Post by codemana on Sept 21, 2015 15:59:16 GMT -5
Inside a dilapidated laundromat on the outskirts of North Vegas. The lights outside are all off, as are the ones inside. All that shines are a few flickering candles that have been set up on various machines, none of which match. There’s a tall jarred jasmine, a small white flavorless one from a survival pack and everything in between. Pacing across the floor is Reno Mustang dressed in a light blue tuxedo complete with off white ruffles and a bow tie. He bites on a fingernail as he paces. His only associate is a bearded derelict with faded jacket and pants and a tuxedo t shirt underneath who goes by the handle of Mr. Bellagio. Bellagio keeps futzing with things on the chairs we can’t quite make out yet. Reno breaks his biting and turns toward him.
Reno: Christ! Are the guests ready yet or not?
Bellagio: One more minute. I want to make sure they’ve all got a good view of the podium.
Reno: Normally i appreciate your attention to detail but this anticipation is maddening. I can already feel the star power i gleaned from that gem at the gypsy store leaving my body.
Bellagio: Ok. That looks about right. You said serving drinks at the intermission right?
Reno reaches into his breast pocket to check an old sterling silver chained watch with no face on it.
Reno: No, i’m afraid there will be no intermission. The prep has taken up too much time. Our guests of honor will have to go dry.
Bellagio: That’s too bad.
Bellagio holds up a milk jug that’s been filled with a murky purple substance.
Bellagio: I spent all day making this toilet wine.
Reno: We’ll have cocktails once the show is through. Your efforts will not go to waste old friend.
Bellagio: Gee thanks.
Reno: Now, i need you to get in behind-camera mode and ready the intro.
Bellagio: Gotcha. One second.
Bellagio heads over to a machine across the way from the makeshift dais he’s created with old folding chairs. On top of each we can just make out small figures. He reaches on top of the adjacent machine and grabs a piece of pink poster board and a kazoo. Reno moves to the far end of the room next to the vending machine and straightens his bow tie. He looks to Bellagio with great import and counts out a silent three, two, one with his fingers. Bellagio leaps into action and holds the poster board in front of where an audience would be.
Bellagio: Welcome ladies and germs to the first annual Dean Mustang roast of the UWR superstars.
The revealed poster board reads (in glitter) exactly what Bellagio has just announced to the audience of zero. He then dances the sign around and plays some fanfare on the kazoo. Reno flicks on a pair of flash lights lying on one of the folding tables next to him. One hits the podium he’s set up in front of the dais. The other directly on the dais where we see a hodgepodge of dolls and action figures. On their faces have been taped printed out images of 3rd Kind, Buddy Love, Kristof, The Pimps of Wrestling, and Brody Gates. He then makes a less than smooth slide in front of the podium holding up two peace signs.
Reno: Thank you. Thank you. And welcome all. This night is about you. And me to some degree. But mostly you and the charity of your choosing.
Bellagio: Woo! Go cat diabetes!
Reno: Quiet now. (clears throat) As i was saying. What an stupendous evening. Just look who we have here. 3rd Kind. Wrestling’s answer to the second X-files movie.
Silence.
Reno: And the once and former champ Buddy Love as well. Buddy what can we say about you that hasn’t already been scrawled on a bathroom wall at Señor Frog’s?
Bellagio: (whispering) Worked better in rehearsal.
Reno: Not without their charms are the pimps of wrestling. An odd couple so astounding i can’t even remember who Jack Klugman was. Am i right folks?
A cricket kills itself.
Reno is now visibly dumping flop sweat through his tux. He adjusts his bow tie to try to relieve some of the anxiety.
Reno: And moving just further down the line is the guy with all the money…um…Brody something or other. What an asshole. Why not break some of that bread off for the rest of us pigeons, if you feel me.
Bellagio: Booo! I want my money back.
Reno: There is no money fool i’m paying you in harmonica lessons remember?
Bellagio gets up from his seat obviously perturbed. He wipes his hands in an “I’m done with this” gesture and heads out the front door of the laundromat. Reno rips up the remainder of his notes and throws them on the floor. He then stomps on them a few times, and turns to the dais.
Reno: You’re all dead now! I was trying to generate some friendly competition out of this night, let some of the steam off our inevitable battle, but no, you all had to get high and mighty on me. Now i’m really going to get mean.
He rips open his tux and sends the shreds of cheap fabric flying, revealing his thinly toned chest that has several large scars on it.
Reno: This Saturday just got a whole lot uglier. You’ve left me no choice to get double down ruthless on all of you. Just wait. It’s gloves off time and i don’t even wear gloves to begin with.
Reno rushes out of the laundromat but not before snagging Bellagio’s kazoo that he left behind. He puts it to his mouth as he reaches the parking lot and begins playing a terrible rendition of Ride of the Valkyries. A figure we recognize as Bellagio lurches from his stooping point at the neighboring curb and flees in terror, dropping his jug of vino onto the pavement. Mustang’s figure disappears into the middle distance. The one mouth orchestra fades into memory.
Reno: Christ! Are the guests ready yet or not?
Bellagio: One more minute. I want to make sure they’ve all got a good view of the podium.
Reno: Normally i appreciate your attention to detail but this anticipation is maddening. I can already feel the star power i gleaned from that gem at the gypsy store leaving my body.
Bellagio: Ok. That looks about right. You said serving drinks at the intermission right?
Reno reaches into his breast pocket to check an old sterling silver chained watch with no face on it.
Reno: No, i’m afraid there will be no intermission. The prep has taken up too much time. Our guests of honor will have to go dry.
Bellagio: That’s too bad.
Bellagio holds up a milk jug that’s been filled with a murky purple substance.
Bellagio: I spent all day making this toilet wine.
Reno: We’ll have cocktails once the show is through. Your efforts will not go to waste old friend.
Bellagio: Gee thanks.
Reno: Now, i need you to get in behind-camera mode and ready the intro.
Bellagio: Gotcha. One second.
Bellagio heads over to a machine across the way from the makeshift dais he’s created with old folding chairs. On top of each we can just make out small figures. He reaches on top of the adjacent machine and grabs a piece of pink poster board and a kazoo. Reno moves to the far end of the room next to the vending machine and straightens his bow tie. He looks to Bellagio with great import and counts out a silent three, two, one with his fingers. Bellagio leaps into action and holds the poster board in front of where an audience would be.
Bellagio: Welcome ladies and germs to the first annual Dean Mustang roast of the UWR superstars.
The revealed poster board reads (in glitter) exactly what Bellagio has just announced to the audience of zero. He then dances the sign around and plays some fanfare on the kazoo. Reno flicks on a pair of flash lights lying on one of the folding tables next to him. One hits the podium he’s set up in front of the dais. The other directly on the dais where we see a hodgepodge of dolls and action figures. On their faces have been taped printed out images of 3rd Kind, Buddy Love, Kristof, The Pimps of Wrestling, and Brody Gates. He then makes a less than smooth slide in front of the podium holding up two peace signs.
Reno: Thank you. Thank you. And welcome all. This night is about you. And me to some degree. But mostly you and the charity of your choosing.
Bellagio: Woo! Go cat diabetes!
Reno: Quiet now. (clears throat) As i was saying. What an stupendous evening. Just look who we have here. 3rd Kind. Wrestling’s answer to the second X-files movie.
Silence.
Reno: And the once and former champ Buddy Love as well. Buddy what can we say about you that hasn’t already been scrawled on a bathroom wall at Señor Frog’s?
Bellagio: (whispering) Worked better in rehearsal.
Reno: Not without their charms are the pimps of wrestling. An odd couple so astounding i can’t even remember who Jack Klugman was. Am i right folks?
A cricket kills itself.
Reno is now visibly dumping flop sweat through his tux. He adjusts his bow tie to try to relieve some of the anxiety.
Reno: And moving just further down the line is the guy with all the money…um…Brody something or other. What an asshole. Why not break some of that bread off for the rest of us pigeons, if you feel me.
Bellagio: Booo! I want my money back.
Reno: There is no money fool i’m paying you in harmonica lessons remember?
Bellagio gets up from his seat obviously perturbed. He wipes his hands in an “I’m done with this” gesture and heads out the front door of the laundromat. Reno rips up the remainder of his notes and throws them on the floor. He then stomps on them a few times, and turns to the dais.
Reno: You’re all dead now! I was trying to generate some friendly competition out of this night, let some of the steam off our inevitable battle, but no, you all had to get high and mighty on me. Now i’m really going to get mean.
He rips open his tux and sends the shreds of cheap fabric flying, revealing his thinly toned chest that has several large scars on it.
Reno: This Saturday just got a whole lot uglier. You’ve left me no choice to get double down ruthless on all of you. Just wait. It’s gloves off time and i don’t even wear gloves to begin with.
Reno rushes out of the laundromat but not before snagging Bellagio’s kazoo that he left behind. He puts it to his mouth as he reaches the parking lot and begins playing a terrible rendition of Ride of the Valkyries. A figure we recognize as Bellagio lurches from his stooping point at the neighboring curb and flees in terror, dropping his jug of vino onto the pavement. Mustang’s figure disappears into the middle distance. The one mouth orchestra fades into memory.