Post by codemana on Oct 21, 2015 20:20:56 GMT -5
Pretty Boy Troy’s boxing gym had fallen on hard times. They were on the verge of declaring bankruptcy until the first world champion they’d so much as heard wind of in nigh on a decade stepped into their office and asked for a few hours of gym time. He didn’t look much like any champ they’d seen before, or smelled like for that matter, but his cash was green so they opened the doors to this half toothed scrapper from way down the block. It seemed like a blessing sent straight from the all mighty, this angel in second hand clothing come to leverage their business for at least another couple of weeks. That was until they realized this was less of a sparring session and more of a…how to put it? Production.
Camera focuses on the center of a well worn but still sturdy old pugilist’s ring. Standing point is Reno, flanked by the eponymous Pretty Boy who’s certainly seen better days. His look is that of pure confusion covered up with a forced aura of geniality. Reno wrings his hands maniacally for a few seconds before addressing his audience.
Reno: Good day fellow Revolutionaries. And welcome to another of those tried and true training segments. Fear not though. I shan’t be displaying anymore of my personal athletic wonder. This is the intro…no reintroduction of what you all couldn’t have expected was a very dangerous man.
Old man Troy claps his hands to break the sinister air in the room and beams as best he can to the camera.
Troy: That’s right! And you at home can forge your own transformation any day of the week here at Pretty Boy’s Boxing, home of the…
Reno snaps his head towards Troy quick as a cobra.
Reno: I told you there will be time for plugs at the end! Now go see that the sparring partners are ready. Or just work a side of beef for a while. Whatever gets you out of my rented ring.
Troy stares back for a bit, then defeatedly walks to the edge of the ring and gingerly steps through the ropes.
Troy: Still don’t feel right about this.
Mustang throws his attention back to the camera.
Reno: Well thank Jehovah’s lucky star we don’t pay you to feel. Now let’s take a look at the before picture so we can really appreciate the effect of this training.
He waves to his right off camera.
Reno: Come on out killer, and address your public.
From off camera waltzes Bellagio in a navy blue sweat suit and a matching beanie looking very uneasy but nevertheless lets off a few weak shadow punches once entering the ring. He steps to Reno’s side, and his boss throws an arm around his shoulder.
Reno: Of course you all know my associate by now. But you’ve never really seen him in action, mostly because there’s been no reason to. However his ire has reached a fever pitch over an associate of my esteemed opponent, namely his unruly shots at my character. So let the gauntlet be thrown. The floor is yours Mr. B.
Bellagio continues to stare dumbfounded into the lens until Reno pokes him stiffly in the side.
Bellagio: Oh, yeah.
He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a ratty scrap of paper, holding it close to his face so he can make out the chicken scratch.
Bellagio: I Mr. Bartholomew “Beefcake” Bellagio do hereby issue a challenge to one Mr. Big…Biggy? Am i taking on a deadman? I can’t make all this out.
Reno snatches the paper from his hand and shoves him aside in annoyance.
Reno: Fine! What my penmanship lacks, my forked tongue will overcome!
Mustang points his stiffest finger at the camera.
Reno: Bellagio! Big Norm! Loser leaves town! Barb wire roped! Hayride match! Right down the strip!
Bellagio: Only in America!
Reno: An open ended invitation to mayhem. Now we can see if your diminutive ass can cash all the checks your fat mouth has been writing. Which brings me back to the matter at hand. As many may well have suspected, the beefcake here hasn’t been “active” since the last time he had to tuck and roll out of a cab he couldn’t afford.
Bellagio: Or that time i had to climb out of the white tiger enclosure you pushed me into.
Reno: So what better way to get him back in the proverbial saddle than a few rounds of bare knuckle carnage? And to make the warm up specific to his task at hand i’ve collected the closest fill ins for Big Norm i could find.
The Champ motions to off camera once again.
Reno: Troy if you’d be so kind. Release the opponents.
He continues to stare into the lens with his arm outstretched towards the locker room, but to no avail. After a few moments he takes off out of the ring to see what the hell is keeping them. The camera following. Once reaching the changing area he rips open the door and we find Pretty Boy on one knee surrounded by elementary aged asian school girls dressed in their uniforms, all looking very distressed. Troy tries to console the bawling one next to him with a few light pats on the shoulder.
Troy: There, there. You don’t have to fight anyone you don’t want to. I’ll give your mothers a call right away to pick you up.
Reno: The hell you will! It’s combat time. They signed a damn contract.
Reno pulls a piece of notebook paper out of his pocket with a crude mess of red crayon writing on it.
Troy: I told you this wasn’t right. Take your money back. I don’t give a shit anymore. These girls aren’t doing anything but being delivered safely back to their families.
Reno: Fine! But i’ll not have this day wasted. Bellagio!
Bellagio: Yessir?
Reno: Go outside and throw down on whatever kid you can find. Preferably one with some fight left in him, unlike these waamburgers who’ve suddenly got cold feet.
Bellagio: Gotcha!
Beefcake hustles as quick as he can out the front door of the gym, his hands raised high.
Bellagio: Here comes the pain baby! Here comes the pain!
Camera focuses on the center of a well worn but still sturdy old pugilist’s ring. Standing point is Reno, flanked by the eponymous Pretty Boy who’s certainly seen better days. His look is that of pure confusion covered up with a forced aura of geniality. Reno wrings his hands maniacally for a few seconds before addressing his audience.
Reno: Good day fellow Revolutionaries. And welcome to another of those tried and true training segments. Fear not though. I shan’t be displaying anymore of my personal athletic wonder. This is the intro…no reintroduction of what you all couldn’t have expected was a very dangerous man.
Old man Troy claps his hands to break the sinister air in the room and beams as best he can to the camera.
Troy: That’s right! And you at home can forge your own transformation any day of the week here at Pretty Boy’s Boxing, home of the…
Reno snaps his head towards Troy quick as a cobra.
Reno: I told you there will be time for plugs at the end! Now go see that the sparring partners are ready. Or just work a side of beef for a while. Whatever gets you out of my rented ring.
Troy stares back for a bit, then defeatedly walks to the edge of the ring and gingerly steps through the ropes.
Troy: Still don’t feel right about this.
Mustang throws his attention back to the camera.
Reno: Well thank Jehovah’s lucky star we don’t pay you to feel. Now let’s take a look at the before picture so we can really appreciate the effect of this training.
He waves to his right off camera.
Reno: Come on out killer, and address your public.
From off camera waltzes Bellagio in a navy blue sweat suit and a matching beanie looking very uneasy but nevertheless lets off a few weak shadow punches once entering the ring. He steps to Reno’s side, and his boss throws an arm around his shoulder.
Reno: Of course you all know my associate by now. But you’ve never really seen him in action, mostly because there’s been no reason to. However his ire has reached a fever pitch over an associate of my esteemed opponent, namely his unruly shots at my character. So let the gauntlet be thrown. The floor is yours Mr. B.
Bellagio continues to stare dumbfounded into the lens until Reno pokes him stiffly in the side.
Bellagio: Oh, yeah.
He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a ratty scrap of paper, holding it close to his face so he can make out the chicken scratch.
Bellagio: I Mr. Bartholomew “Beefcake” Bellagio do hereby issue a challenge to one Mr. Big…Biggy? Am i taking on a deadman? I can’t make all this out.
Reno snatches the paper from his hand and shoves him aside in annoyance.
Reno: Fine! What my penmanship lacks, my forked tongue will overcome!
Mustang points his stiffest finger at the camera.
Reno: Bellagio! Big Norm! Loser leaves town! Barb wire roped! Hayride match! Right down the strip!
Bellagio: Only in America!
Reno: An open ended invitation to mayhem. Now we can see if your diminutive ass can cash all the checks your fat mouth has been writing. Which brings me back to the matter at hand. As many may well have suspected, the beefcake here hasn’t been “active” since the last time he had to tuck and roll out of a cab he couldn’t afford.
Bellagio: Or that time i had to climb out of the white tiger enclosure you pushed me into.
Reno: So what better way to get him back in the proverbial saddle than a few rounds of bare knuckle carnage? And to make the warm up specific to his task at hand i’ve collected the closest fill ins for Big Norm i could find.
The Champ motions to off camera once again.
Reno: Troy if you’d be so kind. Release the opponents.
He continues to stare into the lens with his arm outstretched towards the locker room, but to no avail. After a few moments he takes off out of the ring to see what the hell is keeping them. The camera following. Once reaching the changing area he rips open the door and we find Pretty Boy on one knee surrounded by elementary aged asian school girls dressed in their uniforms, all looking very distressed. Troy tries to console the bawling one next to him with a few light pats on the shoulder.
Troy: There, there. You don’t have to fight anyone you don’t want to. I’ll give your mothers a call right away to pick you up.
Reno: The hell you will! It’s combat time. They signed a damn contract.
Reno pulls a piece of notebook paper out of his pocket with a crude mess of red crayon writing on it.
Troy: I told you this wasn’t right. Take your money back. I don’t give a shit anymore. These girls aren’t doing anything but being delivered safely back to their families.
Reno: Fine! But i’ll not have this day wasted. Bellagio!
Bellagio: Yessir?
Reno: Go outside and throw down on whatever kid you can find. Preferably one with some fight left in him, unlike these waamburgers who’ve suddenly got cold feet.
Bellagio: Gotcha!
Beefcake hustles as quick as he can out the front door of the gym, his hands raised high.
Bellagio: Here comes the pain baby! Here comes the pain!