[Glucks] no srsly stop with the deliverance shit its old
Oct 31, 2023 1:30:41 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer and flo like this
Post by Old Line Jeff on Oct 31, 2023 1:30:41 GMT -5
It’s loud in the Mississippi countryside.
Mid-October, summer isn’t _quite_ over, but it’s close, and the insects know it. The drone of crickets, grasshoppers and cicadas is endless, and the birds are fussing too. The leaves on the trees are still dark green, but the grass where it grows tall is turning golden brown, and the sun is beating down strong.
And the reason you care?
Well, you don’t really.
But the Brothers Gluck do.
This is where they’re from. And, for the first time since they started associating with the High Rollers club, this is where they are.
Carlton, his beard as resplendent as it used to be, covers his neck and upper chest. His upper body is partly covered by an overly tight tank top, his lower by a pair of gym pants, and his bare feet and ankles are crusted with reddish Mississippi clay.
Chapps, no trace of a man-bun left, looks every bit the feral throwback he used to be. Shirtless and in a pair of raggedy jorts, at least he’s wearing a pair of shoes. They’re dirty work boots though.
He also appears to be beating an ant hill with a baseball bat.
Hey, ants don’t get mean up north. Yankees and Ingleshmen wouldn’t understand, but I guarantee they deserve it.
“Now, me n’ Chapps, well, we was tryin’ t’ develop our own, you-nee-que, individual styles of talkin’. So we’d take turns doin’ the talkin’ an’ tryin’ ta look scary in th’ background. But it seems like what th’ people want, is a couple guys yakkin’ back an’ forth.”
Carlton’s voice is so deep it rumbles, but is also weirdly soothing. A little like the idling of a boat way out on a big lake. All peaceful, all by itself.
“We can do that if y’all want us to.”
“We c’n do a whole lot more’n that.”
Chapps’ voice has two modes - mutter, and bellow. Right now, he’s bellowing.
“He’s done told y’all! So’ve Ah! We can do it all!”
“We can do whatever we damn well want.”
Chapps’ smile has always looked a little unhinged. This is no different.
“We could burn it all. See that boy’s face? You think he don’t know his way ‘round a can of gasoline? I tell y’all what, he ain’t drinkin’ it.”
“I ain’t huffin’ it neither.”
“Listen to ‘im.”
Carlton grins wide and claps Chapps on the back a few times.
“Now, Ah know that lookin’ on us is a li’l like lookin’ back in time to y’all cityfolks, but Ah want to take y’all back in time in a little bit more specific way. See, Ah want y’all to remember how it was when the Brothers Gluck first showed up here in Wrestle:UK.”
“Y’all couldn’t stop us!”
“No, you sure couldn’t.”
“Anyone heard from The Purge lately? No? Howabout The Chosen? Nah, son. We didn’t just clean house. We fuckin’ burned house. Took The Bastards and a couple dozen nutshots to hand us our first loss, and I’m goin’ on record as saying that was some bullshit. But still. The Bastards scraped outta there on they hands and knees. And it weren’t too long after that that ol King Cityslicker got a firsthand look at what the Glucks were all about.”
“That’s ancient history, boys.”
Daeriq Damien just has an… aura of greasy sleaze. Even dressed down in jeans and a black t-shirt, wearing boots to protect himself from the mud, he just looks the unsavory fellow.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you in the middle of all… uh, this…”
Damien mirrors the average fan’s aura of distaste for him as he looks around distastefully at the Mississippi.
“But the thing is, you boys took so long getting up and getting on camera that your opponents and tag partners alike have spoken up.”
“And?”
“And I’m afraid to say that they’re all stupid.”
Damien passes a phone to Carlton who squats down to watch it with Chapps leaning over his shoulder.
Some time passes.
Then Chapps abruptly makes a Mississippi Noise. He hurls the baseball bat through the air and stomps off camera.
Carlton shakes his head.
“I tol’ them boys we was tired of the Deliverance jokes, didn’t I?”
Damien sympathetically pats Carlton on the back.
“Well, they could’ve brought up the Wyatt Family again.”
Carlton shakes his head again.
“Nah, seriously. On one hand, Ultradantis Blackenhausen spent more time trying to bury us than he did on our daggone opponents, and on the other Ragencage forgot we was ever in the same damn stable? Is this what we came back for? Really?”
Carlton gives Damien a gentle shove, but Damien takes the hint and steps out of frame.
“We did not come back to listen to the same tired shit from the smoothbrained dipshits we’re fighting, let alone the guys who’re supposed to be on our side. We wasted half a year of our careers with the High Roller’s Club. Ah’m gonna remind y’all, yet again - there were two reasons we were in that damn thing. One, cos Wesley Crane knew we could beat him cos we already had - and it didn’t take us six tries like it did Oklahoma Boy Watts. And two, to protect Ragencage from us.”
“Ah will admit it was fun, at first, bein’ a high roller. But wearin’ suits instead of real clothes, meetin’ with fashion consultants, gettin’ our hair styled - it made us weak.”
“Now after we come home from War Games, we wasn’t planning on going back. But our sister Cherie, she told us what we didn’t like hearing - that it was our fault it happened - and dared us to do something about it. Cherie’s somethin’ else, she’d pretzelize Kasper in ten seconds flat.”
“But’chu know what? We got our old victim Wesley, and the temporary transitional tag team champs, and our replacement in the ring all at the same time? The Glucks would be down with or without Kasper and Doministick. Yet another goddamn lameass trite cliche to finish a bunch of talkin’ with.”
Chapps comes flying in from off screen, plowing into the ant nest with a spade shovel. He makes a Mississippi Noise.
That’s all.
Mid-October, summer isn’t _quite_ over, but it’s close, and the insects know it. The drone of crickets, grasshoppers and cicadas is endless, and the birds are fussing too. The leaves on the trees are still dark green, but the grass where it grows tall is turning golden brown, and the sun is beating down strong.
And the reason you care?
Well, you don’t really.
But the Brothers Gluck do.
This is where they’re from. And, for the first time since they started associating with the High Rollers club, this is where they are.
Carlton, his beard as resplendent as it used to be, covers his neck and upper chest. His upper body is partly covered by an overly tight tank top, his lower by a pair of gym pants, and his bare feet and ankles are crusted with reddish Mississippi clay.
Chapps, no trace of a man-bun left, looks every bit the feral throwback he used to be. Shirtless and in a pair of raggedy jorts, at least he’s wearing a pair of shoes. They’re dirty work boots though.
He also appears to be beating an ant hill with a baseball bat.
Hey, ants don’t get mean up north. Yankees and Ingleshmen wouldn’t understand, but I guarantee they deserve it.
“Now, me n’ Chapps, well, we was tryin’ t’ develop our own, you-nee-que, individual styles of talkin’. So we’d take turns doin’ the talkin’ an’ tryin’ ta look scary in th’ background. But it seems like what th’ people want, is a couple guys yakkin’ back an’ forth.”
Carlton’s voice is so deep it rumbles, but is also weirdly soothing. A little like the idling of a boat way out on a big lake. All peaceful, all by itself.
“We can do that if y’all want us to.”
“We c’n do a whole lot more’n that.”
Chapps’ voice has two modes - mutter, and bellow. Right now, he’s bellowing.
“He’s done told y’all! So’ve Ah! We can do it all!”
“We can do whatever we damn well want.”
Chapps’ smile has always looked a little unhinged. This is no different.
“We could burn it all. See that boy’s face? You think he don’t know his way ‘round a can of gasoline? I tell y’all what, he ain’t drinkin’ it.”
“I ain’t huffin’ it neither.”
“Listen to ‘im.”
Carlton grins wide and claps Chapps on the back a few times.
“Now, Ah know that lookin’ on us is a li’l like lookin’ back in time to y’all cityfolks, but Ah want to take y’all back in time in a little bit more specific way. See, Ah want y’all to remember how it was when the Brothers Gluck first showed up here in Wrestle:UK.”
“Y’all couldn’t stop us!”
“No, you sure couldn’t.”
“Anyone heard from The Purge lately? No? Howabout The Chosen? Nah, son. We didn’t just clean house. We fuckin’ burned house. Took The Bastards and a couple dozen nutshots to hand us our first loss, and I’m goin’ on record as saying that was some bullshit. But still. The Bastards scraped outta there on they hands and knees. And it weren’t too long after that that ol King Cityslicker got a firsthand look at what the Glucks were all about.”
“That’s ancient history, boys.”
Daeriq Damien just has an… aura of greasy sleaze. Even dressed down in jeans and a black t-shirt, wearing boots to protect himself from the mud, he just looks the unsavory fellow.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you in the middle of all… uh, this…”
Damien mirrors the average fan’s aura of distaste for him as he looks around distastefully at the Mississippi.
“But the thing is, you boys took so long getting up and getting on camera that your opponents and tag partners alike have spoken up.”
“And?”
“And I’m afraid to say that they’re all stupid.”
Damien passes a phone to Carlton who squats down to watch it with Chapps leaning over his shoulder.
Some time passes.
Then Chapps abruptly makes a Mississippi Noise. He hurls the baseball bat through the air and stomps off camera.
Carlton shakes his head.
“I tol’ them boys we was tired of the Deliverance jokes, didn’t I?”
Damien sympathetically pats Carlton on the back.
“Well, they could’ve brought up the Wyatt Family again.”
Carlton shakes his head again.
“Nah, seriously. On one hand, Ultradantis Blackenhausen spent more time trying to bury us than he did on our daggone opponents, and on the other Ragencage forgot we was ever in the same damn stable? Is this what we came back for? Really?”
Carlton gives Damien a gentle shove, but Damien takes the hint and steps out of frame.
“We did not come back to listen to the same tired shit from the smoothbrained dipshits we’re fighting, let alone the guys who’re supposed to be on our side. We wasted half a year of our careers with the High Roller’s Club. Ah’m gonna remind y’all, yet again - there were two reasons we were in that damn thing. One, cos Wesley Crane knew we could beat him cos we already had - and it didn’t take us six tries like it did Oklahoma Boy Watts. And two, to protect Ragencage from us.”
“Ah will admit it was fun, at first, bein’ a high roller. But wearin’ suits instead of real clothes, meetin’ with fashion consultants, gettin’ our hair styled - it made us weak.”
“Now after we come home from War Games, we wasn’t planning on going back. But our sister Cherie, she told us what we didn’t like hearing - that it was our fault it happened - and dared us to do something about it. Cherie’s somethin’ else, she’d pretzelize Kasper in ten seconds flat.”
“But’chu know what? We got our old victim Wesley, and the temporary transitional tag team champs, and our replacement in the ring all at the same time? The Glucks would be down with or without Kasper and Doministick. Yet another goddamn lameass trite cliche to finish a bunch of talkin’ with.”
Chapps comes flying in from off screen, plowing into the ant nest with a spade shovel. He makes a Mississippi Noise.
That’s all.