[Glucks] City slickers don't know how t' gluck
Jan 12, 2023 0:40:32 GMT -5
robriot and "The High Roller" Wesley Crane like this
Post by Old Line Jeff on Jan 12, 2023 0:40:32 GMT -5
“No, dumbass, that was Chapps. Ah’m Carlton.”
Cold open.
Carlton Gluck, a scowl lost in the beard that spills all over his chest, a sheen on his bald head, rubs his hands together angrily.
“Ah know we look so much alahk. He gots hair an Ah don’t, he’s swole and Ah’m, er, let’s call it ‘built fer durability’...”
“He tawks in red an Ah tawk in blue…”
“Literally fuckin identical.”
His voice fades into a rumble as he glowers.
“Also, dumbass, yew don’t get t’ call Nee-yawn Boosheedoh the best tag team in WUK when they lost t’ th’ Purge.”
He shakes his massive head.
“In fact, I am going to translate that into Cityfolk. Not only has Neon Bushido not earned the right to call themselves the best when they’ve lost to the bad joke that was The Purge, it can be implied that by losing to The Purge they are worse than The Purge, ergo, Neon Bushdio is in actuality the worst tag team in W:UK.”
Carlton slaps himself violently on the mouth.
“Gawd DAMN do Ah hate havin’ t’ do that.”
“So speakin’ of gawddamn, let’s talk about all the gawddamn ways in which ol’ Frank Wormfood is a fuckin’ {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore}.”
Carlton looks around, puzzled. He tries, and fails, to look at his own mouth.
“Th’ fuck did Ah jes say?”
Then he shrugs.
“Well whatever. A fuckin’ smoothbrain then if’n that makes yew feel a eensy lil better.”
“He cain’t tell me an Chapps apart. Already gone over that”
“He thinks Neeyawn Boosheedoh is good. Already gone over that too.”
“He fuckin’ mentioned Deliverance. Ah told all y’all last time, we ain’t ackchally lakh that, but er’ry tahm we hear it, brings us jes one li’l millimeter t’wards doin’ it anyways outta sheer fuckin’ principal.”
“He admitted he cain’t understand Mississippian. Fair enuff, Ah ain’t sure why he’s admittin it cos it ain’t no flex.”
“An he don’t know enough t’ stay out of the Glucks’ business.”
Carlton takes a deep breath, and it’s… strange. As he exhales, the disheveled bleary attitude slowly fades away, replaced by something more… focused. Projected.
“So we were tawkin’ t’ Wesley Crane. Cat’s outta th’ bag now. But yew know what? There’s city slickers an’ then there’s city slickers, an’ there’s a reason Wesley Crane’s a multahmillionair, and Fraink Wormfood cain’t find a suit that fits.”
“Ah told Wesley Crane that Ah could taik er’rything he owns an’ make him watch whaal Ah burnt it.”
“An he listened.”
“He don’t want his stuff burnt, he city slicked hard for it.”
“An he knows that th’ best way t’ keep the Glucks from amusin’ theyselves at his expense is t’ find them somethin’ to do that’s worth they whaal.”
Carlton’s shaggy eyebrows raise, and a pair of dark, surprisingly clear eyes look out from beneath them, directly into the camera, and the viewer’s soul.
“His wisdom… is gonna be y’alls loss.”
“An Ah’ma say one last thing in cityfolk.”
“If you don’t see Neon Bushido around too much after this, don’t say you weren’t warned. You were. It’s not our fault if city slickers can’t read the signs.”
Cold open.
Carlton Gluck, a scowl lost in the beard that spills all over his chest, a sheen on his bald head, rubs his hands together angrily.
“Ah know we look so much alahk. He gots hair an Ah don’t, he’s swole and Ah’m, er, let’s call it ‘built fer durability’...”
“He tawks in red an Ah tawk in blue…”
“Literally fuckin identical.”
His voice fades into a rumble as he glowers.
“Also, dumbass, yew don’t get t’ call Nee-yawn Boosheedoh the best tag team in WUK when they lost t’ th’ Purge.”
He shakes his massive head.
“In fact, I am going to translate that into Cityfolk. Not only has Neon Bushido not earned the right to call themselves the best when they’ve lost to the bad joke that was The Purge, it can be implied that by losing to The Purge they are worse than The Purge, ergo, Neon Bushdio is in actuality the worst tag team in W:UK.”
Carlton slaps himself violently on the mouth.
“Gawd DAMN do Ah hate havin’ t’ do that.”
“So speakin’ of gawddamn, let’s talk about all the gawddamn ways in which ol’ Frank Wormfood is a fuckin’ {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore}.”
Carlton looks around, puzzled. He tries, and fails, to look at his own mouth.
“Th’ fuck did Ah jes say?”
Then he shrugs.
“Well whatever. A fuckin’ smoothbrain then if’n that makes yew feel a eensy lil better.”
“He cain’t tell me an Chapps apart. Already gone over that”
“He thinks Neeyawn Boosheedoh is good. Already gone over that too.”
“He fuckin’ mentioned Deliverance. Ah told all y’all last time, we ain’t ackchally lakh that, but er’ry tahm we hear it, brings us jes one li’l millimeter t’wards doin’ it anyways outta sheer fuckin’ principal.”
“He admitted he cain’t understand Mississippian. Fair enuff, Ah ain’t sure why he’s admittin it cos it ain’t no flex.”
“An he don’t know enough t’ stay out of the Glucks’ business.”
Carlton takes a deep breath, and it’s… strange. As he exhales, the disheveled bleary attitude slowly fades away, replaced by something more… focused. Projected.
“So we were tawkin’ t’ Wesley Crane. Cat’s outta th’ bag now. But yew know what? There’s city slickers an’ then there’s city slickers, an’ there’s a reason Wesley Crane’s a multahmillionair, and Fraink Wormfood cain’t find a suit that fits.”
“Ah told Wesley Crane that Ah could taik er’rything he owns an’ make him watch whaal Ah burnt it.”
“An he listened.”
“He don’t want his stuff burnt, he city slicked hard for it.”
“An he knows that th’ best way t’ keep the Glucks from amusin’ theyselves at his expense is t’ find them somethin’ to do that’s worth they whaal.”
Carlton’s shaggy eyebrows raise, and a pair of dark, surprisingly clear eyes look out from beneath them, directly into the camera, and the viewer’s soul.
“His wisdom… is gonna be y’alls loss.”
“An Ah’ma say one last thing in cityfolk.”
“If you don’t see Neon Bushido around too much after this, don’t say you weren’t warned. You were. It’s not our fault if city slickers can’t read the signs.”