlad, and one sharp-dressed lawyer, Robbie Haribone.
As your lawyer, your grace, I advise you not to do this. The charges can be severe, from criminal to civil actions, being taken against you.
Pssst. Like I care. That's why I have you. To make all the shit I do go away. Turn it into a fine. Bargain it down to community service. Use corruption to our advantage. Bang a Judge or a Senator.
Haribone looks concerned.
It's not that easy in a certain situation....
The Blessed one cuts his Lawyer off mid-sentence.
I pay you right? Do you like getting paid? Because I'm sure there are twenty or thirty other lawyers within a five square block of this fucking office who would love to have me and my bank accounts, with an S at the end, plural, as their client.
Haribone lifts his hands, trying to calm the situation.
Your Grace, let's not act in haste here. I'm just saying there has to be a way around the getting to legal trouble aspect of every situation.
Hasbulla and his squeaky voice pipes into the conversation.
дипломатический иммунитет, он у меня есть.
AVB looks at Hasbulla, and then over to Vlad.
What exactly did Stewart Little say?
He says he have Diplomatic Immunity.
да, дипломатическая неприкосновенность
Haribone smiles. AVB rubs the hair in his chin and grins devilishly.
What about you, Vlad? Do you get the same sweet deal as Danger Mouse over there?
Da, what he have, I also have. Special Russian Government Officials, in the U.S.A. for Business with American Government.
Alexander claps his hands together. Haribone picks up his cell phone.
Should I charter your normal crew and jet, Your Grace?
Back to the present time, somewhere above the ground, inside of a plush chartered plane.
Hasbulla is fast asleep, curled like a medium-sized Main Coon in an oversized leather lounger. Vlad is snacking on a nice fruit platter.
Alexander still seems a bit agitated as he continues to address the camera.
Do you like Pulp Fiction, Shane? Your little, I'm going to be the bad guy come Fuel for the Fire, made me think of the movie. Please allow me to quote the great Jules Winnfield.
AVB takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He reopens them and with great emotion, he speaks.
Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee."I been saying that shit for years. And if you heard it, that meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a mothercker before I popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this morning made me think twice. See, now I'm thinking, maybe it means you're the evil man, and I'm the righteous man. And Mr. Superman Punch here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or, it could mean you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men.
The Blessed one smirks.
Then waves his hand across his face, mouthing the words " annnnnd scene" before readdressing the camera.
I am the tyranny of evil men, Shannnnnne. And I will selfishly be evil at Fuel the Fire, Shannnnne. Me. Not you. Even if that means me taking a page out of my old man's playbook, kicking you square in the dick, getting disqualified, and beating the Holy fucking out of you on PPV. Or maybe ill drop you right on your oversized head as my old man did to you during the COCK Battle Royal, Shannnnne. Why would I do it, Shannnnne? Because you are weak and pathetic.
The camera cuts off as the plane begins its descent towards the ground and wherever are trio of trouble makers is heading.
A few hours later, inside of another Black Lincoln Navigator, we find our trio sitting quietly.
That silence is broken by the sound of gravel under tires as the car comes to a stop.
Vlad and Hasbulla both get out of the vehicle.
The opening, and then the closing of the back of the vehicle can be heard as Alexander again addresses the camera.
Come March 31st, Shannnnne, I'm dragging you to hell. Then again on April 24, Shannnnne. If I see you in the Rumble, make no mistake about it, I will be on your ass like white on rice on a paper plate during a fuckin snowstorm, Shannnne. Why am I doing this? Why you may be asking yourself.
The Blessed one looks out the window and smirks.
He then opens the door of the vehicle.
Crackling can be heard in the distance, along with footsteps, as Alexander steps out.
The cameraman follows, but his view is blocked by the back of the AVB.
Alexander stands and admires the view for a moment as Hasbulla and Vlad return with empty gas cans. Walking past AVB they nod at him.
AVB turns around and moves slightly to his left.
Over his shoulder can be seen the Locke Farm, the front grass area of it is on fire, along with a large tree.
I'm doing this because I am the Devil, Shannnne. I'm dragging you to hell, because there are no Angels in hell, Shannnnne. See you at Fuel for The Fire, you fucking hick.
AVB begins to walk away, but stops and comes back for one last remark.
Hope you paid your water bill this month.
The camera then focuses on the flames as they dance in orange and amber as we fade to black.