Class Change... Wrestler [DB 04]
Apr 19, 2024 22:55:27 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 2 more like this
Post by mosler on Apr 19, 2024 22:55:27 GMT -5
"If you eat just ONE more person, you will cease to exist..."
The words echo through the tyrannosaurus rex skull.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
...Ain't that a kick in the nuts.
Faced with the prospect of Dinosaur Bones being in the ring with damn near forty other wrestlers that he has rather graphically threatened to eat, and now has no discernible way to defend himself against - the Extinction Connection sit on a park bench, contemplating the forces of good's horrific victory over The Dread Lord. Passing a brown paper bag, back and forth, the duo hope that the liquid lunch will give them a fresh perspective on this depressing mess. Sadly, the booze is just making them wallow in more self-pity. Who could have guessed? From their exaggerated speech, it is safe to say this isn't the first bottle the duo had finished off. From the looks of it, Bones appetites extend to liquids, and Stokes is foolishly trying to keep pace.
Dinosaur Bones (swig):
WILLIAM... IF YOU EXIST LONG ENOUGH, YOU WILL BECOME THE VICTIM.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes (swig):
It ain't right... a medical prognosis like that. Should happen to older men. I mean, by dracolich standards, you're practically a teen. Not able to chow down on your enemies? The medical profession have defanged you, and sent you out in the world - weaponless. To think what that Rumble fodder is gonna do to you-
Dinosaur Bones (swig):
MY HIDE WILL FETCH A PRETTY PENNY. AND TO THINK, I HAVE PAINTED A BULLSEYE ON MY BACK FOR ALL THOSE JACKALS, BASED ON TRYING TO COMPLIMENT THE RICH FLAVOURS OF THEIR MEAT-
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes (swig):
Nice guys finish last.
Dinosaur Bones (swig):
DO I REALLY WANT TO CONTINUE AN AFTERLIFE THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE EATING APES?
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes (swig):
Don't give in, Bonsey... you bite one of those bastards, and they win!
Dinosaur Bones (swig):
DAMN IT, WILLIAM - WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO DO?
The depressed malaise kicks in again.
Long awkward beat.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
I've got it!
Having a eureka moment, the ancient cowboy jumps to his feet, before slumping back down to the bench.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
You learn how to defend yourself... (nodding off) uuuuuuu... (wakes up) by becoming a professional wrestler!
Dinosaur Bones (swig):
NO! NO! NOOOOOoo!
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
YES! Just think of it. Word is probably already out that you are toothless. Those vultures are licking there lips, expecting you to just stand there and get tossed. They'll never suspect you've actually trained to become one of them.
Dinosaur Bones (long gulp):
I'M LIKE A LEVEL NINETY NINE DREAD LORD... I DON'T HAVE IT IN ME TO START ALL OVER AGAIN AS A LEVEL ONE WRESTLER.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
Yes you can! Look Bonsey... you are no longer a foodie. That is pretty humiliating. But there are worse things in life. You know how much fossils go for these days? You could be broken up and sent to forty different billionaires houses. Remaining true to yourself.... existing in one piece... all the hopes and dreams you had for the Rumble? They can still happen... but you gotta eat one more thing. (hiccup) Your pride.
Dinosaur Bones:
UGH...
Normally at this point in the conversation, Bones would stomp off in a huff, but he already tried and fell back down on the bench. The dracolich hates to admit it, but the elderly cowboy is right. Taking that important first step towards humility, The Dread Lord puts a tiny t-rex claw on his friend's shoulder.
Dinosaur Bones:
CAN YOU SHOW ME THE ROPES, PAL?
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
I'd love to, Bonsey... but... during my heyday, an arm drag was considered a finisher.
The blank expression from the skeleton suggests that Stokes has to elaborate.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
All the fancy moves the kids are using these days, you need a more contemporary teacher.
Dinosaur Bones:
I understand....... then starting tomorrow, I go back to level 1!
The two men open another peppermint flavour vodka. It's safe to assume they'll be sleeping on that bench.
Tomorrow.
Level 1.
The Sands.
Sadly part of his duties involve mixing it up with the guests on the floor, the price of celebrity. Enjoying a drink in the ground floor lounge, posing for the occasional picture with the marks, the Tap Out promoter scans the room, before a large shadow engulfs his table.
"MISTER RECOBA."
After a considered pause, as if he recognized the voice, Cross slowly looks up from his scotch. A nine foot inflatable T-Rex skeleton stares down at him. This day is shaping up. Al needs to tighten security. This is not Circus Circus.
Cross Recoba (forced smile):
Good to see you-
Raising two fingers, the promoter gestures for security like he was ordering another drink.
Dinosaur Bones:
MISTER CROSS SIR... I AM UNSURE IF YOU'LL REMEMBER MY TERRIFYING BEING, BUT I ONCE APPEARED IN YOUR PROMOTION.
Now that is a memory to forget. Recoba flinches but maintains the disingenuous smile for the rest of the patrons.
Cross Recoba:
Sure, we had you taking on Jackalope. Very hard to forget.
Dinosaur Bones:
YES. I HAD JUST WON THE PHOENIX CHAMPIONSHIP, AND YOU WERE KIND ENOUGH TO LET ME DEFEND IT IN YOUR FORTRESS.
Cross Recoba (nodding dismissively):
Well good seeing you again- and don't forget to hit the slots before calling it a night.
Turning a cold shoulder to the beast, Recoba looks out onto the floor.
Dinosaur Bones:
...AFTERWARDS I'M TOLD THAT MY BUSINESS MANAGER INQUIRED ABOUT THE POSSIBILTY OF FUTURE DATES WITH YOUR COMPANY-
Cross Recoba (your still here):
Right. I bet you'd make a heck of a halftime show. Very Siegfried and Roy. Sadly The Sands doesn't go in for animal acts, and our intermission is already spoken for...
The nerve of this guy.
Dinosaur Bones:
AS A CHAMPION, I WAS QUITE INTERESTED IN LEARNING THE ROPES OF YOUR BUSINESS. ...BUT YOU TOLD MY MANAGER THAT I WASN'T THE TOW TYPE. I JUST WANTED TO KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT BY THAT. I'M HOPING TO IMPROVE MYSELF AS A WRESTLER, AND ANY ADVICE YOU COULD GIVE ME WOULD BE A GREAT HELP.
Here we go.
Cross Recoba:
Look I'm trying to be nice here.
Dinosaur Bones:
EXCUSE ME?
Cross Recoba:
Me. I'm being pleasant right now. You really want to do this?
Dinosaur Bones:
I HAVE A LOT RIDING ON IT.
Cross Recoba:
Your funeral. Tap Out prides itself on wrestling. Not "rasslin." You represent a type of sports entertainment that frankly would turn off our clientele. Silly, stupid, cartoonish- fine for children, but irritating to serious fans of the technical arts. You don't know a wristlock from a wristwatch, and seem to pride yourself on your total lack of in-ring ability, delighting in your physical attributes dwarfing genuine talent. TOW wrestlers can put on hour clinics, and frequently do. I've only watched ONE of your matches, and I got the distinct impression you'd been gassed after five minutes. So no, we couldn't do anything with you then, and even less now. To me you're a joke, and I just wish you'd disappeared with the rest of the Fireside trash.
Beat.
Dinosaur Bones:
THANK YOU FOR YOUR HONEST ASSESSMENT, MISTER RECOBA.
The dracolich politely bows his head. William warned him that it would require great humility to grow as a wrestler. Growth was so much easier with food. Two men in suits appear on either side of The Dread Lord.
Cross Recoba:
Now if you don't mind-
Dinosaur Bones:
YES, I'VE TAKEN UP ENOUGH OF YOUR TIME. I JUST WISH WE COULD HAVE HAD THIS CONVERSATION BACK WHEN I APPEARED HERE................ BECAUSE THEN I COULD EAT YOU.
Promoter and monster share an icy look of contempt. Another blow to the ego. Security escort Bones out of the Sands. When he was last at the luxurious casino, Bones came as a visiting champion. Introduced to the gutter, what a difference a year makes. Still Recoba confirmed the worst - even when Bones was scary, he was not much of a wrestler. Back to the drawing board... no... the basics.
The basics.
Lumbering up a walkway, the dracolich approaches a residential home. Unassuming from the outside, but could this be the fabled home of the Snuggly Duckling Dojo? Bones was expecting a training facility that looked more like a Shaolin Temple, but if the reviews are to be believed, this is his best shot. A tiny, skeletal t-rex claw presses the doorbell, drawing out Marty Davidson's better half.
Olivia:
Yes?
Dinosaur Bones:
GOOD EVENING SIR, I WISH TO BECOME ONE OF YOUR-
There is no mistaking that voice. Inside the legendary wrestling school, frantic rustling can be heard. The sound of a coffee table turning over, as someone desperately scrambles around, looking for their keys and an alternative exit. A broken vase inevitable leads to a different exchange, with voices so loud they carry out to the porch.
"You on PCP? Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"I may have given a press conference..."
"Oh, for crying out loud - GROW A PAIR!"
Olivia:
...One moment please...
More items can be heard breaking, like Deacon Oldham was trying to instill a valuable life lesson, but Marty was too fast for him.
Olivia:
Our Tinto may have recently appeared on television suggesting you smell of butts. Please don't eat him.
Dinosaur Bones:
FEAR NOT. I COULDN'T, EVEN IF I WANTED TOO.
"Get back here!"
Dinosaur Bones:
...I'M JUST HERE TO LEARN. LEGENDS OF SNUGGLY DUCKLING DOJO HAVE TRAVELLED FAR AND WIDE...
Olivia:
Well that's just super.
As Olivia starts to close over the door to check inside, Marty Donovan runs out of the garage.
Olivia (leaning out the door):
That's the style's grand master.
Dinosaur Bones (bowing):
THANK YOU, SIR.
The dracolich runs after Marty, who is hoofing it for a car on the street.
Dinosaur Bones:
PLEASE TAKE ME ON AS A DISCIPLE-
Marty Donovan:
My comments were taken out of context!
Dinosaur Bones:
YOU ARE MY ONLY HOPE - FLESHLING!
Marty Donovan:
Never!
Dinosaur Bones:
GRAND MASTER APE, PLEASE, I CAN'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!
Marty dives behind the wheel of his car, and floors it.
Safety!
Before he can speed off into the sunset, Deacon tosses down a tire deflation device. The spiked strip does its job, and Deacon hopes that Marty learns a valuable lesson about the perils of audio bytes, whatever they are.
Sudden death!
Abandoning the car when the four flats prove to be the same speed as the hulking T-Rex skeleton, Marty's exit turns this back into a footrace. Will Dinosaur Bones succeed in being accepted by the Snuggly Duckling Dojo? Somehow, even if he fails, just trying to catch Marty is turning Bones into a better wrestler.
One last hope.
Is this the Diamond Training Facility?
Probably a copycat. Well, for copyright purposes, only Diamond can be seen on the sign at the entrance. Frankly, this looks more like Gold's Gym. Still hoping to level up before the Rumble, the hulking prehistoric lich approaches a young woman at the reception desk.
Receptionist:
Good afternoon, how can I help you?
Dinosaur Bones:
YES, I AM LOOKING TO BECOME A WRESTLER.
Receptionist:
With that get up, are you sure you aren't one already?
Mental note, looks are an important factor in becoming a professional wrestler. Checking out his own massive skeleton in the mirror next to the desk, Dinosaur Bones has a renewed conviction that he can reach level 2 before the big event.
Receptionist:
I'll pull together the release forms, hon. In the mean time, you're in luck - our best trainer just finished up.
BEEF approaches.
Receptionist:
He'll give you a tour of the facilities, and show you the ropes.
Dinosaur Bones (extended tiny t-rex claw):
DINOSAUR BONES, IT IS A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU.
BEEF (accepting the handshake):
BEEF.
Dinosaur Bones:
EXCUSE ME?
BEEF (still shaking hands, flexing his muscles like the manly embrace of Predator):
BEEF.
Dinosaur Bones looks at the slab of muscle in front of him. Don't eat this man. Don't eat this man. Don't eat this man.
BEEF:
You know, like the cake.
Dinosaur Bones might be having a nervous breakdown. Is anyone else seeing this?
BEEF (using his free arm to thumb towards the ring, flexing his delicious bicep at the same time):
Let's go work on your closeline.
Dinosaur Bones:
AH!
A million images of spit-roasting BEEF over a raging fire play out in The Dread Lord's fevered mind, the starving Dinosaur Bones quickly lets go of the HAM fist. Terrified that he might have already eaten his trainer by accident, and that he definitely can't trust himself. Bones starts to back peddle towards the exit.
Receptionist (holding up paperwork):
I have those forms here.
BEEF:
Where the fire?
Dinosaur Bones:
I, UH, LEFT MY CAR RUNNING...
BEEF:
I can make you a champion, but you have to be HUNGRY for it!
No sooner does Beef make his pectorals dance like headless chickens, then Bones is sent racing out of the facility, fairly certain this is a night terror.
Failure.
The bar.
Ever since the doctor told him to lay off the humans, Dinosaur Bones has been drinking a lot more.
Not wanting his friend to become an alcoholic, "Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes joins the dracolich at the counter - so at least he's a social drunk.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
He tried to hop in your mouth?
Dinosaur Bones:
WHERE WERE THESE SLABS OF MEAT A WEEK AGO?
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes (downing a shot):
That is weird. ...well... cheer up Bonsey, there are still another dozen wrestling schools in the phonebook. We'll get you basic training yet, so all is not lost.
Bones answers the positivity by downing a pitcher of beer.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
It's gonna work out. What are the odds those Rumble opponents even have the connections to fence your jaw to an oligarch?
Bones rests his head on the counter.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
I'm hitting the head.
Accepting the pained grown response, Stokes wanders off for the bathroom, his spurs making a horrible clicking sound against the floor.
Bartender:
What'll it be?
"Super sake!"
That voice sounds familiar. Rising from the counter, the dracolich finds the voice of the XHF a few stools down.
Dinosaur Bones:
RANDY.
Randy Angel (downing five shots):
To your health.
Desperate for any direction, and inexplicably feeling that Randy can't be worse than Recoba, the dracolich shuffles down next to the announcer.
Dinosaur Bones:
HOW DO YOU DO IT?
Randy Angel (downing another three Super Sake):
What wrestle?
Dinosaur Bones:
NO, YOU WERE ALREADY A WRESTLER. HOW DID YOU TRANSITION OVER TO COMMENTARY, AND WITH NO DISCERNIBLE SPEAKING SKILLS, OR APTITUDE FOR THE ROLE, MAINTAIN EMPLOYMENT?
Randy Angel (more super sake):
Thank you. I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my commentary.
Dinosaur Bones:
IT'S FROM THE HEART.
Randy Angel:
You've just got to fake it till you make it.
Dinosaur Bones:
SO IN THE RUMBLE, IF I ACT LIKE A WRESTLER, MY OPPONENTS WILL RESPOND TO THE RUSE?
Randy Angel:
Oh no, first sign of weakness, they'd murder you.
Almost cheered up, Bones slumps back down on the counter.
Randy Angel:
Speaking of which, I have to use the washroom. Back in a minute.
With that the Randy Angel starts to leave. Bones does feel full of liquid courage, or perhaps that is existential dread? Either way, he should relieve himself.
The washroom.
No sooner does Randy enter, then Bones staggers in after him.
Finding the one stall locked, the XHF announcer kicks it open. Fully clothed, but sitting on the toilet, "Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes is trying to teach himself how to use a cellular phone like the young ones do.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
Occupied!
Randy Angel:
Move it-
Standing on the part of the seat that is still slightly exposed, Randy practically kneels on Stokes, trying to escape through the window.
Dinosaur Bones:
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
Randy Angel:
I've never paid for a Super Sake in my life, and I'm not going to start now.
Though the XHF doesn't encourage folks to skip out on bills, it is hard to go back to paying after years of comps.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
Bonsey, get him off me!
All men entirely too drunk for the bathroom ballet that is about to transpire, Bones tries to help Randy through the window to get him off of Tumbleweed. Only Randy misinterprets this gesture for force, and tries to elbow out, slipping in the process. Dropping his cellular phone in the toilet, Stokes rises in shock.
Both men become hopeless trapped in the ribs of the dracolich.
Randy Angel:
Damn it.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
Stop standing on my knee!
Randy Angel:
If that bartender comes in here, you're paying my tab!
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
Bonsey, if you bite through Randy, we can shove him off.
Dinosaur Bones:
IF I BITE THROUGH HIM, I'LL STOP EXISTING.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
Oh right.
Randy Angel:
In that case, bite through Stokes! He's old, and had a reasonable good life, for a cowboy in the 21st century.
Dinosaur Bones:
PERHAPS IF WILLIAM DUCKS DOWN TO THE LEFT, AND YOU, RANDY, TWIST TO THE RIGHT- WE MIGHT BECOME UNTANGLED.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
No, your other right!
Randy Angel:
I know my left from my right - see - lower case p.
Dinosaur Bones:
WAIT A MINUTE-
The trio stop struggling.
Dinosaur Bones:
DID WE JUST BECOME A DONDOMZANT?
All three men shudder in disgust. Life as food, how sad can it get. There is less human centipede ass play, but this certainly seems like that kind of amoral pretzel.
Randy Angel:
Not a word of this.
"Tumbleweed" Bill Stokes:
This is how folks get cancelled.
Dinosaur Bones (whining):
I JUST WANTED TO LEARN HOW TO WRESTLE!
In the subsequent hours, trying to untangle their DonDomZant, Bones will learn something about wrestling.
Fade to despair.