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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Anarchy Special" RP Board
"Loverboy" - Going to Jackson
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Vincent Lane Offline
Rock n' Rolling XWF Owner and Megastar
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#1
04-22-2015, 04:06 PM Heart  "Loverboy" - Going to Jackson -->



“There you go, little dude…”

The visage of “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane is front and center, his arms extended forward to either side of the point of view, which is oddly fish-eyed due to how close he is to the camera lens of the cambot.

“That’s the last of ‘em, man… let’s take a look at you.”

The camera pans right, turning away from Loverboy and passing over yellow tiled walls and a dirty floor with crumpled brown paper towels strewn about. An ‘Employees Must Wash Hands’ sign hangs on a door, covered with illegible graffiti.

Finally, the cambot rotates all the way and faces an oxidized and equally vandalized bathroom mirror. The cambot is on camera for perhaps its first time ever, and is newly adorned with several bright pink heart stickers.

“You look damn good, cammy. Almost as good as me! Ha ha, just kidding. Look at me, dude.”

Loverboy poses in the mirror, making kissy faces and turning his butt to the mirror, still wearing the stars and stripes zubaz pants from the doctor’s visit earlier. Lifting his aviator shades over his pink bandanna, Loverboy flutters his eyelashes and widens his sky-blue eyes.

“Quick, cambot… take a selfie of us.”

Beep. Beep.

A camera noise clicks and whirs, and Loverboy moves to the rear viewfinder of the bot to look at the result.

“Perfect, dude! Now upload that bad boy to my IG! That one is BEGGING to be ‘grammed!”

Beep. Beep.

WONK.

“What the fuck?”

Loverboy checks the viewfinder again, trying to understand the odd error sound and red indicator light flashing on the bot’s side. He grabs the floating orb and brings it closer to his eye, nearly pulling himself out of focus in the mirror.

“Error… no internet connection? Are you fucking kidding me? We get no bars in this Christless shithole?”

Loverboy spins the bot back around facing him, then presses the autopilot button and exits the washroom. The cambot’s rotors hum as it follows him, floating at shoulder level and capturing all of his rock n’ roll megastar glory for posterity.

“Un-fucking-believable… if we were in California, every dirty gas station and sugar shack in town would at LEAST have wifi… out here in god damn BFE I have to upload my promo later. Awesome. Fucking awesome. I was about to really let loose on Muddy Waters too, now my head’s all discombobulated.”

Loverboy continues muttering to himself as he walks through a heavily congested area filled with knick-knacks and various car and truck related items. As he heads around a corner, he passes a gigantic, neon ‘Flying J’ sign on a wall.

“Where the hell is that farmer’s-tanned hillbilly… he needs to get me somewhere with some god damn internet access… Jim? JIM?”

Loverboy continues calling for his travelling companion, the tough-as-nails REBEL, as he walks through the deli area of the truck stop. Finally, he snaps his head to the left when he hears a booming voice.

“You fucking cum-sucking gook !”

“Oh, shit… I think I found him…”

Loverboy speeds up to a run, heading off in the direction of the deep, shouting voice. The cambot spins on its axis and follows, capturing the scene unfolding at the cash registers.

There, as Loverboy hurries up to them, stands the 6’6” REBEL with his muscular arms stretched high out in front of him. Dangling by his collar in the angry redneck’s grip is a thin Asian cashier, trembling, but otherwise frozen in fear.

“You listen here you god damn zipperhead, I done bought six hundred dollars in god damn overpriced diesel fuel not ten minutes ago, and you got the fuckin’ nerve to try and charge me ten dollars for a god damn shower? This ain’t some ‘me so horny’ massage parlor you fuckin’ slant-eyed pussy, here in America the customer is always right and he gets what he god damn pays for… now you ring me up a shower on the house before I make you wish you’d ‘a been run down in Tiananmen Square!”

Loverboy gets to the scene just as REBEL rears back one of his canned-ham sized fists, and leaps onto the big man’s arm. The cashier is dropped as REBEL turns around quickly and swats Loverboy aside like a fly, knocking him into a rack of candy bars.

The megastar gets to his feet quickly, despite slipping on a pile of dislocated Snickers, but isn’t fast enough to stop the fuming REBEL from grabbing him by the throat.

“Let me tell you somethin’, you bright pink pussy… you put your hands on ol’ Reb again and I’ll stuff that shiny championship belt o’ yours so far up your ass that Muddy Waters’ll have to wear you around his waist after he kicks the shit outta you on Madness, y’hear?”

Loverboy strains against the strong arm, but can’t break free. Eventually, though, REBEL lets go to turn his attention to the group of brawny Flying J employees gathering around him, trying to corral him out of the store.

“You gonna have to fight both me and my little blonde bitch here to get me outta this motherfucker without getting’ my god damn shower. I’ll walk right up to your Muslim fuckin’ general manager and blow his ass back to Al-Qaeda with the double barrel I got back in my rig, you dune coon lovin’ sons ‘a bitches. Vinnie, you take care of the little one, I got the rest of these pole smokers.”

Loverboy, still rubbing his throat, which bears a deep red hue from the stranglehold REBEL had him in moments before, looks back and forth at the four large men surrounding the two of them.

“The… little one? Which one’s the little one?”

“Oh for fuck’s sakes, you pussy. Just go back to the truck and paint your fuckin’ nails ‘til I get back there. I’ll take care ’a this shit myself and I WILL get my god damn shower. Watch me.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice, dude. I’m out.”

Loverboy shoves his way past the crowd forming and ducks out of the glass door just in time for the unconscious body of one of the large employees to land in the doorway. Loverboy looks back inside, as does the cambot, just long enough to see another employee being lifted in a gorilla press by the unhinged REBEL.

“Man, this isn’t the kind of publicity I need. Let’s get back to the truck, cammy. Maybe we can find a signal and upload a little bit of trash on that Muddy Waters dude before Jim gets his country fried ass locked up.”

Loverboy jogs through the truck parking area, hurrying towards the big rig covered with the orange and blue stars and bars as the shouts and wails of pain start to fade behind him.


[Image: wdUoaQB.gif]


First of all… fuck Texas. I had to get that out of the way, real quick before moving on to that goober, Muddy Waters.

Everyone in this god-forsaken state is a walking Darwin Award waiting to happen, and I can’t even find a signal with more than two bars without trying to find a fuckin’ Denny’s… which by the way passes as a five star restaurant here.

Anyway.

Now I’m stuck in the cab of this semi truck, which smells exactly like what you’d think something that has a 300 pound fried chicken eating asshole farting into it for twelve hours a day would smell like, and I’m not exactly in the best mood.

I should have just cut my losses, but instead I re-watched Muddy Waters’ attempt at humor and shit talking.

Muddy… and dude, I guess we haven’t been exactly properly introduced, right? I mean, the way you talk we’ve never even met before, as if you didn’t already get sent home empty handed when you tried to come after my Federweight Championship a couple of weeks back, right? Well, let me refresh your memory – I’m “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane… and unfortunately for you, you’re not.

I’ll give you credit where credit is due. You earned a shot at a title. Not too bad for a guy who was probably declared legally stillborn for the first ten minutes of his ‘life.’ I bet if your mother or one of your two dozen ‘uncles’ could see you now, they’d be real proud of you. Do they get cable TV down in the holler?

Look Muddy, you’ve got some talent. In a few months you might have enough experience under your belt to beat a dude at my level… not ME, but at my level, you know? But let’s get something straight right now. Your chances this week on Madness against a double champion, a former holder of all three trios titles at the same time, the Madness Series winner and the NUMBER ONE CONTENDER to the Universal Championship are circling around the back hair and two weeks’ worth of sperm-clogged drain in your double-wide’s shower as we speak.

You should have waited, man. You could have been good. But you got over-eager, you know, dude? Here you are, wet behind the ears like an underwater stripper, and you already threw in with the other drain-circlers. Pest? Scully? MAVERICK??? Dude… if it wasn’t so pathetic it might be funny. See, all you did was look at the gold around Scull and Mav’s waists and started nodding your head faster than a Michael J. Fox bobblehead. You didn’t look any deeper than that, did you? Not at the way guys like them and Pest might seem great for a week or two but then always come crashing back down to earth in the long run? That’s your future now too, dude. Might as well call you Challenger with the way you’re getting ready to blow up at takeoff.

Oh, wait… you ARE the challenger, aren’t you? What a cool coincidence! Challenger the challenger. Always white hot on the launching pad but leaving nothing but a bunch of crying kids and wet spots on the ground when it’s all said and done.

Listen Muddy… listen good. I’m out of your league. Not in the same way a woman with a full set of teeth is out of your league, either. I mean I’m untouchable from where you are. I’ve beaten better than you, dude. Hell, I’ve done it recently. You think you’d have come out on top in either of my last two title defenses? You think you’d have managed to outlast 34 other competitors to win this HART Championship to begin with? Course not, dude! And it’s not your fault, man, you just haven’t had a chance to reach your full potential yet! You tried to jump to the top of the ladder before you looked down… and now the fall back to the bottom of the pile is gonna come as a rude awakening.

But for this week? Well, you’re welcome. You get to see what a real main event feels like. No, no, not the default main event you were in last week. That crap would have been pre-empted for a rerun of Charles In Charge. No, this week you get to close a show in front of seats that have asses in them, thanks to yours truly. You’ll get to see what it feels like when the few dozen of your cousins that could afford the trip to Rhode Island - tell your uncle Cletus to leave the boat on its cinder blocks, it’s not a real island – get completely drowned out by the arena full of “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane fans.

Since you like talking yourself up and putting yourself over in the ring when you’ve got a rapt audience of sixteen special needs kids in an after school intervention program, let’s go ahead and have a little bit of a ‘role play’ right now…

I’ll be the ring announcer watching you and me in the ring this Monday.

HOLY SHIT, BOBBY HEENAN! “LOVERBOY” VINNIE LANE JUST BROKE THE RECORD FOR SHORTEST TITLE MATCH EVER, SOMEHOW BEATING MUDDY WATERS IN EXACTLY THREE SECONDS!

IT’S LIKE THE SHEER ANXIETY OF GOING UP AGAINST A REAL CHAMPION AND A REAL MEGASTAR WAS TOO MUCH FOR WATERS, WHO COLLAPSED AS SOON AS HE HEARD THE BELL!

Ha ha ha… yeah, okay, that might seem a little ridiculous… but now you know how it feels for me to hear you talking like you have a shot at winning.

We’re both sitting here not believing what we hear.

What the –


[Image: 908NSHX.gif]


Just then, the passenger side door of the sixteen wheeler flies open and an emaciated and tattooed blonde woman stands in a pair of cootchie cutter shirts and a Dallas Cowboys tube top. Before Loverboy can scoot over, she reaches into the cab with a bony, menthol-stained hand and grabs him by the thigh.

“Hey there big boy… you got five dollars and ten minutes? I’ll make the rest of your trip go real good.”

“Oh, shit, no! No way, dude, are you a draugr?”

“A what?”

“A draugr. Nevermind, no, ew, just… get away, okay? I’m fine. I don’t need the three-tooth special.”

“Boy you think you’re some kinda fancy or somethin’? This here pussy ain’t good enough for your metrosexual dick? I’ve had cocks bigger’n you in my asshole!”

“I believe that. Every word of that. But really, I’ve got to go, dude…”

And then a single gunshot echoes through the evening air. The crack whore skitters off like a frightened opossum, and the driver’s side door swings open, revealing the massive form of REBEL with a smoking pistol in his hand.

“Dude! Did you SHOOT her?”

“Hell no, you dumb ass queer. I didn’t SHOOT her, I SHOO’D her. Sometimes you got to scare off a lot lizard any ways you can. We’s in a hurry now and I ain’t got time for a dumb gash like that slowin’ us down. You ready to get to Jackson or what?”

“I am very ready to have this whole trip be over with dude, so yeah. Let’s go.”

REBEL starts the truck up with a reverberating growl of the engine, then slips into gear and pulls out of the cramped Flying J parking lot, cutting off a row of traffic as he re-enters the highway.

“So dude… what did you do to those guys back in the store anyway?”

REBEL actually cracks a smile as he listens to Loverboy’s question with an air of ambiguous condescension.

“I did what I needed to to get what was mine, boy. Same as you’ll have to do on Monday Night. Here, hold this.”

REBEL tosses Loverboy a damp towel, then merges onto an interstate on-ramp for I-10. Horns erupt in a cacophony from somewhere behind the big truck.

“Where’d you get this from? You didn’t go in with it.”

“Where you think, dipshit? I got it from my shower. I needed a new one. Now hold on t’yer butt, Paris Hilton, next stop is the Simple Life.”

REBEL blares the horn on his rig as the odd couple continues their journey East and South.
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