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+--- Thread: "Loverboy" - Born to Run (/showthread.php?tid=16603)
"Loverboy" - Born to Run - Vincent Lane - 11-08-2014
Newark, New Jersey – Saturday, November 8, 2014 - 1:00 am.
Vinnie look out!
((“Loverboy” Vinnie Lane’s face exploded in a violent expulsion of spittle and blood as the fist caught him across his jaw. Stumbling backward against the wall of the Hell’s Kitchen Lounge in Newark, it occurred to him that, perhaps, coming back here after the ruckus he and his partners had caused the night before. Roxy screams again as the thug rears back to swing at him again, and Loverboy barely ducks out of the way, causing his attacker to slam his hand into corrugated steel siding of the edifice. Unfortunately, two others are still circling him, and moving in.))
You and your buddies need to stay the fuck out of our bar!
You... are probably right, dude. I'm not really down with gay bars… but I didn’t see you talking shit last night, did I? Pussy.
((The second guy stuns Loverboy with a punch to the gut, causing him to double over slightly. Loverboy, trying not to get himself into any legal hot water, tries not to hit any of the attackers back but merely to get out of the encounter as unscathed as possible. The second and third guys grabs him by the neck and arms of his denim jacket, though, and toss him into the cold dirt outside of the bar. He sees his breath escape from his mouth in a steaming “oof,” and turns his face away just in time to avoid a motorcycle boot from colliding with his nose. The steel toe of the boot cracks him on the back of the skull, but it luckily doesn’t do much damage. Loverboy feels other kicks catching him in the ribs and midsection, and he covers himself with his arms and legs as best he can. Not even a beating of this nature seems capable of shutting up the megastar, however.))
Is this really the best you can do, dudes? I’ve taken shots from the hobbit that hurt more than this! I thought you Hells Angels types were supposed to be tough?
Pick the
up!((The two guys lift Loverboy by his armpits as he smiles with a face full of dirt and blood. The original, the one whose fist collided with the wall and who demanded Loverboy be brought to his feet, was larger than the other two, and a lot meaner looking. He brought himself in close to Loverboy and grabbed the champ by his chin with a sneer.))
You want to call me a pussy again, queer?
((Loverboy replies with a smile, a wink, and a mouthful of spit and blood that he spews into his attacker’s face. The biker turns red with anger and wipes the mess from his eyes with the palm of his meaty hand, then immediately smashes the front of his bald skull into Loverboy’s nose and mouth. Loverboy hears a crack somewhere inside of his head as he slumps to his knees, but not once does his smile falter.))
Look, Mike Chiklis, you’re gonna have to hit me with a chair or something if you expect me to go down. I can take an ass beating. I’m an actual, literal, professional ass beating taker. I do this every week, and more times than not I end up winning anyway. You and your two goons aren’t gonna do anything I can’t walk away from, and as soon as you get tired we can just walk away and have a beer together, cool? It’ on you, of course, I don’t buy drinks for other men.
((Another kick, this time from the ringleader, hits Loverboy right in the chest and ribcage, and his body reels from the impact. He squeezes his eyes shut against the pain, swallowing it down like the mouthful of blood in his esophagus. Then he hears Roxy shriek.))
Vinnie! Help! No, fuck you, get away from me!
((Loverboy’s eyes pop open and he sees the ringleader of the gang walking up to Roxy. Loverboy struggles to his feet, still with his arms in the grip of the other two men, and barks at the man to stop.))
Hey! You better watch your step motherfucker! I’m warning you!
((The two men holding Loverboy laugh at his seemingly empty threats, and the leader sidles right up to Roxy, who’s pressed herself against the wall in her tight purple dress, making herself as small as she can in the shadows to protect herself. The man sticks his tongue out at her in a suggestive manner, and she swings a hand at him in a quick slap, but his burly forearm knocks it away and he grabs her by the hair. Pulling her close to him, the leader guy smashes his tongue against her face and starts licking her, drinking at her tears as she cries for help from Loverboy. Then, with his free hand, he squeezes and kneads at her chest.))
What’s the matter, slut? You afraid to get fucked by a real man? Or you just don’t want your sister here to watch?
Vinnie, please!
((Loverboy is no longer smiling and no longer concerned with potential lawsuits. As the two thugs continue laughing, Loverboy turns his hips and sends a knee into the stomach of the guy on his left, dropping him immediately. Before the guy on his right can react, Loverboy turns to him and buries his forearm in the wrinkle of flesh between his eyes and above the bridge of his nose. Loverboy feels the bones flatten and five way under his arm, and the guy’s knees weaken and unhinge. In one motion, Loverboy wraps his arm around the guy’s head and plants him into the ground with a snap DDT, then leaps back to his feet in time to catch the other one’s head between his legs as he starts to rise. Loverboy hooks both of his arms and lifts him up, then plants him into the dirt with an underhook piledriver. With neither of his underlings conscious, the ringleader lets go of Roxy and turns back to Loverboy.))
Worthless punks… I’ll take you out myself,
!You and who, dude? I’m not liking your odds with dumb and dumber here asleep on the job! But hey, thanks for the workout… I’ve got three other dickheads to beat down in a few days, so this was a lot of fun!
((The guy takes a wild swing, but Loverboy weaves out of the way, tripping the guy up and causing him to stumble forward. With a sudden burst of speed, Loverboy grabs the back of his heads and leaps forward, sending him face first into the earth with a high bulldog. Loverboy stands up and dusts himself off, waiting for the big fella to get back to his feet slowly, when he sees three more men in matching biker vests coming towards him from the bar, as well as the other two men on the ground beginning to stir. Loverboy drops a knee onto the back of the big guy’s head and turns toward Roxy, still shivering in the shadows.))
Baby… you need to get the fuck out of here! Get somewhere with witnesses, call the cops.
Vinnie I’m not leaving you here!
Roxy! I’m not asking! Get your ass out of here before you get hurt, I’ll be fine! GO!
((As the group of men begin to gather around Loverboy, Roxy shrinks towards the road and slips her stiletto heels off, starting to run barefoot down the asphalt towards the main drag. Suddenly, in the distance, a loud engine can be heard – intensifying as it nears. As the headlight of a big Harley comes into view around the corner, a loud voice thunders in the night air.))
ssssssSSSSSSHHHHHAAAAAAWWWWN!!!!!! I’m here for you little buddy!
((Diesel, riding on the Harley and equipped with all the leather tassles and biker sunglasses of an early 90s episode of Renegade starring Lorenzo Lamas, peels into the bar parking lot and plows the bike right into the group of men, knocking them all away like bowling pins. Diesel swerves and skid the bike to a halt, then lowers his glasses and holds his hand out to Loverboy.))
Come with me if you want to live!
Terminator 2?
Shawn! Get on the bike! I’m not letting these six off duty marines beat you down again! We need to get out of here before you get post concussive syndrome and have to forfeit your title match!
((For once, Loverboy doesn’t correct Big D’s delusions, instead just leaping onto the back of the big Harley and grabbing the sides of the bike as Diesel revs the motor and turns back toward the road. Diesel arches the bike in a swift curve towards Roxy as she jumps up and down excitedly in the street, clapping her hands while still holding her shoes. Loverboy reaches out and grabs her with one arm, smoothly pulling her up and into his lap as the three of them ride off down the strip to the sound of the massive engine.))
Theo, man, I really had higher hopes for you, dude.
I thought you were gonna be better than just another chump who tries to beat people down with minor details. You sounded a lot like your bottom, Samuels, in that last promo of yours. Oh, okay, sure, technically I didn’t actually pin YOU in that match back at Relentless – fine, that’s true. Instead, I pinned your bigger, better partner, Sebastian Duke, didn’t I? What the hell does that serve to prove about you? You were crafty enough to slip out of the ring before suffering the same fate? You think I Duke couldn’t get up after the Black Label Driver put him to sleep like a 15 year old mutt that you could have? Please, dude, Duke is twice the man you are, and ten times better than you in the ring!
You just tried to sneak away and avoid taking the fall, thinking that if Duke wasn’t the legal man you could avoid destiny and hang onto these Trios belts a little bit longer, but it backfired on you, didn’t it? For once, the officials in the XWF saw through the bullshit and made a good judgment call, and you got to go home and cry into your Snake-Eyes mask. Put one in the win column for the good guys, and don’t ever fucking forget that against me, YOU, Theo Pryce, the reigning Universal Champion of the XWF, are 0-1.
Go ahead and try to make bullshit excuses, but you know that match was more about you versus me than the rest of the parties involved, and I came out the winner, not you. What have you swindled your way into accomplishing since then, dude? You beat LH Harrison? Jesus Christ, dude, I’ve beaten Harrison like fifteen times, and Pete fucking KILLED him last week. You barely squeaked by the dude but you somehow got considered the number one contender for the X-Treme Championship for the one match you managed to win in the last three months. Kudos to you, I guess, but I didn’t see you racing to get in the ring with Evertrust to cash in that shot, did I? No, no, of course not, Theo Pryce doesn’t like to do any heavy lifting, so he just decided to cash in a briefcase like a coward and score a cheap title win over Eli James – the guy who should have never been the Universal Champ in the first place! How long had you been planning that little pussy fart of a plan, huh Theo? Something tells me if it was Morbid Angel with that belt, the way it should have been, you wouldn’t have had the stones to pull that move. Hell, we all saw how eager you were to be in the ring with Morbid at War Games, didn’t we? And now you’ve got that belt clamped tight between your ass cheeks just like the deluxe set of Frodo-sized anal beads you and Samuels like to share, refusing to put it on the line against people you know you’re going to lose to. Oh, don’t worry though, I’m sure if you did have a rare moment of bravery and actually did put that title up for grabs at Warfare you’d find a way for your little marionette Madison to take the pin and save the belt for you, wouldn’t you?
How many shares of your company did you have to gift over to John Madison to get him to agree to be your lapdog anyway, Theo? Ten percent? Twenty? I bet for thirty you could have had him AND Shane get their scrotums all wet and have them eating out of your hand like ducks at a pond. And you wonder why nobody takes you seriously as a champion. Dude you’re about as legitimate of a champion as the Yankees when they bought all of those titles with the world’s most ridiculous contracts. You’re like the Miami Heat of Universal Champions, you can’t do it the old fashioned way so you just buy your way in. Well you know what, dude? One of these days someone is gonna out shark the shark, man. One of these days, when you least expect it, someone is gonna have more money to spend, more ability to maneuver the management, and more willingness to break the rules than you, and you’re gonna be out in the cold. Don’t worry though, Theo, I’m sure Samuels has an extra fat suit lying around his house so you two can keep embarrassing yourselves together and get hailed as the best shit talkers to ever grace the ring.
Speaking of Samuels… again, for some reason… dude, just like Theo over there, you just missed the point of everything I ever said, didn’t you? You want to focus on me accidentally saying you COULD do something when I clearly meant COULDN’T? Wow, that one really cut me deep, dude, you really are the silver tongued verbal rapist everyone says you are, aren’t you? Let’s recap, just for the hell of it, okay? You, John Samuels, COULD NOT defeat Maverick. You, John Samuels, COULD NOT defeat Michael McBride. Maverick got shit on by a midget and a guy dressed in pajamas, and McBride had to leave War Games early with a tummy ache or some shit, but they were better than you, weren’t they?
Getting it back to some language you and your little African baby can understand – they won. You lost. You’re gonna need more than a track record like that and one whole fist to walk out of Warfare with my titles, dude. Hell, you might not even walk out at all if you keep running your gums like a German shepherd with its face pressed up against your mother’s peanut butter covered hair pie. I’d say there’s probably about an equal chance of you actually bringing a woman to climax with that limp noodle dick of yours than there is of you even getting close to winning this Wednesday. So, no chance at all, dude.
And where’s the third Magi, John Madison, anyway? Did he already freak out at the prospect of getting his skull split open and head back to his basement to try on his new skin suit? Is he dancing provocatively to Q. Lazarus with his thimble dick stuck between his thighs? I thought this was the great, world bating team of impossible proportion we were coming into town to deal with on Wednesday, man, but so far it’s just looked like a cheap remake of Human Centipede. You guys have been going ass to mouth so much that you can probably identify one another by the taste of your individual strains of gonorrhea.
If you three take ten minutes from snowballing each other and telling each other how good it tastes to actually, like, get ready for this match, I’ll be amazed. Tell you what, Samuels, maybe I’ll do you a solid and let you lose by count out again?
Nah.