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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » TURNING POINT 2018 RP BOARD
Well Fed Beast
Author Message
JimCaedus Offline
Trash Talker Skywalker



XWF FanBase:
Mixed

(loved by some; hated by some; dips between clean/dirty)


#1
02-27-2018, 09:17 PM

======€@£|)Ų$======

(Continued from "Cards on the Table")



























"Whuttup whuttup whuttuuuuuuuup!

Calling all Gs with the extra cheese and female foodie cuties with the big bootieeees, welcome to the Season Three premiere of Martha & Snoop's Potluck Dinner Partaaaaaay!"



::Raucous audience ovation::



"Doggfood"



"Welcome everyone and thank you for joining me and my nizzle for shizzle-"

"Nizzle fa shizzle wit' skizzles to sizzle, Mizzle."


::Audience laughter::


"-for the premiere of our third season entitled "Whoomp, Here We Is". Yes, we are back, and what a show we have for you tonight."

"That's right Martha but first, errybody give it up fa DJ Fredwhatever."


::Polite applause::


"Uh- heh, that's uh, that's DJ Fredwr-"

"Don't nobody care, cuz. You can't tell? You still can't tell, on the real?"


::Audience laughter as DJ Fredwreck blushes in utter humiliation::


"I want to remind everyone, as you were told before rolling, Snoop had a little accident recently, he received a bump to the head and it has affected his short term memory among other things. So if he seems a little uppity tonight..."

Busying himself with several bottles. "Ooooh, ok. Ok, I see how it is."

"Smiling". "So what's that you're mixing up for us tonight, Snoop?"

"This a lil' somethin' we call a hood screwdriver, Martha."


::Audience laughter::


"And how do you make that? I'm assuming Orange Kool-Aid and Grey Goose are involved? Possibly even the sole ingredients?"

Concocting his and Martha's drinks, the audience already having been supplied before the show kick-off. "Nope, nope, it ain't like that, it ain't like that. You start out wit' that Tang. Homies be forgettin' about Tang these days. Now you add the Orange Kool-Aid. Now some Grey Goose...some Gold Passion Alizé...a splash of Tanqueray...you know I still got love fa that St. Ides, baybuh-baaaybeh."

"Now wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute... Snoop, a screwdriver is just orange juice and vodka. You're adding gin, I'm pretty sure Gold Passion Alizé is already it's own screwdriver and...isn't that last one malt liquor? You guys sure do love malt liquor don't you."

"I don't know how y'all do it at home, Martha but in the hood we like to feel it, ya feel me?" Hands Martha her cup.

"I'm just worried our audience is going to wind up on the floor."

"Nah, it's all good baby. Cheers, y'all. " Downing his drink, the audience joins in, eliciting a smattering of hoots of approval.

Taking a test sip. "Very flavorful, Snoop. Quite a kick." Solid gulp.

Finishing his drink with a little C-walkin' as the audience laughs. "Mmmmm-hm."

To the camera. "So tonight Snoop and I have decided to toss out the rulebook and go head to head with our own privately chosen dish challenge-" Sip. "You know...I was wrong; I'm really starting to like this drink."

Already smiling. "I knew you would, Martha, I knew you would."

Sip. "But before we announce our choices and before we get cooking, let's introduce our celebrity judges. First, he is a professional wrestler from the Xtreme Wrestling Federation and one half of the Tag Team Champions, please welcome......Mister Jim Caedus."


::Audience applause and whistles from the women as our pov swings to indeed catch none other than Jim Caedus himself entering frame and making his way to the set apparently struggling to subdue the shiteating "gotcha NOW!" grin he has plastered across his face, staring directly at the Dogg, who doesn't seem to recognize him at all.

Passing up his target to greet Martha with a kiss on the cheek, all the while conspicuously keeping his head pointed in Snoop's direction, Jim finally returns to stand beside the rapper, positively dwarfed by his height.

Still staring directly up at Snoop, Jim begins giggling like an idiot::


Giggling as well at the sight of Jim giggling. "Sup, playboy?"

"Sup Snoop? HUGE fan. Nice to finally meet you for, cross my heart, the very first time ever. 'Ey, is it true what I hear? You recently suffered some memory loss? I mean you obviously remember your name but anything else amiss?"

"How I'm s'posed to know what I can't remember if I can't remember?"


::Audience laughs. Jim turns to peer off-camera and give the cut-off signal at his throat with several waves of his hand, mouthing "Go to Plan B".

In the staging area, Drew Archyle visibly wilts and disappointedly sets the Animal Control lasso-on-a-pole he's holding down while Robert Main frowns, drops and kicks over the extra large plastic Pet Carrier he was lugging before shoving his hands into his pockets, pouting::


"Gee-willickers, that sucks. Hey, here's an idea, Snoop... Wanna get faded after this?"

"Oh fa sho, I always do, nephew."

"Why...how unexpected! And what a coincidence, I just so happened to have brought with me a personal strain I developed. I'm sure you'll love it, Snoop. I call it Ether OG."

"Ether? Like the Nas diss tracc on Jay-Z?"

"Um...yeeeeah, like the diss track and _that's_ all. Yes...yes, that's the ticket."

"Snoop, did you know Jim here is from Long Beach like you?"

"Oh no shit? Where you at, cuz?"

"Originally? Right off Artesia and-"

Flinching in recognition. "Hol' up...I know you!"

Face abruptly draining of color. "......you do?" Turning again to look off-camera frantically.


::Both Robert and Drew happily pluck their Doggnapping items back up and begin walking over::


"You that wrestler that be tryna diss rap!"


::Jim with a panicked cut-off signal to off-camera.

Drew and Main halt, the former snapping the pole over his knee in frustration and the latter angrily hurling the pet carrier off into the darkness::


Laughing. "GotDAMN! Nephew, your flow succ but you funny as all hell! Soundin' like a gangsta Weird Al an' shit!"


::Audience laughter::


>=|


::More audience laughter::


>=|


::Drew and Robert in hysterics::


>=|


::The laughter finally dies down...


...then picks back up and intensifies::


>=|


::Then at long last, truly, the hilarity fades::


"Ha. ...Yeah, uh, actually that isn't technically _me_ doing that. To be honest, I'm not quite sure how it-"

"We'll get to that later, Jim. Introducing our second guest, also from the Xtreme Wrestling Federation, he is the Hart Champion, please welcome Mister Robert Main."


::The audience applauds as Mainiac makes his way to the set. He daps it out with Snoop then heads over to stand beside Martha, offering her a kiss on the cheek::


"My, my, my..." Final gulp. "...aren't we handsome?"

"Thanks Martha! Looking really good yourself for 76!"

Holds up her empty. "Another one of these, please." As a stagehand obliges her request, returning her attention to Robert. B U R P. "Would you like to accompany me to my dressing room after the show? Nana will show you her secret recipe for fish on a spit." Sip.


::Audience "woooooooooooo!"::


"Huh?"

Gooses Robert then looks to the lens. "And our third and final celebrity judge, what a surprise, also from the Xtreme Wrestling Federation, he is Television Champion-"

"Damn, all three y'all champions?"

Sip. "-very good Snoop. Please welcome, Mister Drew Archyle."


::The audience applauds as Drew begins making his way to the- Wait, where's Drew?

............Ah, there he is, slowly entering frame as tense and rigid as can be, stepping up onto the set and eventually taking his place in the vast, vulnerable emptiness between Snoop and Martha's prep stations...

...where he stares directly at the lens, glazing over like a deer in the headlights::


"Here's something you and your fans will relate to, Snoop, Drew recently got released from prison." Sip.

"Oh no shit? Myyyyy nigga! Whatchoo did?"

Petrified, unable to remove eyes from the lens. "......"

Sip. ......Sip. "Ok, well...why don't we reveal now what we intend to cook up tonight, Snoop? I'll tell you what I'm going to do...I'm going to whip up my famous spinach manicotti. How about you?"

"I ain't sayin' nuttin', it's a surprise, Martha."

Gulp. "Ok, good luck filling the prep block without revealing what it is you're doing, smarty pants. As for me, my dish takes 30 minutes to prep and another 35 to cook so mine is already well underway but I'll go ahead and show you good folks at home how best to pull this off.

-Sip-

As always, preheat your oven, this time set at 375 and of course, have your shells cooking in boiling, salted water while you're preparing the ricotta and spinach stuffing to save some time...



::While Martha prattles on, the lens slowly slides from her to Drew who further scarecrows up upon noticing::


"Snoop? How's it coming over there?"

His hands a flurry of activity behind his screened-off station... He looks up. "Oh I'm done."


::Audience cheers::


Sip. "You're done? I can't wait to see this... We'll be right back..." Sip.


::Fade to black::













::Seconds pass...and again, the bicycle horn calls out, breaking the silence::

::HON-KY! HONKY HONKY HON-KY!::


Angrily. "What!? Whaaaaaaat!?"


::Emperor Palpatine Copyrightfree storms into the front room in a rage, long thick hooded cape-o-evil stirring up dustbunnies and sending Elder Abuse pamphlets scattering::


"Whaddayuh want dad!?"

::HON-KY!::

"What?? Poopies??"

...

"Pee-pees!?"

...

"Washies!?"

......

"WHAT!?"

::HON-KY!::


::The Emperor balls his fists in frustration::


"Your aphasia has made you powerful...ly irritating."

::HON-KY!::

"If you will not be coherent...you. will. be. destroyed!"


::The Emperor unleashes bolts of lightning from his fingertips into his father's invalid form::


"Old man...only now, at the end, do you understand......I reeeeeeally don't like you."

::HON-KY!::

"And now, old horn-honker......you will die."


::Empy bites down on his lower lip in a show of effort, filling his father now with surging tendrils of electricity, cooking the poor old man ali-::


"What the H?" Looks at his hands, then unleashes more bolts. His father's hair stands on end but that's about all that's happening here. Empy ends the static light show, gazing down at his hands in disappointment. "Boy, they just don't have that kick they used to. Oh well, this'll have to do-"


::The Emp' snatches a nearby empty bottle and cracks it over the back of his father's head. It shatters, doing little damage::


Observing the broken half bottle in his hand. "Hm... You always did have a tough skull that was too big for hats and helmets. Always showing up to my tap recitals donning pillow cases on your head secured with those leathery braided belts people can fasten as wide as needed... SO humiliating! I hate you daddy!"

"Hey! Empy, leave him alone! We did the best we could!" A haggard old woman shuffles in.

"Oh sure, the "best you could"? What about all the drugs, ma!? Huh!? What. about. the DRUGS!?"

"Your father's prescriptions?"

"Oh no you don't! I saw the needles ma, I saw you inject him!"

"That's his INSULIN, your father's a DIABETIC! That's why he's been honking!"

"SHADDUPPA YOU FACE!" Flings a bottle at his mother. It too shatters as harmlessly as sugar glass, right up against the poor woman's forehead. She flinches in anger.

"Go to your room!"

"NO! Stupid bottles!"


::DING DONG::


Walking to the front door. "Huh? Who could that be?" He opens it-


"Tired of bottles that break easily and don't knock out or outright kill your parents?"


FAMILY: JIM ::HONK:: CAEDUS!" ::HON-KY::

"And yes Jim, I AM tired of breakaway glass-class bottles!"

"Well gee-whiz, Empy, try a Bear Republic's Apex - Special IPA 22 ouncer on for size!"


::Jim snaps his fingers and two such bottles appear in his hands::


"BOOYOW!"





"That's right- Hey and the neck fits perfectly in one's hand. The heft of the 22 ounce Apex - Special IPA bottle in particular wields like a dream, try it out!" Lobs a bottle.


::Empy throws his hands up to catch the bottle before realizing it's sailing over his head::


"Hey Jim, you missed!"

"Did I?" Wink to the lens.


::Empy's mom catches the bottle, places the secured bottle cap between her upper and lower set of molars, pops it off like a pimp, pours out a little liquor for the homies, then downs the contents::


"Uh, what's going on?"

B U R P Rolls up sleeves, brandishes bottle. "Alright ya sinister little cuss...time to get what's comin' to ya."

"Wuh-oh."

::HON-KY::

"Ohp, couldn't forget _you_ sir!" Respectfully delivers the other bottle to Empy's father. "I apologize for your horrible son, sir."

"Now wait just a minute! I heard about you, Jim Caedus; you killed your dad!"

G A S P ::H O N K::

Sincerely forlorn. "It's true...kinda. See, I was his full-time caregiver. I didn't realize the time- the _last_ time he called out to me that he...he was having a heart attack. He ended up in a coma and my mother and I were persuaded by the medical staff to pull the plug a week later in light of his continued "vegetative state"..."

"Jim that's terrible. I'm so sorry." ::HON-KY::

Still sad. "Know what I _didn't_ do though?" Perks up, eyes narrowed. "Assault my own parents. Get 'im, folks."

"Hey, hey, wait- Mother, don't you dare- !"


::DINK!::

::DINK!::

::DINK DINK DINK!!::

::HON-KY::



BEAR REPUBLIC'S APEX - SPECIAL IPA




YOU BROUGHT THEM INTO THIS WORLD




WE'LL HELP YOU TAKE THEM OUT






♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧





Dear Dexter,


I was going to apologize in advance for what I'm about to say but I think we've both known eachother long enough to warrant being frank and honest with one another, even if you refuse to do so with me or anyone else.

The boys and I have been talking things over and we...well...we uh... God, how do I say this? Man, I'll tell ya, you just never expect how difficult it's going to be to write one of these things until it actually comes down to it. Okay...deep breath...just dive on in......

The boys and I have decided to disassociate ourselves from you.

There, I've said it, no taking it back now. ......Well I guess that's not technically accurate. I could just cross that out and write something else or crumble this up, toss it and start a new one. I won't though. I can't. I may be a prick but I'm proud enough and masculine enough to not shy away from telling it like it is.

And please don't misconstrue this. I (again) may be a prick but I assure you this isn't coming out of left field. There are many legitimate reasons behind this secession and they're all rooted in the same soil of a single, simple, more than safe assumption: We feel that you don't sincerely like us, want us, nor do you need us in any sort of capacity whatsoever including as friends. And I have to say, the feeling's mutual at this point.

For starters, that ego of yours and the attitude it spawns (the one that has you clinging to the notion you're so "cool", "edgy" and "badass" ((or any of those labels at all, really)) that no one notices when you get your ass handed to you nor are they smart enough to distinguish your lies from the truth) is not only embarrassing but beyond pathetic. I mean, it's weak, it's small, it makes you appear less substantial. I'm diminutive enough as it is; you in the mix is one too many midgets.

As well, your ego seems to see you perceiving others as here to serve you, to make your life easier, to feel sorry for you for whatever reasons you inexplicably believe are exclusive to you and you alone while you simultaneously insist on disregarding the suffering of everyone else. It's a dick move, Bourbonian even, and for the third time, in context with US, my being a dick means you are, again, one too many in the mix.

But let's say, for the sake of argument, it isn't fair for ME to claim the exclusive rights to being the dick here among the four of us and act as if the position should be applied to the one of us who's BETTER SUITED at being a dick. Which of us is dick ENOUGH and in the RIGHT way? Let's open the debate with the fact you presented your second promo with the theme of starving the beast.

"Starving the beast"?

Allow me to interpret that via what you want us all to think then expose it for what it really means:


×××£|\|Ģ¥ CLAIM×××

1. Waxing cordial with Caedus is detrimental in context with trash talking abilities and makes you super clever.

×××£|\|Ģ¥ TRANSLATION×××

1. You don't want to deal with a true balls-out head-to-head and it isn't because you can't handle it or overcome it, it's because you aren't willing to expend that much energy (at least for the moment, though I wouldn't put it past you to be saving up trash talk for a sudden flip flop later in the week like a coward would).

Actual Effect: It isn't working, it's making you look bad.


×××£|\|Ģ¥ CLAIM×××

2. You would have everyone believe your taking days upon days to respond is further pushing the strategy of "starving the beast"

×××£|\|Ģ¥ TRANSLATION×××

2. You took so long to respond because you didn't expect the response you received and it threw you off balance, it pissed you off and it left you unsure of how best to retort. You NEEDED to take that time to calm down so you could stick to your guns...the guns everyone now knows are loaded with blanks. And for the record, what you've done is tantamount to the sophomoric:

---> "I meant to do that" <---

Actual Effect: You continue to sabotage your own credibility and continue to treat everyone paying attention like they have no brain.


==OVERALL OUTCOME==

You're depriving the fans, the roster, your opponent, the brass, the Universal Championship and the concept of the main event at Turning Point of the spectacle they all deserve. You aren't presenting yourself as a worthy Universal Champion, you're proving yourself to be no different than the last few names who couldn't be bothered to put in the work required of the position...and not because you're "afraid", it's because you're a lazy, selfish, coward who seeks victory through minimum effort, a lack of spine and shady tactics.

That all makes you a pussy. Being a pussy doesn't make for being a good dick. Being a pussy makes for being what dicks fuck. Take me, a dick, for example. By nature I get straight to the penetration and I continue to pound away. Now, of course I like wrecking vagina as much as the next actual dick but that doesn't mean the boys and I wish to consistently share close quarters with one beyond the actual act and that feeds into the reasoning behind distancing ourselves from you. The fact that you're great at being an asshole as well doesn't change this in any way.

These aren't the only reasons why you've soured us on the idea of associating with you, by the way. There are many more.

For instance, you don't pay attention and an ignorant moron is a lot more dangerous to his/her allies than his/her enemies. Your "Caedus Rewind" was a complete waste of time and your criticism of such was invalid in light of the fact you were already told (and shown through response) that it was assumed you were setting your whole lame friendly (aka "starving the beast") strategy in place by kissing Caedus and Apex ass. Why do you insist on burying yourself by demanding the same nail be driven into your coffin repeatedly? You really think the man who played along with Gabe Reno's friendship act was incapable of playing along with yours as well? You aren't a master of psychology, you're an unjustifiably egotistical idiot. Like Reno, you failed. Get over it and stop inventing straws to grasp at. Inept loser.

Another reason rests in the fact you can't ever own who and what you are, a scumbag liar. You admit to lying sometimes when the truth is you almost always lie and only sometimes tell the truth and you do that rarely without watering it down and usually when it won't strengthen the arguing point of an opponent. Like a pussy. A dick would own a mistake then flip it and fuck someone with it anyway. You puss' out, deny and decide instead to insult the intelligence of everyone within earshot. You don't "do right by the people who earn your respect", you use the people you think you can gain something from then discard them like the very asshole you just used to defend yourself with, Robbie Bourbon. Bet you didn't think his usefulness would outlive you ditching him, huh? Luckily the depths to which you'll sink are fathoms below what even you yourself are aware of.

You say you respected Robbie because he took a gamble on you. What gamble? You were then, and are now, the Xtreme Champ and King of the XWF. What gamble? The truth is, respect had nothing to do with it, you were just tickled that someone wanted your shady ass in his stable but then, birds of a feather flock together, no?

You say you lost respect for and turned your back on Robbie and Pig because they stopped trying after War Games. Let's set aside the fact that you broke their hearts and THAT was why they stopped trying, you backstabbing pussy, and focus on who exactly stopped trying first.


---> "So, I'm sorry I let you guys down. Robbie, you're right, I dropped the ball and made the team less than cohesive, giving Apex a big advantage. ...my fuck ups led to the decision being made." <---


Oops.

Recall saying that a short while back? Recall specifying that "being removed from the match wasn't (your) fault" but clearly it was your fuck-ups that cost them the match? You burned that bridge, Dexter, you did, Robbie's desperate take-the-blame response to keep a miserable bastard like himself as a friend notwithstanding.

How credible is it, for the record, that you were prevented from competing in one match then somehow cleared for action later in the same night to cash-in on Chaos? How suspicious is that, Dexter? Maybe that's why The Motherfuckers blame YOU...because clearly you wanted to avoid receiving the loss you earned for your team AND you wanted to save yourself for that cash-in. You didn't do right by those you "respected", you did right by yourself in a team scenario. Period. The boys and I are about team.

You say, "I like you Jim". You say, "(You're) capable of being honest and forthright with people (you) like". Who likes someone they don't respect, Dexter? And who respects someone they show no respect for with all the lies, the lack of a straight up fight and the "starving the beast" shenanigans? Do you remember what you said to War Pig in lieu of an Xtreme Title match following War Games?


---> "There won't be any bullshit or shananigans (God I love that word) because I only pull that shit on people I don't respect. You will get a straight up fight. And while I will not hold back, I will give you the respect you deserve." <---


Oops.

I don't care if you decide to play the semantics game in retort or not, you inadvertently sold yourself out long before ever getting the chance to currently contradict yourself. Liar. Pussy. All you ever do is say what you say at the time to get your way, there's nothing honest about any of it. The boys and I, we don't need a weak link slit like you, we're proud to be "in your face". We don't need (first of all) a dishonest gash and (second of all) one so staggeringly dishonest he spins such an intricate web of lies that he can't keep track of it all. Your entire façade is unravelling, Dexter, and because you continue to try saving face you prove that you aren't afraid of Jim Caedus, you're just afraid of being seen for what you are and always have been. A coward and a hack. The boys and I don't need one of those either and neither does the XWF need a flagship of that sort.

You say you plan to prove how noble your intentions are at Turning Point? How so?

By actually treating the match like it should be treated when it ultimately happens?

That's not noble, that's your job, dummy, and so far you haven't been doing it.

By...lying down for a 3 count to prove your friendship?

That's not noble either, that's disrespecting everything about the business, the promotion and what's at stake.

By...well consarnitt, I honestly can't think of any way you can pull off "noble", so I'll move on


---> "What exactly makes me a coward Jim? The fact that I won't shit talk you? The fact that I said I was scared of you when even Finn Kuhn said he wasn't? Yeah Jim, just how well did Finn Kuhn not respecting the threat you pose end up working out for the little Kraut ?" <---


Not as well as YOU "not respecting the threat" posed when you first went head to head, that's for sure. You pulled the same friendly crap then that you are now and you dominated. Which, by the way, tends to beg the question: how again are we all to believe you fear a man you crushed once before, humiliatingly so, with the same strategy you're using now? Once again, you outsmart only yourself, Dexter. The only difference between then and now is your victim learned from his mistakes and you haven't.

One such mistake:

You continually show that you, unlike myself, aren't capable of rising to the challenge and very much do seek the easy way out then you try to claim you DON'T because you sometimes choose your opponents. So did Chris Chaos when he was Uni Champ. And just like him, you choose people you actually end up fighting that you think you can defeat. That's all there is to it. Were you begging Doc D'Ville to defend against? Vincent Lane? Shane ? James Raven? Aidan Collins? Theo Pryce? Unknown fucking Soldier? Were you begging to contend with Legends or were you inviting competitors who have yet to attain the Uni Title? You know who HAS begged Legends like that to compete with him?

Jim Caedus.

Not you.

Jim Caedus. The guy you tried to discredit with an off-the-cuff remark about TV title defense opponents being "bottom of the barrel" and for once, in the process, being more true to yourself as an asshole who has no problem disrespecting the hell out of every goddamn name on the roster because you think you're better than everyone else. The boys and I need assholes about as much as we need a pussy in the friendzone.

Jim Caedus. The guy you honestly think is limited by his personal code of honor and status as a hero when he's never been better since becoming one (and before you try to head that off at the pass, Dex, do us all a favor and swallow the bitter pill that a hero is what the guy has been trying to be since he got here).

Jim Caedus. The guy you say you want to remain friends with despite all the aforementioned evidence contradicting you being a friend in the first place.

Jim Caedus. The guy you probably intend to use the cash-in power of that Xtreme Title on if you lose.

Yeah, it isn't unexpected.

You're just too pussy for the boys and I, Dexter, and like I said at the top of this letter, you don't need us so we don't need you. Therefore, we are officially taking our leave of you and giving full credence to the accusations made against you.

Sincerely yours,
















Your Cock and Balls


P.S. We apologize for the possibly misleading color of this writing but all lefty had on him was a blue pen.


♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡





Amidst a smoky haze. "-on't care if we're back on. If he gets to spend the entire prep tutorial getting high, I'm going to sit here and enjoy my drinks." Gulp.

"Deezamn you a mean drunk, Martha."


::Martha has two empties now, is working on her third and has a fourth awaiting consumption.

Snoop, giggling and faded, is kicking back smoking a blunt.

Jim and Robert look extremely uncomfortable with the situation, as does the audience, mostly silent save for those who chuckle, enjoying the clusterfuck.

Drew's still staring at the camera and probably hasn't shifted a millimeter during the entire commercial break::


Sip. "Screw it, the manicotti's already finished. I'm good to go." Gulp.

Off-camera. "How 'bout we move on to the 2 lies and 1 truth bit then, huh? How 'bout that?"

Gulp. "Why the hell not? Let's get it over with." Gulp. Third down.

"Oh fa sho, let's do dis."


::Applause as both Snoop and Martha travel over to the dining table, 5 plates of manicotti and 5 plates covered with large fabric napkins sitting ready for all involved.

Jim and Robert manage to dislodge Drew from his rooted spot and force him over along with them where he sits and stares at the camera::


"Aight, so y'all know how this work. Everyone filled out they shit befo' the show. You s'posed to write down two lies about yo'self and one honest thing, then we all guess which one true."

Sip. "Drew, why don't you go first?"

Staring at the lens. "......"

Sip. "Robert, why don't you go first?"

"Ok."

Sip. "Let's see...


1: I got in a fist fight with the actual devil's butler

2: I put milk duds in my popcorn

3: I played Opie in Sons of Anarchy



"Ey, you DO look like that nigga! I'ma say 3 is the truth."

Sip. "No, no, no. Robert does look a lot like him but Opie was played by Ryan Hurst. I'll go with milk duds in the popcorn."

"Fucc is a milk dud?"

"You're both wrong, I got in a fist fight with the devil's butler in Hell. Jim and Drew were with me."

"It's true. And right before that happened I fought and killed the devil's butler's elephant sized arachnid pet which turned out to be a shape-changing succubus who looked like a naked Alexandra Daddario in human form, it was pretty sweet."

Sip. "......"

"......"

"For real, tell 'em Drew."

Staring at the lens. "......"

"Oh right, the whole stage fright thing..."

"Let's move on to you, Jim."

"Alrighty."


1: I sang with Michael Jackson during the Super Bowl 27 halftime show

2: As a child actor I was Christina Ricci's boyfriend during the week I was an extra on the first Addam's Family movie

3: I owe a debt to the mafia and I've been ordered to kill Snoop and I'm trying to fake Snoop's death and save his life instead but he won't listen to me



Sip. "This is a tough one. Clearly it isn't the third, that's just silly. I can't decide between the first and second though either."

"You sure one of these is the truth, playboy?" Jim shrugs. "I give up, nephew."

Sip. "So do I, which one is the truth, Jim?"

Deadpan. "All three. I try not to ever lie."

Flinching while staring at Jim. "Hol' the fucc up... I...I know you..."

"Yeah Calvin. You do. I'm the guy that's been tryin' to tell you your life is in danger for weeks now."

Standing suddenly, kicking his chair away while doing so. "You that whiteboy came to my house! You that muthaFUCCA rolled me and my Caddy off the hillside and almos' killed me!"

Eyes widening. "No! Wrong! What the fuck's the matter with you!? I mean yeah, technically that's all true, the car thing was an _accident_ by the way, but that all happened because I'm trying to SAVE you!"

Sip. "What's going on?"

"Security! Someone call 5-0!"

"Snoop, what is going on??" ...Gulp. Four down.

"He tryna kill me!"


::Gasps and a buzz arise from the audience as two burly men in security uniforms enter frame heading for the dining table.

Robert immediately stands at the ready. Drew remains staring at the lens::


Remaining seated. "Goddammit, why won't you LISTEN to me, Calvin!? What don't you get!?" Regarding the approaching guards. "Gentlemen, allow me to explain!"


::Security continues to advance::


"Sunuvabitch... Drew?"


::Drew suddenly sparks to life and in one smooth motion he stands while snatching up his chair, cracking the guard nearest him over the head, dropping him.

The remaining guard rushes Drew and receives a spinning backfist in the temple from Jim. KO::


"Calvin, you're coming with us. Your life depends on it."

"I ain't goin' nowhere witchoo, whiteboy!"


::Snoop throws up the 21st street gang sign (ring finger bent to palm, other 3 fingers and thumb extended to represent 2-1)...then raises the gang sign up to his ear and mouth like a phone::


Recognizing he's about to call his #1 bodyguard. "DON'T DO IT! ROBERT STOP HIM!"

Evading Robert Main as he begins saying the magic words. "Where my nigga at!?"

"SHIT!"

"Let's call it a day, Jim, huh? I really don't want to find out what that guy's going to do to us this time."


::A flash of teleportation::






















"Heeeeeeey...this isn't Arbys. Sorry everyone. Hi Jim."

Relieved. "Sup Lord Trash Can."

After Lord Trash Can teleports away. "What in the world was that?"

Panicking. "WHERE MY NIGGA AT!?"


::A flash of teleportation::





















"Aw, PoopDAMMIT! Sorry again. Fucking Google maps navigation..." Teleports away.

"WHERE. THE. FUCC. MY. NIGGA. AT!!??"

















--Diamond Bar•Snoop's House--


"Aaaaall that she wants
Is anotha baybay, she's gone tomorrow but
Aaaaall that she wants
Is anotha baaaybay, uh-aaaaay"



::Relaxing in Snoop's massive tub, bubbles covering all but his head and his toes, the former belting it out and the latter bobbing to the Ace of Bass song blasting from an 808 can at max volume, Snoop's #1 bodyguard takes a moment to raise his arms from beneath the water and retrieve the plate of strawberry cheesecake he has balanced on the rim of the tub nearby::


Delicately slicing off a ribbon of cheesecake with a fork and slowly raising it to his mouth. "Aaaaall that me wants
Is a little cheesecake, uh-aaaaay"




--Back on the set--


In a true panic now, hollering into his gang sign "phone". "WHEREMYNIGGAAT, WHEREMYNIGGAAT, WHEREMYNIGGAAT!?"

Slight laugh in disbelief over his unexpected good fortune. "Dogg...it's over. Look, if I really wanted to kill you I could've done it how many times by now? Come on, bro. Let's-"

"SILENCE!"


::All eyes turn to Martha::


"Get out, the three of you. It's hard enough for me as a 76 year old white woman to deal with the chaos on this show without-"

"Fuck you talkin' about? What do you deal with? All you do is cook and drink and say subtly racist comments followed by _less_ subtly racist comments, ya salty old bitch."

"Ok. That's it." Stands.

Scoffs. "Fuck _you_ gonna do, Martha Stewar- Oh wait, you _are_ Martha Stewart." She begins walking around the table towards him. "What a quandary. How does one aptly insult a tame, Martha Stewart-ass ho when that Martha Stewart-ass ho is Martha Stewart?"


::Martha Stewart backhand slaps Jim.



Jim lands some thirty feet away off the stage, skidding to a halt on his back::


"Oooooh shit, I forgot about- Ooooooh SHIT, it's oooon now!"

Shock, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. "The fuck!??"

"DAAA FAQ!??"
"DAAA FAQ!??"




(soundtrack)


::Robert and Drew rush over to Jim as he rises, wincing::


"Crew, studio audience, OUT!" Pinning Jim, Robert and Drew with a zombied-out stare as everyone else stampedes to the exit as ordered.

Fully back to his feet, Drew and Robert flanking him. "I'm not exactly sure what the hell just happened there..." Cracks his neck. "...but you damn sure just fucked up, Martha."


::Jim Caedus tears the shirt from his body, exposing his now infamous platinum chain-hung gold nugget that magically bestows upon him the strength of TWO Caedae when needed. It begins to glow::


As Snoop steps up beside her, no longer afraid. "Oh no... The mistake is yours...mother fucker."


::Martha one-handed rips the thick knit sweater and everything else fabric beneath from HER upper body, exposing her huge, sagging, 76 year old (though otherwise perplexingly stupendous) hooters::


"Come and get it. I'm gonna kick those mammoth granny cans through the roof."


::With one swift upward kick, Martha flip-launches the dinner table forward at APEX then leaps forward like a missile, smashing said table into fragments with her outstretched fists a second before it hits our heroes and ambushing them further by extending her arms outward and flying clotheslining the trio.

Jim takes the brunt of the impact as she bodily crashes into him, Drew and Robert tumbling to the ground but quick to rise. As for Jim, expecting an impact already, he takes the crushing hit by falling back and rolling through, launching Martha with a well-aimed shove of both boots.

Martha rolls with it even easier than Jim had and actually lands on her feet-


-as Drew, Robert and Jim charge in, no longer taken aback but instead kicking into gear.

A flurry of swings follow-


-Martha deftly blocks or dodges every punch then responds in kind.

A hard right hook from Jim is caught on an alarmingly stiff blocking forearm right before Martha, in a blur of motion, twists that arm to snatch his and yanks him in for a headbutt which drops him.

She catches a haymaker from Robert and flips him with ease.

She ducks another from Drew and uppercuts-


-Drew rockets back onto the set, landing in a heap before Snoop's feet.


Jim pops up, his face now a crimson mask following that forehead splitting headbutt.

He hops forward with a powerful thrust punch, at the same time bringing his left knee up and catching, as hoped, Martha on the chin as she ducks, staggering her.

Right, left, right and a Purgatory Punch staggers her further-


-right before Jim lands a Wrexus Plexus that sends her soaring backward-


-right into Robert's waiting arms. He swiftly delivers a Dead Man's Hand, dropping Martha headfirst to the cold, hard, marbled concrete floor where she lay motionless.


Meanwhile, Drew comes to getting stomped by Snoop and angrily responds, catching the rapper's foot and twisting against the ankle, forcing him over onto his side.

Drew pops up, Snoop pops up and raises his arms for a brawl-


-no, wait, he's raising his arms to shove no less than THREE blunts between his lips with one hand before lighting all three with his other and inhaling so deeply, all three are reduced to ash instantaneously::


"This MY spinach, nigga! Now I'ma fucc you u-"


::Drew knocks Snoop out cold with a single punch::


Walking over with Robert. "Let's pick him up and get the hell outta-"

"You aren't going anywhere."


::Jim and Robert spin to see Martha advancing...::


"That's impossible."

"Jesus H. Christ!"


::She suddenly breaks into a sprint, Jim and Robert glancing around their immediate vicinity for anything that might come in handy.

Robert snatches a nearby dining chair, Jim wrenches a studio camera from its base. Both turn to regard Martha-


-who has already sped over to Robert. He swings the chair-


-it explodes harmlessly on impact with Martha's head and shoulders and leaves her with an opening.

She takes it, mimicking Jim's Wrexus Plexus with one of her own and sending Robert shooting into the set wall behind Snoop's prep station, toppling it. Martha then advances on his unconscious form, seeking to end his life by crushing his skull with a raising foot-


"Get away from him you _BITCH_!"


-then lowers it and turns to acknowledge Jim.

Jim flings the camera like it weighs nothing-


-Martha catches it like it truly doesn't and one hand flings it at a secretly rushing in Drew, knocking him back to the ground, now also out.

Jim ROARS with rage and dashes forward-



-Martha CATCHES HIM BY THE THROAT AND LIFTS HIM INTO THE AIR!!! Jim struggles, kicking her, hammering at her arm-


-to no avail. His chokes, unable to breath. She tightens her grip, causing Jim's eyes to begin bugging as his face turns first beet red then purple::


"Just know......after I squeeze the life out of you, your friends are next."


::Flash of teleportation::


"Sorry cunt, I need that Terran alive."


::Martha drops Jim in surprise and spins-


-Lord Trash Can is already charging up a shot-


- and BLASTS her through the wall of the studio::


"Hmmm...usually what I blast is reduced to carbon ash. I wonder..."


::Martha Stewart shooting through the air in a ball of cosmic flame, every stitch of clothing and inch of flesh gone...

Lord Trash Can teleports in to soar along beside her and take a gander::


"Ah, ok.....fucking Terminators."


::He teleports away::


::Back in the studio, Jim, Robert and Drew have relatively recovered and converged on Snoop, helping him to his feet as he shakes the cobwebs free::


"For the love of God, Snoop, PLEASE listen to reason now."

"Seriously. How can you be so in denial of the truth in front of your muzzle, Dogg?"

"The truth being, if I or, WE, wanted you dead...you'd be dead. Calvin..." Snoop looks to Jim, at long last of look of being receptive across his face. "...it's time to stop avoiding the issue and start-"


::Snoop suddenly smacks Jim before he can finish, producing yet ANOTHER blunt from his apparently infinite supply and popping it between his lips and lighting it before-


"Nigga VANISH!"


-tossing the lit blunt down at his own feet, a cloud of smoke enveloping him.

APEX leap in unison-


-and crash into one another. Calvin has indeed vanished::


Among a pile of his brothers. "FUCK!"

"Any more bright ideas, Jim?"


::Robert rolls to his side, spying a plate with a napkin over it.

Aha! Snoop's secret dish::


"Hey check it out..."


::Gathering themselves, dusting themselves off, Drew and Jim rise to regard the mystery dish. Robert looks to Drew::


"Hey why not? Let's see."


::Robert lifts the napkin.

A syrup sammich...overloaded to lumpy with a mass of fat nugs.

APEX look to eachother::


"He would've won."
"He would've won."
"He woulda won."


::STATIC::


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