New Money Costs An Arm And A Leg
Mar 24, 2022 4:22:43 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz and anthonycaffrey like this
Post by Jonnie Valentine on Mar 24, 2022 4:22:43 GMT -5
SCREEEEEEEEEEECH!
(A gray sports car slides into view in Palm Springs, California, screeching to a halt and turning off. The driver’s door slowly swings open as a pair of legs swing out, before a robotic arm reaches above to the roof of the car. Dylan Black uses his arm to steady himself as he stands up, sunglasses on his forehead as he wobbles out from his lowrider. Regaining his balance, he reaches up and grabs a cellphone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder and holds it up to his other ear.)
Dylan Black: Yeah, don’t worry Tony. I’ll play nice, get to becoming better acquaintances with Evan and we will be on the same page come Fuel for the Fire… scratch that. Same book… Oh come on. Best I can do is the same chapter. I’ll play along as nicely as I can. Alright, I’m at the place Evan told me to meet him at. We’ll talk later.
(Dylan puts his phone in his pocket and takes a look at where he has driven to. Palm Canyon Drive in downtown Palm Springs. Formerly the epicenter of Spring Break in the 80s until the riots by wasted business majors lead local politicians to shut it down, it’s now mostly senior citizens and tourists from Canada and LA walking amongst the shops and ice cream stores. It’s 96 degrees in March. Dylan pulls out his phone and walks down the Walk of Stars, passing the stars of Hollywood’s yesteryear that cheated on their wives in this secret getaway. Adam West. Harpo Marx. Frank Sinatra. He stops in front of one kind of classy looking shopfront and openly sighs.)
Dylan Black: You have got to be kidding me.
(He walks inside Happy Nails. A very niche, very cozy looking nail salon. He scans the environment, almost locking eyes with a few patrons before a voice rings out from the back.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: There he is! C3P0! Pull up a seat homey, it’s half price for you! I asked!
(Evan is seated in a chair getting only the finest manicure that money can buy. With his one free hand he gestures to an empty seat next to him, and Dylan bumps knees with a few people to reach that seat. Almost immediately a nail technician is up in Dylan’s grill setting him up with his own mani. Dylan objects but his complaints fall on deaf ears and they begin to work on his grimy metal hand. Evan grimaces at how much work goes into just generally cleaning up the metal hand.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: So I guess clear nail polish for The Kid, and let’s go with Valvoline for Robocop here? Bro, not to be all up in your business but you know you’re supposed to wash your hand after you pee right? Or…(horrified) is your dick a robot too now?
(Dylan rolls his eyes and Evan shudders. Dylan shifts to face his partner a bit better.)
Dylan Black: Kind of difficult to get those hard-to-reach spots when you have one arm dude.
Evan Valentine Jr.: You right.
(Evan backs off)
Dylan Black: Not what I’m here for. I want to talk strategy for our big match in a few weeks. FIRESIDE Tag Titles. Us versus Top of the Class vs El BANG! Hermanos. Now, I don’t know if you’ve been watching all the tapes I’ve been linking you, or doing any sort of scouting prep but-
Evan Valentine Jr.: Strategy, right. You mean which one of my Dad’s friends got our back that night on…hold up, When is this shit?
Dylan just blinks slowly, racking his brain.
Dylan Black: March 31st… why?
Evan Valentine Jr.: And what date is today?
Dylan Black: The 24th?
Evan Valentine Jr.: Then we have seven days to worry about anything related to this thing, dog. You had me stressin in front of my girl, Tina here.
Nail Technician: HOLD STILL!
Evan Valentine Jr.: Now I just done beat two of them for you. No help from you, but that’s aiight.
Dylan Black: I’m not one of your stupid cousins.
Evan Valentine Jr.: And thank the Almighty Bobby Eaton for that. Those dudes is hella annoying, know what I mean? So I am rewarding myself with some rare Me Time, and you should too so you not all blown up like Ultimate Warrior after a 4 minute broadway. We chillin’ like villains out here!
Evan closes his eyes and smiles. Dylan is not buying into this and tries to continue, but Evan holds his free hand up, palm out at Dylan.
Evan Valentine Jr.: Besides my dude, I got this. When have I not got this? It’s all worked out.
Dylan looks almost bemused at this.
Dylan Black: Yeah? Wanna share those details, tell me how we’re going to do this?
Evan Valentine Jr.: It’s probably better if you don’t know, Soul Surfer. My boys know what to do. They don't need some guy leaking it to the sheets for clout chasing.
Nail Technician: FINISH!
Evan Valentine Jr.: You’re a miracle worker, Tina. You wanna get our toes done? You…you got toes, right?
Dylan Black: I’m not an action figure dude. Of course I do.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I got you. Aiight, let’s hit the whip. I gotta place we gotta be. Feel me?
(Dylan Black and Evan Valentine Jr. pay and walk out of Palm get in Evan’s 2022 Lexus LS. The Fabulous Valentine Cousins, Lance Valentine Jr. and Brian Valentine Jr. are sitting in the backseat)
Dylan Black: (startled) AH! What are they doing back there?
Brian Valentine Jr.: Sweatin like Jeff Hardy waiting on a wellness test. Damn E, you can’t leave a window cracked out here? It’s 90 degrees. Even a cocker spaniel gets that.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I told you, you gots to earn cracked windows, B. Ain’t no free lunch out in these streets.
(Evan starts the engine and backs out of Happy Nails, then begins driving on Gene Autry Drive to Desert Hot Springs, a meth infested burg on the outskirts of Palm Springs)
Dylan Black: So seriously, what’s the plan here?
Evan Valentine Jr.: The plan is we bouts to make some serious money, you and me.
Dylan Black: You mean if we win the FIRESIDE Tag Team Championships?
(Evan is texting while speeding)
Evan Valentine Jr.: Huh? Oh, yeah. That too.
(Dumb ass Lance starts laughing like he knows something Dylan doesn’t)
Lance Valentine Jr.: This dude’s a mark, E.
Evan Valentine Jr.: Shut up, Lance.
Dylan Black: Yeah, shut up, Lance. What’s he laughing about Evan?
Evan Valentine Jr.: (still texting) Don’t worry about it.
(Dylan Black pushes his robotic arm in Evan’s face and triggers Evan’s lifelong fear of prosthetics. Evan shrieks and drops his phone, causing the car to veer into the desert! Brian Jr. and Lance Jr. scream as Evan kicks up sand and tumbleweed until he gets back onto Gene Autry Drive)
Evan Valentine Jr.: (panting) Don’t ever put that thing in my face!
Dylan Black: Then get serious. We’re facing two teams that know one another well. You and I couldn’t be more different. As usual, you barely know who we’re facing.
(Evan blows out a long drag of vape smoke from his pen)
Evan Valentine Jr.: See, that’s where you're wrong, my one armed friend. I met President Kanyon when my Dad was doing “Putting a Headlock On Ketamine”. As a former and current user of Special K, my Dad was instrumental in President Kanyon’s Tough on K initiative. Jonnie Valentine spearheaded Sober Fest.
Brian Valentine Jr.: It has been described as the Worst Rave of All Time.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I even sold his boy Obama’s daughter weed back in high school…
Dylan Black: None of this matters, his partner is El Combatiente, not Obama.
Evan Valentine Jr.: El Combatiente needs to stick with his first instinct and be scared of me. He acts like there’s a trophy at the end of the year for Most Gullible Babyface.
Dylan Black: That award will always go to Adrien Cochrane.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I don’t know any Adrian Cockring, but he sounds cheugy.
Dylan Black: Back to the story?
Evan Valentine Jr.: Yeah, so most of the DJs were forced to play songs with an agenda.
(Dylan is nodding along.)
Brian Valentine Jr.: So you would get ready for the drop and suddenly it would go, “Donate Blood”.
(Lance Valentine Jr. starts making the shreechy noises of the drop in the song)
Dylan Black: Why is it every librarian I know wants to beat people up?
(Evan double takes.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: What in the hell is that supposed to mean?
Dylan Black: Nah but the librarian at my local library growing up got arrested for assault. And a few other things. Beat someone with a hammer. She was cray cray.
Evan Valentine Jr.: Everyone from Boston is cray cray. That’s what happens when you make Irish pub mentality a personality. Anyway, dog. I got this handled. I already beat half of them and it wasn’t even a little hard. Everyone’s got a plan until they get hit in the mouth with my left. Mistress Discipline thought she had a plan until I hit her with her own finish. Death Trap knows he’s tapping to the Death Trap sure as he knows Vodka Fizz will still be driving that busted ass golf cart to spot show in his 60s.
Brian Valentine Jr.: The only rats he’ll be getting is the one living under the passenger seat.
Evan Valentine Jr.: See? So relax, Jonnie’s Boy’s got this one in the bizzag.
(They sit in silence for a minute. Evan reaches for his phone again but Dylan grabs it and holds it in his hand, much to Evans dismay. After some time Evan pulls up to a desolate spot.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: Aiight, we here.
(Dylan looks out the window confused, before turning to the Valentines.)
Dylan Black: And where is here, exactly?
Lance Valentine Jr.: The Desert Hot Springs Invitational Arm Wrestling Tournament!
Dylan Black: You’ve got to be shitting me. What the fuck, Evan?
Evan Valentine Jr.: I told you dawg. Serious money! I hear you was low on cash so I brought you in! Lessgo!
(Evan and Dylan step out of the Lexus and walk up to this big beefy guy with biceps the size of tree trunks. He puts a palm up to stop them in their tracks and it flips over, holding it out for something. Evan points to a sign beside him.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: He wants cash, bruh.
(The sign reads “$5 entry, $200 grand prize.” Dylan turns to Evan.)
Dylan Black: This is stupid.
Evan Valentine Jr.: No cap, I thought you’d enjoy it. Big robot arm, easy dubs.
Dylan Black: I’m not doing this dude. I’m a dick but I have a smidge of integrity.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I don’t know what that is but it sounds lamer than that shirt.
(Dylan sighs, then thinks of an idea.)
Dylan Black: Tell you what. I’ll do it. But on one condition.
(Evan pumps his fist and is all grins.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: Name it, cous.
Dylan Black: Beat me in an arm wrestling contest.
(Evan then turns a pale white. He gulps and looks at Dylan’s prosthetic arm, which cracks its knuckles. Evan shakes his head.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: I can’t touch that thing. It was born without a soul, like Sam Sawyer.
Dylan Black: That’s gonna be hard to tag in then.
Evan Valentine Jr.: Put out the other hand, fam! Use the non-gross one, it ain’t hard! I got a note from my therapist, Dr. Joyce. It mostly talks about my malignant narcissism and something about delusions of grandeur, but there’s a small part at the bottom about how I can’t touch your icky weird arm.
Brian Valentine Jr.: I don’t know why we had to go with you, E. Seemed like it was something you was supposed to do alone.
Evan Valentine Jr.: So Dr. Joyce knew I was runnin these streets, son.
Lance Valentine Jr.: I liked the toys in the waiting room. I used to beat all the kids of bad divorces in Pin The Emotion on The Donkey. I should do more stuff with blindfolds…
Dylan Black: Then no arm wrestling tournament for us.
(Dylan turns and walks right back to Evan’s car as Evan follows, protesting along the way.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: Hang on, wait! You don’t understand, a rich person is asking you to do this! Think of the message that sends to poors! You can use your share to buy slip on shoes and literal elbow grease!
(A gray sports car slides into view in Palm Springs, California, screeching to a halt and turning off. The driver’s door slowly swings open as a pair of legs swing out, before a robotic arm reaches above to the roof of the car. Dylan Black uses his arm to steady himself as he stands up, sunglasses on his forehead as he wobbles out from his lowrider. Regaining his balance, he reaches up and grabs a cellphone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder and holds it up to his other ear.)
Dylan Black: Yeah, don’t worry Tony. I’ll play nice, get to becoming better acquaintances with Evan and we will be on the same page come Fuel for the Fire… scratch that. Same book… Oh come on. Best I can do is the same chapter. I’ll play along as nicely as I can. Alright, I’m at the place Evan told me to meet him at. We’ll talk later.
(Dylan puts his phone in his pocket and takes a look at where he has driven to. Palm Canyon Drive in downtown Palm Springs. Formerly the epicenter of Spring Break in the 80s until the riots by wasted business majors lead local politicians to shut it down, it’s now mostly senior citizens and tourists from Canada and LA walking amongst the shops and ice cream stores. It’s 96 degrees in March. Dylan pulls out his phone and walks down the Walk of Stars, passing the stars of Hollywood’s yesteryear that cheated on their wives in this secret getaway. Adam West. Harpo Marx. Frank Sinatra. He stops in front of one kind of classy looking shopfront and openly sighs.)
Dylan Black: You have got to be kidding me.
(He walks inside Happy Nails. A very niche, very cozy looking nail salon. He scans the environment, almost locking eyes with a few patrons before a voice rings out from the back.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: There he is! C3P0! Pull up a seat homey, it’s half price for you! I asked!
(Evan is seated in a chair getting only the finest manicure that money can buy. With his one free hand he gestures to an empty seat next to him, and Dylan bumps knees with a few people to reach that seat. Almost immediately a nail technician is up in Dylan’s grill setting him up with his own mani. Dylan objects but his complaints fall on deaf ears and they begin to work on his grimy metal hand. Evan grimaces at how much work goes into just generally cleaning up the metal hand.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: So I guess clear nail polish for The Kid, and let’s go with Valvoline for Robocop here? Bro, not to be all up in your business but you know you’re supposed to wash your hand after you pee right? Or…(horrified) is your dick a robot too now?
(Dylan rolls his eyes and Evan shudders. Dylan shifts to face his partner a bit better.)
Dylan Black: Kind of difficult to get those hard-to-reach spots when you have one arm dude.
Evan Valentine Jr.: You right.
(Evan backs off)
Dylan Black: Not what I’m here for. I want to talk strategy for our big match in a few weeks. FIRESIDE Tag Titles. Us versus Top of the Class vs El BANG! Hermanos. Now, I don’t know if you’ve been watching all the tapes I’ve been linking you, or doing any sort of scouting prep but-
Evan Valentine Jr.: Strategy, right. You mean which one of my Dad’s friends got our back that night on…hold up, When is this shit?
Dylan just blinks slowly, racking his brain.
Dylan Black: March 31st… why?
Evan Valentine Jr.: And what date is today?
Dylan Black: The 24th?
Evan Valentine Jr.: Then we have seven days to worry about anything related to this thing, dog. You had me stressin in front of my girl, Tina here.
Nail Technician: HOLD STILL!
Evan Valentine Jr.: Now I just done beat two of them for you. No help from you, but that’s aiight.
Dylan Black: I’m not one of your stupid cousins.
Evan Valentine Jr.: And thank the Almighty Bobby Eaton for that. Those dudes is hella annoying, know what I mean? So I am rewarding myself with some rare Me Time, and you should too so you not all blown up like Ultimate Warrior after a 4 minute broadway. We chillin’ like villains out here!
Evan closes his eyes and smiles. Dylan is not buying into this and tries to continue, but Evan holds his free hand up, palm out at Dylan.
Evan Valentine Jr.: Besides my dude, I got this. When have I not got this? It’s all worked out.
Dylan looks almost bemused at this.
Dylan Black: Yeah? Wanna share those details, tell me how we’re going to do this?
Evan Valentine Jr.: It’s probably better if you don’t know, Soul Surfer. My boys know what to do. They don't need some guy leaking it to the sheets for clout chasing.
Nail Technician: FINISH!
Evan Valentine Jr.: You’re a miracle worker, Tina. You wanna get our toes done? You…you got toes, right?
Dylan Black: I’m not an action figure dude. Of course I do.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I got you. Aiight, let’s hit the whip. I gotta place we gotta be. Feel me?
(Dylan Black and Evan Valentine Jr. pay and walk out of Palm get in Evan’s 2022 Lexus LS. The Fabulous Valentine Cousins, Lance Valentine Jr. and Brian Valentine Jr. are sitting in the backseat)
Dylan Black: (startled) AH! What are they doing back there?
Brian Valentine Jr.: Sweatin like Jeff Hardy waiting on a wellness test. Damn E, you can’t leave a window cracked out here? It’s 90 degrees. Even a cocker spaniel gets that.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I told you, you gots to earn cracked windows, B. Ain’t no free lunch out in these streets.
(Evan starts the engine and backs out of Happy Nails, then begins driving on Gene Autry Drive to Desert Hot Springs, a meth infested burg on the outskirts of Palm Springs)
Dylan Black: So seriously, what’s the plan here?
Evan Valentine Jr.: The plan is we bouts to make some serious money, you and me.
Dylan Black: You mean if we win the FIRESIDE Tag Team Championships?
(Evan is texting while speeding)
Evan Valentine Jr.: Huh? Oh, yeah. That too.
(Dumb ass Lance starts laughing like he knows something Dylan doesn’t)
Lance Valentine Jr.: This dude’s a mark, E.
Evan Valentine Jr.: Shut up, Lance.
Dylan Black: Yeah, shut up, Lance. What’s he laughing about Evan?
Evan Valentine Jr.: (still texting) Don’t worry about it.
(Dylan Black pushes his robotic arm in Evan’s face and triggers Evan’s lifelong fear of prosthetics. Evan shrieks and drops his phone, causing the car to veer into the desert! Brian Jr. and Lance Jr. scream as Evan kicks up sand and tumbleweed until he gets back onto Gene Autry Drive)
Evan Valentine Jr.: (panting) Don’t ever put that thing in my face!
Dylan Black: Then get serious. We’re facing two teams that know one another well. You and I couldn’t be more different. As usual, you barely know who we’re facing.
(Evan blows out a long drag of vape smoke from his pen)
Evan Valentine Jr.: See, that’s where you're wrong, my one armed friend. I met President Kanyon when my Dad was doing “Putting a Headlock On Ketamine”. As a former and current user of Special K, my Dad was instrumental in President Kanyon’s Tough on K initiative. Jonnie Valentine spearheaded Sober Fest.
Brian Valentine Jr.: It has been described as the Worst Rave of All Time.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I even sold his boy Obama’s daughter weed back in high school…
Dylan Black: None of this matters, his partner is El Combatiente, not Obama.
Evan Valentine Jr.: El Combatiente needs to stick with his first instinct and be scared of me. He acts like there’s a trophy at the end of the year for Most Gullible Babyface.
Dylan Black: That award will always go to Adrien Cochrane.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I don’t know any Adrian Cockring, but he sounds cheugy.
Dylan Black: Back to the story?
Evan Valentine Jr.: Yeah, so most of the DJs were forced to play songs with an agenda.
(Dylan is nodding along.)
Brian Valentine Jr.: So you would get ready for the drop and suddenly it would go, “Donate Blood”.
(Lance Valentine Jr. starts making the shreechy noises of the drop in the song)
Dylan Black: Why is it every librarian I know wants to beat people up?
(Evan double takes.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: What in the hell is that supposed to mean?
Dylan Black: Nah but the librarian at my local library growing up got arrested for assault. And a few other things. Beat someone with a hammer. She was cray cray.
Evan Valentine Jr.: Everyone from Boston is cray cray. That’s what happens when you make Irish pub mentality a personality. Anyway, dog. I got this handled. I already beat half of them and it wasn’t even a little hard. Everyone’s got a plan until they get hit in the mouth with my left. Mistress Discipline thought she had a plan until I hit her with her own finish. Death Trap knows he’s tapping to the Death Trap sure as he knows Vodka Fizz will still be driving that busted ass golf cart to spot show in his 60s.
Brian Valentine Jr.: The only rats he’ll be getting is the one living under the passenger seat.
Evan Valentine Jr.: See? So relax, Jonnie’s Boy’s got this one in the bizzag.
(They sit in silence for a minute. Evan reaches for his phone again but Dylan grabs it and holds it in his hand, much to Evans dismay. After some time Evan pulls up to a desolate spot.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: Aiight, we here.
(Dylan looks out the window confused, before turning to the Valentines.)
Dylan Black: And where is here, exactly?
Lance Valentine Jr.: The Desert Hot Springs Invitational Arm Wrestling Tournament!
Dylan Black: You’ve got to be shitting me. What the fuck, Evan?
Evan Valentine Jr.: I told you dawg. Serious money! I hear you was low on cash so I brought you in! Lessgo!
(Evan and Dylan step out of the Lexus and walk up to this big beefy guy with biceps the size of tree trunks. He puts a palm up to stop them in their tracks and it flips over, holding it out for something. Evan points to a sign beside him.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: He wants cash, bruh.
(The sign reads “$5 entry, $200 grand prize.” Dylan turns to Evan.)
Dylan Black: This is stupid.
Evan Valentine Jr.: No cap, I thought you’d enjoy it. Big robot arm, easy dubs.
Dylan Black: I’m not doing this dude. I’m a dick but I have a smidge of integrity.
Evan Valentine Jr.: I don’t know what that is but it sounds lamer than that shirt.
(Dylan sighs, then thinks of an idea.)
Dylan Black: Tell you what. I’ll do it. But on one condition.
(Evan pumps his fist and is all grins.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: Name it, cous.
Dylan Black: Beat me in an arm wrestling contest.
(Evan then turns a pale white. He gulps and looks at Dylan’s prosthetic arm, which cracks its knuckles. Evan shakes his head.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: I can’t touch that thing. It was born without a soul, like Sam Sawyer.
Dylan Black: That’s gonna be hard to tag in then.
Evan Valentine Jr.: Put out the other hand, fam! Use the non-gross one, it ain’t hard! I got a note from my therapist, Dr. Joyce. It mostly talks about my malignant narcissism and something about delusions of grandeur, but there’s a small part at the bottom about how I can’t touch your icky weird arm.
Brian Valentine Jr.: I don’t know why we had to go with you, E. Seemed like it was something you was supposed to do alone.
Evan Valentine Jr.: So Dr. Joyce knew I was runnin these streets, son.
Lance Valentine Jr.: I liked the toys in the waiting room. I used to beat all the kids of bad divorces in Pin The Emotion on The Donkey. I should do more stuff with blindfolds…
Dylan Black: Then no arm wrestling tournament for us.
(Dylan turns and walks right back to Evan’s car as Evan follows, protesting along the way.)
Evan Valentine Jr.: Hang on, wait! You don’t understand, a rich person is asking you to do this! Think of the message that sends to poors! You can use your share to buy slip on shoes and literal elbow grease!