Tuesday, April 21st, 2015
In The Early A.M.
Appler-Beads -a.k.a- Applebees
Just Outside of Boston
The scene opens inside of your standard dingy Applebees diner during Happy Hour, well equipped with half ass cleaned floors, cigarette smoke and cross-bar arguments over televised sporting events. This was Muddy’s idea of a real fancy restaurant, bless his heart.
We see a staggeringly intoxicated Muddy Waters sitting in a booth, on the other side of the table are his daughter Dolly Waters and Morbid Angel sitting together giggling as Morbid discloses gruesome stories of death from his time in the war. Muddy is sitting there trying to listen, wobbling back and forth, one eye opened, the other eyelid fluttering like a broken wing on a butterfly.
Up comes the mildly attractive, fairly thin waitress, carrying a platter with everyone’s meals,
“Well let’s see here… for you sir, raw lamb chops.â€
She hands the blood filled plate over to Morbid Angel,
“Now you do know that the FDA suggests not eating undercooked…â€
“I know what the fuck I ordered, but thank you.â€
“Ooohhh… well okay sir. And for the little lady, a deluxe grilled cheese with deep fried oreos.â€
The waitress blushes at the excitement on Dolly’s face who’s smiling like a down syndrome patient who’d just dirtied her diaper. The nice little waitress then looks over to Muddy, who’s growing drunker by the second as he chugs on a pitcher of beer, spilling a majority of it on his shirt.
“..and last but not least! For you sir, a jumbo bloomin’ onion…â€
Muddy looks first at the waitress’s ample breasts, then up at her, his eyelid still fluttering from the mixture of alcohol and doctor prescribe Percocet,
Muddy’s slurred speech is easily mistaken again,
“Right.. the Jumbo Bloomin’ Onion.â€
“Come ear’ you…â€
Muddy grabs the waitress by the wrist and pulls her down into his lap. Face to face with her he begins to ramble what sounds like some form of back wooded intimate language,
“Itd’ be’s alrighty-fied there little lady, Muddy gone take care of this here slop slingin’ and make’r’ lovins’ on yer’ mouth real good and warm feelin’ like.â€
The widened eyed, and surprisingly smiling waitress then receives Muddy’s alcohol drenched tongue in her mouth as the two begin to awkwardly make-out, while making groaning noises so loud it disturbs the bar drunkards who are now watching.
Morbid while taking a bite of his raw lamb meat, puts one of his hands over Dolly’s eyes, who completely miss fires on her cheek while trying to shove a deep fried oreo in her mouth.
Morbid while taking a bite of his raw lamb meat, puts one of his hands over Dolly’s eyes, who completely miss fires on her cheek while trying to shove a deep fried oreo in her mouth. The situation was odd all around, Muddy usually liked bigger, less attractive women when getting some strange…
The waitress gets up glowing, her hair messed up and slobber on her face. She nods and walks off as Muddy slaps her on the ass… The pilled out, piss drunk, ‘pro-fess-unal rassler’ sits up straight, bows his head and holds out his arms to Dolly and Morbid,
“Let’s us prayed…â€
Morbid looks over with disgust at Dolly who’s rolling her eyes as if to say: ‘Just play along’, and grabs her father’s hand,
“I don’t do that…â€
“Dear Lord o’ mighty mistifyin’ Jesus tha’ warrior, ridin’ in on yer’ white stallion of wrath like ah’ Game ah’ Thrones overlord weildin’ ah’ roarin’ sword of ven-gance upon tha’ heads of non-believe-abers…
Dear Lord we come ta’ yah’ ta’night ta’ thank ya’ fer’ all you’s done of ol’ Muddy and Dolly Waters, we thank ya’ fer’ them big ass checks Paul Heyman’s fat ass been ah’ writin’ Muddy… Dear Lord we also pray fer' ah' speedy recovery fer' Mr. Heyman, who's fat ass done got blown up ina' limbo-siene explosion ta'night, we needs ta' keep gettin' them checks.
Dear Lord we thank ya’ fer’ our new friend and Dolly’s baby-sitter Morbid Angel, may ya’ seek him dear Lord and bring-eth him and his satanical-fyin ways ta’ yer’ heart…
Morbid gets up throws his handkerchief on his plate and walks to the restroom with his slab of bloody lamb chop. Dolly and Muddy continue to pray…
Dear mighty ass kickin’, fire-breathin’, Obama fer-sakin’ Lord our Jesus, we come to ya’ in humili-fied-ness ta’ pray fer’ Muddy’s opponent next week Lover’d Boy Skinny Lane… Dear magical Lord Jesus we ask that ya’ cure ol’ Mr. Lane of his demon drivin’ homosexual spirit and male anal ob-sessions... Free him from is' self'a'flicticatin' metra-sexual tendancies, so that he too may join us fer’ever in tha’ light of yer’ kingdom of ass kickin’
One and once’d over… two b’fore ah’ four… it be in yer’ name we pray Jesus. Amen.â€
“Amen.â€
Muddy looks up from the table, his head spinning like a tilt-a-whirl, he pulls a piece of the onion from his dish and dips it in the mustard sauce that came with it…
“Lookin’ ear’ like ah’ damned reused night-crawler cut from ah’ big mouth’s belly…â€
Muddy, along with the piece of fried onion, pops two of his pain killers in his mouth and starts to chew it all up,
“Daddy, aint ya’ orta’ chill out on them pills ah’ bit? Ya’ done had three of em’ on the way here.â€
Muddy turns over his shoulder and sees the cute little waitress smiling at him and waving,
“Dolly… Daddy gunna’ bag yah’ ah’ new momma’ ta’night’.â€
Just after saying that, Muddy falls over face first into his bloomin’ onion…
???
???
…???...
The swollen fingers from a set of white hands mash away on a black keyboard…
lying on a grey desk…
sitting in the corner a pale painted small office…
“Dylan!â€
A voice from the other side of the room shouts out,
“Yeah, yeah…what?â€
The young, blonde headed, business-casual dressed man beating on the keyboard named Dylan responds,
“Are you going to answer me or not?â€
Dylan irritatingly breaks away from his perception being sunken into the computer screen,
“What Jordan? What did you say? I’m sorry… I didn’t hear you.â€
He asks his co-worker, Jordan,
“Why isn’t the releases for the resin substrates matching the Ford SNC data?â€
“Ummmm…â€
Dylan is stumped,
“Maybe if you weren’t so busy sitting over there roleplaying, you’d be able to answer me…â€
“Wait… what are you talking about?â€
Just at that moment in walks a group of people into the small office: Dylan’s pregnant wife Cathy, his Asian looking boss with an Eastern Kentucky accent and a long scar on his face named Eric, and a white haired man he didn’t recognize wearing a white coat…
Dylan quickly closes out of the skype chat and his internet browser...
“Dylan, this is an intervention…â€
Jordan says,
“What the fuck is going on why are you all here?â€
Dylan asks the lot of them,
“Maybe you orta’ tell us why we’re here Dylan…â€
Says Dylan’s boss, Eric,
“Just tell the truth Dylan… it’s breaking everyone’s heart! I’m your wife and me, and the kids, we don’t even know you anymore. All you ever do is sit around and write these weird wrestling roleplays…â€
Dylan’s wife is sobbing,
“I used to respect you Dylan, I used to look up to you, you had all the answers… I don’t even know you anymore.â€
Says his co-worker, Jordan,
“I just wanna’ know Dylan, are yah’ makin’ fun of me? Cause how I talk?… It’s awful funny that yer’ character talks a lot like I do…â€
His boss, Eric, asks,
“What is it with these stories Dylan? Tell us… we’re here to help you, these people brought me here because they want you to get help.â€
The white haired, white coated man asks,
“Just who tha’ hell are ya’ feller!?!â€
Dylan commands as his wife, Cathy, begins sobbing even louder, holding her face in her hands now,
“I’m from Charter Ridge, I’m here to help… tell me Dylan, what is it with these Loverboy’s and their Heart Titles you’re trying to win? Do you have suppressed homosexual feelings?â€
The white haired man from Charter Ridge asks,
“Aint’ ah’ damn thing homo-fied bout’ Dylan, not no way, not no how!â€
Dylan yells out at the top of his lungs,
“The problem seems even more severe than I had feared… he appears to be suffering from a multi-fied personalit-istical heebiegeebie fiddle font licker disorder… There’s only one solution, we must cut out his brain and drain out the gay juice.â€
The group of people begin approaching Dylan with their arms reaching for him like Zombies as they chant:
…Dylan screams loud and thumps his head hard against the wall behind him…
Tuesday, April 21st, 2015
Afternoon
Some Hotel Suite
Providence, Rhode Island
THUD!
Muddy jumps up covered in sweat to the sound of the the waitress rolling out of his bed and falling onto the floor. He had been having one of those indescribably odd dreams, the type of which makes no sense...
His head is throbbing as he clutches at his hair. Muddy looks over to the night stand, the clock radio reading:
3:37 P.M.
Muddy grabs his pill bottle next to the clock, and a warm longneck of beer with a cigarette floating in it... he chews up another Percocet and swollows it down with the beer, disgustingly not noticing the cigarette-butt flavor.
"Gunna' be ah' damn good day Muddy..."
He says, as he steps out of bed, groaning while stepping over the naked waitress's body and right into a fresh pile of puke...
"Ah' shit..."
Again it was unusual for Muddy to have slept with such a thin attractive woman, I guess where some men drink ugly chicks cute, Muddy drinks cute chicks ugly. Across the room there is a calender hanging on the wall...
He grabs a red sharpie and circles the date: Monday, April 27th... then scribbles in poor hand writing with his shaking hand:
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