Post by Dave D-Flipz on Sept 11, 2023 20:49:57 GMT -5
“I’m gonna be king of the pirates!”
*DT and Funaki are seen sitting in the living room of the rental property in North Carolina where Bowler Hat Brigade calls home. Funaki is on the edge of his gamer chair and invested. DT is reclined fully in his lazy-boy, Mickey Mouse ear bowler hat pulled low over his eyes, moaning in depression.*
Funaki: See he has the ability to stretch any part of his body.
Death Trap: Uh huh … *sigh* sounds like a great use of fruit.
*Funaki nods aggressively. Two women with GIGANTIC boobs you could only find in anime walk on screen …*
Death Trap: Does he stretch for them too?
Funaki: Oh for sure! He’s so loyal to his crew. He’d stretch anything for them!
*Chaos boots in the front door having heard what is being said. Behind her is Sarah holding a small bag from Hot Topic and a small big from a comic shop. Behind her stumbles Mistress Discipline carrying far too many bags for a normal person to carry as she grunts in anger at her manager, who is empty handed. Chaos storms into the room as she points to the kitchen and Sarah drops the bags on the floor, a small rodent sprinting out of her pocket and up the back of the pants Chaos is wearing. Then Sarah runs into the kitchen for snacks.*
Sarah: NUGGIES!
*Chaos points accusingly at the TV*
Dr. Chaos: ARE YOU WATCHING PORN … IN THE LIVING ROOM?
Funaki: What? No! Children live here. It’s anime!
*DT sighs aggressively again*
Dr. Chaos: I think I would have preferred the porn. Talk about a missed opportunity, dude can stretch anything?
Mistress Discipline: You know there is a rule 34.
Death Trap: … go go Gadget Gum Gum Pistol …
*He waves a finger in the air in a whoop-de-doo motion*
Dr. Chaos: Gum gum … what?
Mistress Discipline: Death Trap, do NOT bring our bedroom conversations into the living room!
*Chaos gags in surprise and spins to look at Mistress. Funaki does a spit take, spraying Mountain Dew all over the TV, and then whirls to look at DT.*
Death Trap: It’s the anime! It’s not my fault if the mangaka has listening devices in the bedroom.
Dr. Chaos: Cameras actu-I MEAN! I’M SURE IT’S A COINCIDENCE! Nothing in the BEDROOM!
Death Trap: Take up your anger with Mr. Monkey D. Luffy of One Piece.
Mistress Discipline: There is no need to make up names or scenarios to deflect, Death Trap. You clearly have something else on your mind.
Death Trap: Who’s deflecting? I haven’t dodged anything in months. My record proves that. If there’s shit to hit the fan, it’s hitting my face first.
Dr. Chaos: That’s what the toilet’s for, stop opening your mouth when it’s heading for the restroom.
*Mistress hears this, and you can almost see the recognition cross her face. You can also see something else run across the shoulders of Dr. Chaos and the lump under her shirt slides down her chest. A slow turn towards DT from MD.*
Mistress Discipline: Death Trap there is something I have been meaning to ask you, regarding an incident a few weeks back.
Death Trap: I didn’t mean to eat all the chips but I was depressed and Funaki handed them to me. It’s really his fault.
Mistress Discipline: This is NOT about the food you eat, but about what happens thereafter.
Death Trap: Hey I clean up the crumbs, talk to Chaos, she’s the one with the natural crumb trap that vents whenever she airs out her shirt.
*DT notices something moving in said shirt*
Death Trap: Uh speaking of … Chaos?
Mistress Discipline: Why are you trying to avoid the conversation?
Death Trap: If this is about losing the race last month then I really don’t know what to say! I never claimed to be a legendary DRIVER, just a legendary Wrestler! … Or I used to be …
*His head droops and he sinks further into his recliner. Mistress pinches the bridge of her nose as he whimpers. She slams one hand on each of the arm rests and leans towards her whining husband.*
Mistress Discipline: None of that. You ARE a good wrestler! We recently held the tag team titles for almost a year!
*Death Trap looks up at her, tips his hat back, tears in his eyes.*
Death Trap: … … Good? …
*He rocks the chair almost horizontal and covers his face in the mickey mouse eared bowler hat.*
Death Trap: You used to say I was legendary.
*Funaki takes this opportunity to shut off the TV, pop up to his feet and stretch.*
Funaki: WEEELLLLL Looks like it’s time for me to be hitting the old dusty trail. Gonna go grab some fried chicken for lunch. See you at the race.
*Sarah sprints from the kitchen and leaps onto Funaki in a piggyback position, pointing ahead like a ship’s captain*
Sarah: NUGGIES!?
Funaki: OOF! … Uh uh … is your mom ok with me taking you-
Dr. Chaos: Oh sure you can treat her to food for once, not like you haven’t mooched your share off of us!
*Funaki sighs and carries the teenage girl out to get her chicken nuggies.*
Dr. Chaos: Does that man even DO anything to help the team? Let’s all go into the kitchen, grab a drink, and talk about the lucky seven race we-
*Mistress steps back and axe kicks the foot rest of the recliner, snapping it back to a seated position, sitting DT up straight with a jolt and sending his new Mickey Bowler Hat flying onto Chaos’s hair bun.*
Dr. Chaos: *siiiiiiiiiiiigh* Or not …
*Mistress grabs DT’s shoulders and leans in.*
Mistress Discipline: Hey! You! Are Important! … WE! Are important! Now you are not just a wrestler, but also a CAR driver.
Dr. Chaos: And husband! Don’t forget that one!
*Chaos reaches to grab the hat off her head and by stretching causes the lump that had fallen down her shirt to begin rustling, and a small hand pokes through the thin fabric. DT seems to notice the odd motion of the chest area of his manager.*
Mistress Discipline: Yes and speaking of your husbandly duties, we need to talk about what happened to my bathroom!
*DT cocks an eyebrow and turns away from the rustling shirt of Chaos.*
Death Trap: Wait … what? What bathroom?
Dr. Chaos: NO I THINK WE SHOULD TALK ABOUT HIM BEING A DRIVER! Driver is more important than bathroom.
*MD turns to her manager*
Mistress Discipline: He does not REMEMBER what happened to my bathroom. We have BIGGER problems, Chaos.
Death Trap: I mean I thought the Seattle Mariners bath mat was tasteful … oh is this about that one time I forgot the Poo-Pourri? It was once and at least I definitely remembered to put the seat down. … And it wasn’t taco night.
Dr. Chaos: THANK GOD!
Mistress Discipline: I’m glad you acknowledge your shortcoming, but I was referring to … THE INCIDENT!
*Chaos perks up in fear having heard that, causing the lump to jostle around her chest. DT looks over and gives an odd expression-*
Mistress Discipline: EYES OVER HERE! We were discussing us!
Death Trap: But, but her chest, there’s something …
Mistress Discipline: NO!
Death Trap: Not like that!
Mistress Discipline and Dr. Chaos:Damn Darn straight!
*DT recoils in fear.*
Dr. Chaos: Start groveling mister!
Death Trap: But but! Is that a tumor?
Mistress Discipline: No changing the subject! You have been overly distracted. Either by those you face in the ring when you should be focusing on driving, or by other drivers when you should be focusing on wrestling!
Dr. Chaos: And in ALL cases you should be focusing on Mistress!
Death Trap: But but! I don’t even WANT to drive! I just want to get my mojo back and go back to being the best damn technical wrestler on the planet! Not someone who loses to Nelly Angel and Sticky the Clown and … now Greg Adkins!!!
*Chaos laughs*
Death Trap: I get that I’m not in the best mindstate right now, but outside of giving BFT to a nonagenarian and I guess beating the current at the time Tapout Openweight Champ, I’ve been EMBARRASSED since before Fox managed to ruin my modeling career.
*Chaos laughs again causing her to jiggle as the lump messes with her outfit*
Dr. Chaos: Oh sweet honey child, the moneymaker is not the face. Especially not with your choice in haberdashery.
Death Trap: Seriously what is wrong with your breas-
Mistress Discipline: RIGHT HERE! This is about YOU and your mindset. And my bathroom! The two are related in the most unfortunate of ways.
Dr. Chaos: NO NO Let’s focus on the race! Death Trap has to pay his debts! Memaw’s getting anxious.
*DT ignores the change of topic this time*
Death Trap: FINE! I’ll take out the citrus scented candles! I thought it was a nice touch.
Dr. Chaos: HOW CAN YOU BE THIS DENSE!?
*Mistress turns to Chaos*
Mistress Discipline: No No, Death Trap is a great man, he’s doing great things.
Dr. Chaos: Not at the moment!
*Mistress is beginning to show frustration with both her colleagues when she looks down and sees whiskers and a nose poking out from the hole in the shirt of Chaos.*
Mistress Discipline: Chaos, I see a rat.
Dr. Chaos: Well that’s just rude.
Death Trap: SO WAS YOUR REMARK!... I knew that something was up with her chest…
*He runs into the kitchen to think.*
Mistress Discipline: Congratulations Chaos, now we may never get to have this conversation.
Dr. Chaos: *wiping sweat from her brow* That’s fine, he should be focused on racing and protecting us from Zoran … and now Fox. Isn’t there a wrestling tournament coming up that Memaw needs to send someone to? And Zoran and Fox will be there? Should we be worried she’ll send mopey boy?
Mistress Discipline: Please do not refer to my husband as Mopey Boy. I did not marry a boy, I married a man!
Dr. Chaos: Fine, MOPEY MAN is gonna get Volun-told…
*Mistress holds up her hand to silence her best friend … and points down to Chaos’s chest.*
Mistress Discipline: Chaos please … remove the rat from your cleavage before she eats through your supportive undergarment.
Dr. Chaos: Damn those things are expensive too.
*She starts jiggling around her shirt. At this point, DT comes in with a 3 liter bottle of Dr. Pepper up to his lips, bizarrely calming the man down. He looks at the scene in front of him and drops the soda where it explodes all over the rug and himself. Mistress snaps to look at him with extreme frustration and disappointment in her eyes.*
Death Trap: Glad the blinds are closed or the neighbors would have some serious questions.
1. How will your vehicle respond to poker chips being flung.
It’s a corvette … it would be severely damaged and veer off the road.
2. Dialog from you racers as they cross the card bridge.
Death Trap: WHAT KIND OF TORTURE IS THIS MEMAW SUPPORTING!? Maybe if I throw bowler hats down to cushion this flimsy bridge…
3. Dialog from your racers regarding the go go girls
Death Trap: What the hell is thi-?
Mistress Discipline: EYES ON THE ROAD MISTER!
4. How will your team respond to winning?
Death Trap: … Wait … what is this feeling? It’s been so long since I felt … victory! *Sob*
5. How will your team respond to not winning?
More depression Dr. Peppers.
*DT and Funaki are seen sitting in the living room of the rental property in North Carolina where Bowler Hat Brigade calls home. Funaki is on the edge of his gamer chair and invested. DT is reclined fully in his lazy-boy, Mickey Mouse ear bowler hat pulled low over his eyes, moaning in depression.*
Funaki: See he has the ability to stretch any part of his body.
Death Trap: Uh huh … *sigh* sounds like a great use of fruit.
*Funaki nods aggressively. Two women with GIGANTIC boobs you could only find in anime walk on screen …*
Death Trap: Does he stretch for them too?
Funaki: Oh for sure! He’s so loyal to his crew. He’d stretch anything for them!
*Chaos boots in the front door having heard what is being said. Behind her is Sarah holding a small bag from Hot Topic and a small big from a comic shop. Behind her stumbles Mistress Discipline carrying far too many bags for a normal person to carry as she grunts in anger at her manager, who is empty handed. Chaos storms into the room as she points to the kitchen and Sarah drops the bags on the floor, a small rodent sprinting out of her pocket and up the back of the pants Chaos is wearing. Then Sarah runs into the kitchen for snacks.*
Sarah: NUGGIES!
*Chaos points accusingly at the TV*
Dr. Chaos: ARE YOU WATCHING PORN … IN THE LIVING ROOM?
Funaki: What? No! Children live here. It’s anime!
*DT sighs aggressively again*
Dr. Chaos: I think I would have preferred the porn. Talk about a missed opportunity, dude can stretch anything?
Mistress Discipline: You know there is a rule 34.
Death Trap: … go go Gadget Gum Gum Pistol …
*He waves a finger in the air in a whoop-de-doo motion*
Dr. Chaos: Gum gum … what?
Mistress Discipline: Death Trap, do NOT bring our bedroom conversations into the living room!
*Chaos gags in surprise and spins to look at Mistress. Funaki does a spit take, spraying Mountain Dew all over the TV, and then whirls to look at DT.*
Death Trap: It’s the anime! It’s not my fault if the mangaka has listening devices in the bedroom.
Dr. Chaos: Cameras actu-I MEAN! I’M SURE IT’S A COINCIDENCE! Nothing in the BEDROOM!
Death Trap: Take up your anger with Mr. Monkey D. Luffy of One Piece.
Mistress Discipline: There is no need to make up names or scenarios to deflect, Death Trap. You clearly have something else on your mind.
Death Trap: Who’s deflecting? I haven’t dodged anything in months. My record proves that. If there’s shit to hit the fan, it’s hitting my face first.
Dr. Chaos: That’s what the toilet’s for, stop opening your mouth when it’s heading for the restroom.
*Mistress hears this, and you can almost see the recognition cross her face. You can also see something else run across the shoulders of Dr. Chaos and the lump under her shirt slides down her chest. A slow turn towards DT from MD.*
Mistress Discipline: Death Trap there is something I have been meaning to ask you, regarding an incident a few weeks back.
Death Trap: I didn’t mean to eat all the chips but I was depressed and Funaki handed them to me. It’s really his fault.
Mistress Discipline: This is NOT about the food you eat, but about what happens thereafter.
Death Trap: Hey I clean up the crumbs, talk to Chaos, she’s the one with the natural crumb trap that vents whenever she airs out her shirt.
*DT notices something moving in said shirt*
Death Trap: Uh speaking of … Chaos?
Mistress Discipline: Why are you trying to avoid the conversation?
Death Trap: If this is about losing the race last month then I really don’t know what to say! I never claimed to be a legendary DRIVER, just a legendary Wrestler! … Or I used to be …
*His head droops and he sinks further into his recliner. Mistress pinches the bridge of her nose as he whimpers. She slams one hand on each of the arm rests and leans towards her whining husband.*
Mistress Discipline: None of that. You ARE a good wrestler! We recently held the tag team titles for almost a year!
*Death Trap looks up at her, tips his hat back, tears in his eyes.*
Death Trap: … … Good? …
*He rocks the chair almost horizontal and covers his face in the mickey mouse eared bowler hat.*
Death Trap: You used to say I was legendary.
*Funaki takes this opportunity to shut off the TV, pop up to his feet and stretch.*
Funaki: WEEELLLLL Looks like it’s time for me to be hitting the old dusty trail. Gonna go grab some fried chicken for lunch. See you at the race.
*Sarah sprints from the kitchen and leaps onto Funaki in a piggyback position, pointing ahead like a ship’s captain*
Sarah: NUGGIES!?
Funaki: OOF! … Uh uh … is your mom ok with me taking you-
Dr. Chaos: Oh sure you can treat her to food for once, not like you haven’t mooched your share off of us!
*Funaki sighs and carries the teenage girl out to get her chicken nuggies.*
Dr. Chaos: Does that man even DO anything to help the team? Let’s all go into the kitchen, grab a drink, and talk about the lucky seven race we-
*Mistress steps back and axe kicks the foot rest of the recliner, snapping it back to a seated position, sitting DT up straight with a jolt and sending his new Mickey Bowler Hat flying onto Chaos’s hair bun.*
Dr. Chaos: *siiiiiiiiiiiigh* Or not …
*Mistress grabs DT’s shoulders and leans in.*
Mistress Discipline: Hey! You! Are Important! … WE! Are important! Now you are not just a wrestler, but also a CAR driver.
Dr. Chaos: And husband! Don’t forget that one!
*Chaos reaches to grab the hat off her head and by stretching causes the lump that had fallen down her shirt to begin rustling, and a small hand pokes through the thin fabric. DT seems to notice the odd motion of the chest area of his manager.*
Mistress Discipline: Yes and speaking of your husbandly duties, we need to talk about what happened to my bathroom!
*DT cocks an eyebrow and turns away from the rustling shirt of Chaos.*
Death Trap: Wait … what? What bathroom?
Dr. Chaos: NO I THINK WE SHOULD TALK ABOUT HIM BEING A DRIVER! Driver is more important than bathroom.
*MD turns to her manager*
Mistress Discipline: He does not REMEMBER what happened to my bathroom. We have BIGGER problems, Chaos.
Death Trap: I mean I thought the Seattle Mariners bath mat was tasteful … oh is this about that one time I forgot the Poo-Pourri? It was once and at least I definitely remembered to put the seat down. … And it wasn’t taco night.
Dr. Chaos: THANK GOD!
Mistress Discipline: I’m glad you acknowledge your shortcoming, but I was referring to … THE INCIDENT!
*Chaos perks up in fear having heard that, causing the lump to jostle around her chest. DT looks over and gives an odd expression-*
Mistress Discipline: EYES OVER HERE! We were discussing us!
Death Trap: But, but her chest, there’s something …
Mistress Discipline: NO!
Death Trap: Not like that!
Mistress Discipline and Dr. Chaos:
*DT recoils in fear.*
Dr. Chaos: Start groveling mister!
Death Trap: But but! Is that a tumor?
Mistress Discipline: No changing the subject! You have been overly distracted. Either by those you face in the ring when you should be focusing on driving, or by other drivers when you should be focusing on wrestling!
Dr. Chaos: And in ALL cases you should be focusing on Mistress!
Death Trap: But but! I don’t even WANT to drive! I just want to get my mojo back and go back to being the best damn technical wrestler on the planet! Not someone who loses to Nelly Angel and Sticky the Clown and … now Greg Adkins!!!
*Chaos laughs*
Death Trap: I get that I’m not in the best mindstate right now, but outside of giving BFT to a nonagenarian and I guess beating the current at the time Tapout Openweight Champ, I’ve been EMBARRASSED since before Fox managed to ruin my modeling career.
*Chaos laughs again causing her to jiggle as the lump messes with her outfit*
Dr. Chaos: Oh sweet honey child, the moneymaker is not the face. Especially not with your choice in haberdashery.
Death Trap: Seriously what is wrong with your breas-
Mistress Discipline: RIGHT HERE! This is about YOU and your mindset. And my bathroom! The two are related in the most unfortunate of ways.
Dr. Chaos: NO NO Let’s focus on the race! Death Trap has to pay his debts! Memaw’s getting anxious.
*DT ignores the change of topic this time*
Death Trap: FINE! I’ll take out the citrus scented candles! I thought it was a nice touch.
Dr. Chaos: HOW CAN YOU BE THIS DENSE!?
*Mistress turns to Chaos*
Mistress Discipline: No No, Death Trap is a great man, he’s doing great things.
Dr. Chaos: Not at the moment!
*Mistress is beginning to show frustration with both her colleagues when she looks down and sees whiskers and a nose poking out from the hole in the shirt of Chaos.*
Mistress Discipline: Chaos, I see a rat.
Dr. Chaos: Well that’s just rude.
Death Trap: SO WAS YOUR REMARK!... I knew that something was up with her chest…
*He runs into the kitchen to think.*
Mistress Discipline: Congratulations Chaos, now we may never get to have this conversation.
Dr. Chaos: *wiping sweat from her brow* That’s fine, he should be focused on racing and protecting us from Zoran … and now Fox. Isn’t there a wrestling tournament coming up that Memaw needs to send someone to? And Zoran and Fox will be there? Should we be worried she’ll send mopey boy?
Mistress Discipline: Please do not refer to my husband as Mopey Boy. I did not marry a boy, I married a man!
Dr. Chaos: Fine, MOPEY MAN is gonna get Volun-told…
*Mistress holds up her hand to silence her best friend … and points down to Chaos’s chest.*
Mistress Discipline: Chaos please … remove the rat from your cleavage before she eats through your supportive undergarment.
Dr. Chaos: Damn those things are expensive too.
*She starts jiggling around her shirt. At this point, DT comes in with a 3 liter bottle of Dr. Pepper up to his lips, bizarrely calming the man down. He looks at the scene in front of him and drops the soda where it explodes all over the rug and himself. Mistress snaps to look at him with extreme frustration and disappointment in her eyes.*
Death Trap: Glad the blinds are closed or the neighbors would have some serious questions.
1. How will your vehicle respond to poker chips being flung.
It’s a corvette … it would be severely damaged and veer off the road.
2. Dialog from you racers as they cross the card bridge.
Death Trap: WHAT KIND OF TORTURE IS THIS MEMAW SUPPORTING!? Maybe if I throw bowler hats down to cushion this flimsy bridge…
3. Dialog from your racers regarding the go go girls
Death Trap: What the hell is thi-?
Mistress Discipline: EYES ON THE ROAD MISTER!
4. How will your team respond to winning?
Death Trap: … Wait … what is this feeling? It’s been so long since I felt … victory! *Sob*
5. How will your team respond to not winning?
More depression Dr. Peppers.
