It's Ok to Just be Ok! Guest starring THE BASTARDS
Jan 7, 2023 12:01:16 GMT -5
Marcus Welsh and Thunder Knuckles like this
Post by Harmony on Jan 7, 2023 12:01:16 GMT -5
We open on a close up of a television screen. One of those old school TV’s mind you, before they became “smart” tools for government surveillance. Anyway, someone out of camera range is clicking through the channels.
Finally the channel settles on a selection. And it just screams late night infomercial. The cheesy picture quality. Half assed costuming. And…The Bastards?
Yes, The Bastards! We are treated to the sight of Crash Rodriguez and The Nickelman squeezed into wrestling singlets. The Nickelman is particularly disturbing. Each of them has one of those cartoonish “hobo bag on a stick” thingies slung over their shoulders.
Boy, I can’t wait until we get to the Easton Alexander School of Abject Mediocrity!
Absolutely, I’m STOKED! When I was told I would never make it into the big leagues of professional wrestling, I thought I was doomed. But when I found out about the Easton School, which specializes in teaching and refining whole scale inferiority, well, I knew I had found my calling. Crash helpfully explains to the audience at home.
It almost makes up for the fact that my children are home worried sick about me and my wife is filing for a divorce. THAT BITCH! The Nickelman growls out of nowhere before plastering on another smile.
With that, the whole image star washes…yes, STAR WASHES, us ahead in time and to an entirely new location…The Easton School.
After the shot transitions, we see Corey Smith walking up to the camera. He’s clearly trying to look like Easton Alexander and passing the test…barely. Behind him are all the trappings of a perfectly cromulent wrestling school. Average in every way.
Hello everyone, and welcome to the Easton Alexander School of Abject Mediocrity. I’m Easton Alexander. Come on, let’s walk and talk. Corey shoots the camera a particularly awkward looking wink as the camera follows him at his side. You might be asking yourself, with so many wrestling schools to choose from, why mine? Well, it’s simple. My school has an entirely different philosophy than most schools. Because here at the Easton school, we think mediocre is pretty ok! Not everyone can be turning heads at the top of the cards. And anybody who comes to the Easton School can expect a perfectly blase curriculum staffed with former glorified curtain jerkers (like yours truly!) who barely give a shit. Come on everybody, I hear two new recruits just showed up. Boy are they in for a substandard time. I can’t wait!
As if on cue, Crash and The Nickelman enter the shot. By now, The Nickelman’s singlet is awash in gross sweat stains. Mother of God.
Hey guys, and welcome to the Easton School!
Crash pulls out a piece of paper. Thank you so much for accepting us Mr. Alexander. I’m honestly kind of surprised I got in.
Oh well don’t be. You were an absolute shoe in. The way you wrote your name clearly and legibly on the application materials blew me away.
The Nickelman turns to Crash. You had to do an application?
Crash, ignoring him, waves the paper around. I just finished reading my schedule. I’m totally psyched for these classes! I’m especially excited about “Bitching About Losing 101” for starters.
The Nickelman looks over at Crash’s schedule. Oh, you’re taking “Tapping Out Like A Champ” too?
Yep, right after “Promos: Putting In A Bare Minimum of Effort”.
Suddenly, another figure enters the shot. It’s Bobby Bourbon! He’s wearing a cheaply made cat mask and has a set of fake boobs thrown over his shoulders so they sit squarely on his chest. He throws an arm over Crash and The Nickelman’s shoulders.
Well hello gentlemen!
Holy shit! Aren’t you Moonlight Rose?
You’re an Easton School legend!
Yep it’s me. I’ve got boobs and everything. Guys, you are in for a real treat. Never before in my life have I experienced a more pressure free environment than this school right here. There is literally no one pushing you to succeed here. No one.
Corey/Easton plays at blushing and bats his eye lashes. Oh Moonlight, you flatter me.
But its true. Bobby/Moonlight looks directly into the camera. Absolutely nobody thinks I can succeed, and that is a remarkably freeing feeling.. In fact, I’ll be shocked shitless if I last ten seconds in the ring with Harmon Egan before hitting the glass ceiling of my absolutely unassailable inadequacy. And folks, that is OK.
And that’s about when Harmon Egan walks into the shot. He seems to be eating a burrito with one hand, when, as an afterthought, he pulls out a sign with his free hand that reads “BOO!” All four of the others look like they just shit a brick.
Oh fuck! It’s Harmon Egan!
Corey/Easton immediately drops onto his back.
Dude, what are you doing?
Corey/Easton, looking embarrassed, picks himself up off the floor and dusts himself off. Sorry, my instincts just kicked in. But hey, this is a perfect opportunity for you guys to practice against some real talent!
Following another star wash, we again race forward in time. This time, we see Bobby/Moonlight in the ring with Harmon. Just outside the ring is a line of abject losers who look like they have absolutely no place in a wrestling ring. Moonlight throws an ineffectual looking punch at Harmon. Harmon simply ducks under the swing and rolls him up. A referee helpfully bounds in and makes a crushingly slow three count.
The camera pans out to ringside with Corey/Easton, Crash, and The Nickelman. Somehow, The Nickelman looks even sweatier than he did before. I don’t know how this is possible.
And just remember everyone, here at the Easton School we ascribe to one motto and one motto only.
Crash, The Nickelman, and Corey/Easton all call out in unison.
MODERATE YOUR EXPECTATIONS!
They all throw the camera a gleefully awkward thumbs up before someone calls “cut” from off screen. The image quality transitions from cheesy infomercial to standard OCW fare. Which isn’t that great a leap, but its still passably noticeable.
Corey is removing his Easton Alexander makeup and he goes to high five The Nickelman. Great job, guys.
The Nickelman just looks at Corey’s hand and then immediately turns to Crash. You think this’ll make Easton cry?
Oh Christ I hope so.
Corey, who has been left hanging, slowly puts his hand down. Crash turns to the ring and calls out to Harmon.
Hey man, what was the deal with not letting me be the ref for the match?
Harmon steps up to the ropes, looking like he wants to answer, when Corey interjects.
Dude, we’ve been over this. This chick Harmon’s facing has been claiming he’s ducking her. How would that have looked when, when they finally get a match, one of his bros is the guest referee?
Crash considers Corey for a moment. Corey, who even asked you? I was talking to Harmon.
Yes, and Harmon is oh so capable of replying to you in kind.
Seeing the situation start to escalate Harmon rolls out of the ring and gets between Crash and Corey. With a pleading look in his eyes, he looks back and forth between them.
Bobby, who is now upright and looking on, intones, Oh who could withstand those puppy dog eyes.
Harmon shoots Bobby a middle finger without even looking at him. Bobby chuckles and heads out of the ring to go get cleaned up.
Alright, alright. I guess we don’t need to come to blows this time. But Corey, you need to let Harmon handle his own shit. And stop bogarting all the time with him. I’ve been keeping score. The Nickelman points at his wrist as though a watch is there. He lightly slaps Crash on the shoulder. Come on man, lets go.
Crash, still looking like he has some lingering resentment for Corey, reluctantly turns and leaves as well. Corey and Harmon remain.
Look man, you made the right choice not letting Crash guest ref. It would have made you look like shit.
Harmon nods, though he still seems a bit troubled. Corey claps him on the back as the shot ends.
Does this look like running?
I mean, that’s what you were accusing me of doing for weeks, right? Ducking you?
You know, the first time I told Corey what you said he snorted milk shake straight up out his nose and, and I swear to God this is not an exaggeration, I thought he may actually die laughing. Seriously, that MF’er couldn’t breathe.
I digress.
Does this look like running? Me, offering you the match you wanted without being prodded or cajoled. Right after I just defended the Craze Championship against a member of the Hall of Fame, no less.
I’m right here, Moonlight. I’ve BEEN right here. Waiting for this day. This moment. Waiting for when I could ball up all that horseshit you’ve been spewing and force feed it down the mediocrity hole you call a mouth. And why the wait? Well, simply put, I had to take care of some business with people who actually earned title shots. And as much as I’ve been looking forward to this, I wasn’t about to let your bony knock kneed self cut the queue. You dig?
And do you know what I find absolutely idiotic about all this? That you’re trying to make your mark here against the guy who dunked on the man who taught you everything you know. Yeah, in case you’ve forgotten, I beat Easton. Your mentor. In fact, I beat him so bad he took a “career hiatus” afterwards.
But now here you are, looking to…what? Avenge him? With what tools, honey? Because the only knowledge Easton imparted to you was how to lose to me. Unless we’re looking at some serious “student surpassing the master” shit, which I highly doubt given the tape I’ve seen on you. The outcome for you will be exactly the same as it was for him.
You’ve got the stink of Easton’s incompetence all over you Rose. Case in point? You marketing all 100 soaking wet pounds of you as a “strong style” high flyer. I’m sorry…strong style?
STRONG STYLE?
You try to lariat Bifford with one of those wiry chicken arms and you’re fixing to lose the limb. In fact, you can try to go strong style on me. Please do. I’m positively BEGGING for it. Because even my 175 pound frame is going absolutely nowhere when you try your striking game on me. I’ll shrug you off like so many gnats and synch you in a hold that’ll make you lose bladder control faster than you can say “educational refund.”
Strong style my ass.
But hey girl, shoot your shot. Maybe you’ll even give Easton a few fleeting seconds of pride before I bring you back down to Earth and rub your face right in your complete lack of readiness.
And to the bookers in the back? I’m growing weary of the Moonlight Rose’s of the world. I see you got me booked against Synn already at the next pay per view too.
Who gives a shit!
Corey has been telling you all for weeks that I’m main event caliber. So start feeding me main event caliber challenges or else I may start shopping around for promotions that are less mind numbingly boring to me. You dig?
Call it ego. Call it bravado. Call it what you wish. But when you’re sitting at 12 and 0 and still getting fed Easton school rejects, well, it makes a guy a bit….”antsy”. You can remedy that.
Oh and Easton, anytime you’re ready for another “hiatus”? Pretty sure you got my digits. Just say the word and I’ll ship you off to retirement island for good.
Pour juice on your jimmies!
*click*
…normal incontinence related to old age…
*click*
Bow-chika-wow-wow!
…
…
…
*click*
Yes, The Bastards! We are treated to the sight of Crash Rodriguez and The Nickelman squeezed into wrestling singlets. The Nickelman is particularly disturbing. Each of them has one of those cartoonish “hobo bag on a stick” thingies slung over their shoulders.
Boy, I can’t wait until we get to the Easton Alexander School of Abject Mediocrity!
Absolutely, I’m STOKED! When I was told I would never make it into the big leagues of professional wrestling, I thought I was doomed. But when I found out about the Easton School, which specializes in teaching and refining whole scale inferiority, well, I knew I had found my calling. Crash helpfully explains to the audience at home.
It almost makes up for the fact that my children are home worried sick about me and my wife is filing for a divorce. THAT BITCH! The Nickelman growls out of nowhere before plastering on another smile.
With that, the whole image star washes…yes, STAR WASHES, us ahead in time and to an entirely new location…The Easton School.
After the shot transitions, we see Corey Smith walking up to the camera. He’s clearly trying to look like Easton Alexander and passing the test…barely. Behind him are all the trappings of a perfectly cromulent wrestling school. Average in every way.
Hello everyone, and welcome to the Easton Alexander School of Abject Mediocrity. I’m Easton Alexander. Come on, let’s walk and talk. Corey shoots the camera a particularly awkward looking wink as the camera follows him at his side. You might be asking yourself, with so many wrestling schools to choose from, why mine? Well, it’s simple. My school has an entirely different philosophy than most schools. Because here at the Easton school, we think mediocre is pretty ok! Not everyone can be turning heads at the top of the cards. And anybody who comes to the Easton School can expect a perfectly blase curriculum staffed with former glorified curtain jerkers (like yours truly!) who barely give a shit. Come on everybody, I hear two new recruits just showed up. Boy are they in for a substandard time. I can’t wait!
As if on cue, Crash and The Nickelman enter the shot. By now, The Nickelman’s singlet is awash in gross sweat stains. Mother of God.
Hey guys, and welcome to the Easton School!
Crash pulls out a piece of paper. Thank you so much for accepting us Mr. Alexander. I’m honestly kind of surprised I got in.
Oh well don’t be. You were an absolute shoe in. The way you wrote your name clearly and legibly on the application materials blew me away.
The Nickelman turns to Crash. You had to do an application?
Crash, ignoring him, waves the paper around. I just finished reading my schedule. I’m totally psyched for these classes! I’m especially excited about “Bitching About Losing 101” for starters.
The Nickelman looks over at Crash’s schedule. Oh, you’re taking “Tapping Out Like A Champ” too?
Yep, right after “Promos: Putting In A Bare Minimum of Effort”.
Suddenly, another figure enters the shot. It’s Bobby Bourbon! He’s wearing a cheaply made cat mask and has a set of fake boobs thrown over his shoulders so they sit squarely on his chest. He throws an arm over Crash and The Nickelman’s shoulders.
Well hello gentlemen!
Holy shit! Aren’t you Moonlight Rose?
You’re an Easton School legend!
Yep it’s me. I’ve got boobs and everything. Guys, you are in for a real treat. Never before in my life have I experienced a more pressure free environment than this school right here. There is literally no one pushing you to succeed here. No one.
Corey/Easton plays at blushing and bats his eye lashes. Oh Moonlight, you flatter me.
But its true. Bobby/Moonlight looks directly into the camera. Absolutely nobody thinks I can succeed, and that is a remarkably freeing feeling.. In fact, I’ll be shocked shitless if I last ten seconds in the ring with Harmon Egan before hitting the glass ceiling of my absolutely unassailable inadequacy. And folks, that is OK.
And that’s about when Harmon Egan walks into the shot. He seems to be eating a burrito with one hand, when, as an afterthought, he pulls out a sign with his free hand that reads “BOO!” All four of the others look like they just shit a brick.
Oh fuck! It’s Harmon Egan!
Corey/Easton immediately drops onto his back.
Dude, what are you doing?
Corey/Easton, looking embarrassed, picks himself up off the floor and dusts himself off. Sorry, my instincts just kicked in. But hey, this is a perfect opportunity for you guys to practice against some real talent!
Following another star wash, we again race forward in time. This time, we see Bobby/Moonlight in the ring with Harmon. Just outside the ring is a line of abject losers who look like they have absolutely no place in a wrestling ring. Moonlight throws an ineffectual looking punch at Harmon. Harmon simply ducks under the swing and rolls him up. A referee helpfully bounds in and makes a crushingly slow three count.
The camera pans out to ringside with Corey/Easton, Crash, and The Nickelman. Somehow, The Nickelman looks even sweatier than he did before. I don’t know how this is possible.
And just remember everyone, here at the Easton School we ascribe to one motto and one motto only.
Crash, The Nickelman, and Corey/Easton all call out in unison.
MODERATE YOUR EXPECTATIONS!
They all throw the camera a gleefully awkward thumbs up before someone calls “cut” from off screen. The image quality transitions from cheesy infomercial to standard OCW fare. Which isn’t that great a leap, but its still passably noticeable.
Corey is removing his Easton Alexander makeup and he goes to high five The Nickelman. Great job, guys.
The Nickelman just looks at Corey’s hand and then immediately turns to Crash. You think this’ll make Easton cry?
Oh Christ I hope so.
Corey, who has been left hanging, slowly puts his hand down. Crash turns to the ring and calls out to Harmon.
Hey man, what was the deal with not letting me be the ref for the match?
Harmon steps up to the ropes, looking like he wants to answer, when Corey interjects.
Dude, we’ve been over this. This chick Harmon’s facing has been claiming he’s ducking her. How would that have looked when, when they finally get a match, one of his bros is the guest referee?
Crash considers Corey for a moment. Corey, who even asked you? I was talking to Harmon.
Yes, and Harmon is oh so capable of replying to you in kind.
Seeing the situation start to escalate Harmon rolls out of the ring and gets between Crash and Corey. With a pleading look in his eyes, he looks back and forth between them.
Bobby, who is now upright and looking on, intones, Oh who could withstand those puppy dog eyes.
Harmon shoots Bobby a middle finger without even looking at him. Bobby chuckles and heads out of the ring to go get cleaned up.
Alright, alright. I guess we don’t need to come to blows this time. But Corey, you need to let Harmon handle his own shit. And stop bogarting all the time with him. I’ve been keeping score. The Nickelman points at his wrist as though a watch is there. He lightly slaps Crash on the shoulder. Come on man, lets go.
Crash, still looking like he has some lingering resentment for Corey, reluctantly turns and leaves as well. Corey and Harmon remain.
Look man, you made the right choice not letting Crash guest ref. It would have made you look like shit.
Harmon nods, though he still seems a bit troubled. Corey claps him on the back as the shot ends.
Harmon’s Journal: Entry 15
Does this look like running?
I mean, that’s what you were accusing me of doing for weeks, right? Ducking you?
You know, the first time I told Corey what you said he snorted milk shake straight up out his nose and, and I swear to God this is not an exaggeration, I thought he may actually die laughing. Seriously, that MF’er couldn’t breathe.
I digress.
Does this look like running? Me, offering you the match you wanted without being prodded or cajoled. Right after I just defended the Craze Championship against a member of the Hall of Fame, no less.
I’m right here, Moonlight. I’ve BEEN right here. Waiting for this day. This moment. Waiting for when I could ball up all that horseshit you’ve been spewing and force feed it down the mediocrity hole you call a mouth. And why the wait? Well, simply put, I had to take care of some business with people who actually earned title shots. And as much as I’ve been looking forward to this, I wasn’t about to let your bony knock kneed self cut the queue. You dig?
And do you know what I find absolutely idiotic about all this? That you’re trying to make your mark here against the guy who dunked on the man who taught you everything you know. Yeah, in case you’ve forgotten, I beat Easton. Your mentor. In fact, I beat him so bad he took a “career hiatus” afterwards.
But now here you are, looking to…what? Avenge him? With what tools, honey? Because the only knowledge Easton imparted to you was how to lose to me. Unless we’re looking at some serious “student surpassing the master” shit, which I highly doubt given the tape I’ve seen on you. The outcome for you will be exactly the same as it was for him.
You’ve got the stink of Easton’s incompetence all over you Rose. Case in point? You marketing all 100 soaking wet pounds of you as a “strong style” high flyer. I’m sorry…strong style?
STRONG STYLE?
You try to lariat Bifford with one of those wiry chicken arms and you’re fixing to lose the limb. In fact, you can try to go strong style on me. Please do. I’m positively BEGGING for it. Because even my 175 pound frame is going absolutely nowhere when you try your striking game on me. I’ll shrug you off like so many gnats and synch you in a hold that’ll make you lose bladder control faster than you can say “educational refund.”
Strong style my ass.
But hey girl, shoot your shot. Maybe you’ll even give Easton a few fleeting seconds of pride before I bring you back down to Earth and rub your face right in your complete lack of readiness.
And to the bookers in the back? I’m growing weary of the Moonlight Rose’s of the world. I see you got me booked against Synn already at the next pay per view too.
Who gives a shit!
Corey has been telling you all for weeks that I’m main event caliber. So start feeding me main event caliber challenges or else I may start shopping around for promotions that are less mind numbingly boring to me. You dig?
Call it ego. Call it bravado. Call it what you wish. But when you’re sitting at 12 and 0 and still getting fed Easton school rejects, well, it makes a guy a bit….”antsy”. You can remedy that.
Oh and Easton, anytime you’re ready for another “hiatus”? Pretty sure you got my digits. Just say the word and I’ll ship you off to retirement island for good.