Post by Tomas Luger on Jan 16, 2010 1:39:04 GMT -5
It’s midday in Houston, Texas. Tomas Luger and Humphries sit at a table in a local bar, Luger looking through the want ads and Humphries lol-ing over the comics. Luger sips a whiskey sour, Humphries makes do with a cherry cola. Humphries nudges Luger’s arm.
Humphries: I love Get Fuzzy, read this Tom.
Luger looks over at the comic and shrugs, turning back to his job search. Humphries seems put out, and puts down the comics.
Humphries: Are you still looking for another job?
Luger just nods.
Humphries: Why? Didn’t you beat Scott Pandora? Don’t the fans still love you, all the fan letters I read this week seemed to make it sound like they do...
Luger puts down his section of the paper and downs his whiskey sour, jingling his glass and motioning for the waitress to bring him another.
TL: True, buddy, but not all victories are created equal.
Humphries: I don’t understand.
TL: I didn’t win my match against Pandora so much as he lost it. He got DQ’d, that’s a lot different that me getting a pinfall or a submission.
Humphries: Yeah, but a win’s a win. The record book doesn’t reflect that you won by disqualification, does it?
TL: No, but it means that if Scott Pandora wasn’t such a terrible wrestler with a roid rage problem, I probably wouldn’t have won that match. I’m just lucky that he sucks and no one cares about him. Plus, he nearly separated my shoulder, Hump. It’s not just fan support I have to worry about, I have to think about what would happen if I got injured by some overgrown buffoon that has no business in the ring.
Humphries: By buffoon, you mean Scott Pandora.
TL: Precisely the untalented hack I was referring to. I gotta think ahead, I’m not gonna be young and spry forever, you know.
Humphries: Hmmm. I never thought about it like that. So are you looking for some sort of office job? Maybe you could work at Baskin Robbins! I’d love free ice cream!
TL: No, I was thinking about something that might help me in the ring as well. Something that could toughen me up should I ever run into Scott Pandora and his absolute lack of style or ability in the ring again.
Humphries: Well, what’ve you got so far?
The waitress brings Luger another drink and he hands her a ten spot, keep the change. Luger sips on the icy glass, giving a satisfied “Ah!” as he sets down the booze and picks up the paper once more. Humphries looks over his shoulder.
Humphries: Arby’s is hiring! I love beef and cheddars!
TL: Dude, I’m not desperate, besides Arby’s is where women that don’t want their babies take them to be chopped into roast beef.
Humphries: Ew...Really?
Luger ignores Humphries and reads on. Humphries slides his comics section over and picks up a crayon, coloring in some of the funnier funnies. He breaks his blue Crayola in half as Tomas Luger jumps off his stool and exlaims-
TL: AHA!!! This is perfect!
Humphries: What? What is it?
Luger swallows down his whole drink and slams the glass down, puckering between the whiskey and the sour.
TL: Humphries, I’m gonna be a roughneck ranch hand!
Humphries: Oh no, that doesn’t sound good.
Luger hustles out of the bar and Humphries scrambles to follow him out.
****
The scene opens to a vast expanse of nothingness, but as we pan to the left we see a barn and a corral, Inside the fenced in circle is a beautiful black horse, bucking about wildly and several buckeroos sitting on the fence laughing and cheering the rider on. Pan more to the left and you can see Tomas Luger standing, decked out in chaps, boots, a flannel shirt and a bandana tied around his neck, complete with a cowboy hat. An old, wiry looking man approaches and spits out a sick brown glob onto the ground and puts out his hand.
Cowboy: You Luger?
TL: Yes sir!
Cowboy: I’m Martin, this here’s my ranch. You said over the phone you was interested in workin.
TL: Hells yes! When do I get to ride the horse?
Martin give’s Luger the stink eye and spits out more brown funk.
Martin: Just what in the hell did you say you do, again?
TL: I’m a professional wrestler, but I’m trying to come up with a backup job. Say, Martin, can I ask you a personal question?
Martin: I don’t think we need to be that close, son.
TL: How on Earth do you grow that incredible stubble? It looks like it could grate cheese, man! I haven’t shaved for like three days and I feel like a twelve year old boy compared to you.
Martin shakes his head and spits again.
Martin: You sure you want this job? Maybe you should get yourself something a little more friendly to a man such as yourself.
TL: Like what?
Martin: I dunno, son. Have you tried being a math teacher? Maybe something indoors?
TL: Hell no! I need to toughen myself up inside the ring, and this is perfect. Do you get a chance to watch much wrestling?
Martin: Nope.
TL: Well, I’m in this federation, The Wrestling Domain, we were based around here for a while. Sure you haven’t heard of us?
Martin: Nope.
TL: Uh, well, there’s a lot of sloppy wrestlers in the ring, you know guys that don’t know how to execute moves without hurting someone. Guys like Scott Pandora, you ever heard of him?
Martin: Nope.
TL: Oh, he’s this big sumbitch, but he’s an absolute retard in the ring. It’s like watching a kid with polio try to catch rain on his tongue. Just pathetic. Anyway, I have to wrestle these guys and I nearly got my damn shoulder separated trying to carry ol Scotty P through our last match. So I figured, while I’m searchin for work, why not try to find something that’s gonna make me a whole lot tougher, you know.
Martin: Kid, I don’t understand anything you’re talking ‘bout, but if you want some work, I’ve got a truck just come in and the hay needs to be bucked off it and stacked over yonder under that hay barn. Think you can handle that?
TL: Buck it! Ya get it?
Martin spits and shakes his head, taking off his hat and rubbing the top of his head.
Martin: You’re bout the weirdest fuckin kid I ever clapped eyes on, son. Just get over there and ask for Lance, he’ll help you get started on that hay, got it?
TL: Got it, boss!
Luger spits and smiles at Martin, who just walks away before Luger gives him an aneurysm. Luger puts his thumbs in his pockets and saunters over to the hay truck where two other guys are already working on taking the hay out of the truck and staking it. Luger walks up and tips his hat back with his thumb and smiles at the two men, who in turn glare at him without even stopping their work.
TL: Howdy!
The two stop and turn to Luger. The smile fades from The Champion of the Masses face.
TL: Uh, Martin sent me over to help out. Um...Lance?
The man on the truck nods at Luger.
Man on Truck: I’m Lance. You the new guy?
TL: Yeah, yes I am.
Lance: You ever bucked hay before, boy?
TL: Uh, no, no I haven’t. Is it hard?
Other Guy: You ever made love to a woman before?
TL: Um, yeah...
Lance: Huh, imagine that. No, it ain’t hard, but you can get hurt pretty easily, or hurt someone else if you don’t know what you’re doing. You want to hurt me, boy?
TL: No, I don’t suppose I do.
Lance: You wanna injure Wayne here?
Wayne gives Luger a leer. Luger swallows hard.
TL: No, not really.
Lance: That’s good. Tell you what, boy. I’ve got something you can handle. You see that barn over there?
TL: The big red one?
Wayne: Are you an idiot, boy?
TL: Um...what?
Lance: Yeah, the big red one little guy. You go on in there and you can milk the cows. You think you can handle that, boy?
TL: I suppose, say, can I ask you fellas a question?
The two men, who were about to get back to work, look back at Luger with as much disdain packed into their look as a human can possibly conjure.
TL: When do you get to ride the horse?
Lance and Wayne look at each other and begin to laugh, big belly holding, clutch your knees laughter. Lance wipes a tear from his eye.
Lance: Run along now, son, before you get hurt.
Luger tucks his head and make for the barn, passing by several roughnecks that all give him dirty looks and spit brown ooze as he passes. He opens up a side door on the barn and blinks as his eyes adjust to the lowlight. Inside there’s two rows of ten cows each. But not just any cows. Big, massive, beautiful Texas longhorns. Next to the right hand stalls is a small stool and a bucket sitting on it. Luger grabs the bucket and sets the stool under the first cow. He reaches up and grabs hold of the teat and begins pulling.
The cow lets out a boisterous moo and a massive kick, sending Luger reeling backward.
TL: Hey, God dammit! I can’t ride the horse, they won’t let me buck hay. I’m not failing this job too. You and me have to work together, sweetheart.
Luger sets the stool back up, replaces the bucket and pulls again.
Again, loud, groaning and kicking.
TL: Hey girl, what’s the big idea? Am I too rough? I’ll try a little easier then.
Luger, once again, sets up his stool and puts the bucket under the cow.
He reaches under with his right hand and with his left he reaches up and strokes the gigantic flank of the cow. He begins tugging lightly with his right and the cow moos, but doesn’t kick. The noise is awful loud, but at least the cow doesn’t appear to be pissed off.
TL: That’s right, you just need some romancin, don’t ya girl. I know how to treat the ladies.
Martin: Jesus Christ, boy, what in the fuck are you doing?
Luger turns around, knocking over the bucket and then kicking the stool as he stands. He wipes his hands on his chaps.
TL: Oh, Martin, you scared the shit out of me. Lance thought it might be better if I come and milk the cows instead. He didn’t want me to hurt him or Wayne trying to buck that hay, me being such a big, burly wrestler, it’s understandable.
Martin spits.
Martin: Son, that there is a bull.
Luger turns slightly pale and begins to wipe his hands more vigorously on his chaps.
TL: Uh, well, he didn’t seem to mind to much after. I had to rub him a little and whisper sweet nothings in it’s ear though.
Martin: Are you in love with my beeves, you sick sumbitch?
Luger looks at the cow, and looks at Martin, who just spits a brown goober out in disgust.
TL: I’m just gonna go.
Martin: That’s probably for the best, before someone kicks your ass.
Luger starts to walk out of the barn, but turns and grabs the rope to the bull he was jerking off.
TL: I’m taking him with me. We’ve got a bond that you don’t understand.
Luger walks out of the barn, longhorn in tow.
Martin just watches him go, shaking his head, and spits.
Humphries: I love Get Fuzzy, read this Tom.
Luger looks over at the comic and shrugs, turning back to his job search. Humphries seems put out, and puts down the comics.
Humphries: Are you still looking for another job?
Luger just nods.
Humphries: Why? Didn’t you beat Scott Pandora? Don’t the fans still love you, all the fan letters I read this week seemed to make it sound like they do...
Luger puts down his section of the paper and downs his whiskey sour, jingling his glass and motioning for the waitress to bring him another.
TL: True, buddy, but not all victories are created equal.
Humphries: I don’t understand.
TL: I didn’t win my match against Pandora so much as he lost it. He got DQ’d, that’s a lot different that me getting a pinfall or a submission.
Humphries: Yeah, but a win’s a win. The record book doesn’t reflect that you won by disqualification, does it?
TL: No, but it means that if Scott Pandora wasn’t such a terrible wrestler with a roid rage problem, I probably wouldn’t have won that match. I’m just lucky that he sucks and no one cares about him. Plus, he nearly separated my shoulder, Hump. It’s not just fan support I have to worry about, I have to think about what would happen if I got injured by some overgrown buffoon that has no business in the ring.
Humphries: By buffoon, you mean Scott Pandora.
TL: Precisely the untalented hack I was referring to. I gotta think ahead, I’m not gonna be young and spry forever, you know.
Humphries: Hmmm. I never thought about it like that. So are you looking for some sort of office job? Maybe you could work at Baskin Robbins! I’d love free ice cream!
TL: No, I was thinking about something that might help me in the ring as well. Something that could toughen me up should I ever run into Scott Pandora and his absolute lack of style or ability in the ring again.
Humphries: Well, what’ve you got so far?
The waitress brings Luger another drink and he hands her a ten spot, keep the change. Luger sips on the icy glass, giving a satisfied “Ah!” as he sets down the booze and picks up the paper once more. Humphries looks over his shoulder.
Humphries: Arby’s is hiring! I love beef and cheddars!
TL: Dude, I’m not desperate, besides Arby’s is where women that don’t want their babies take them to be chopped into roast beef.
Humphries: Ew...Really?
Luger ignores Humphries and reads on. Humphries slides his comics section over and picks up a crayon, coloring in some of the funnier funnies. He breaks his blue Crayola in half as Tomas Luger jumps off his stool and exlaims-
TL: AHA!!! This is perfect!
Humphries: What? What is it?
Luger swallows down his whole drink and slams the glass down, puckering between the whiskey and the sour.
TL: Humphries, I’m gonna be a roughneck ranch hand!
Humphries: Oh no, that doesn’t sound good.
Luger hustles out of the bar and Humphries scrambles to follow him out.
****
The scene opens to a vast expanse of nothingness, but as we pan to the left we see a barn and a corral, Inside the fenced in circle is a beautiful black horse, bucking about wildly and several buckeroos sitting on the fence laughing and cheering the rider on. Pan more to the left and you can see Tomas Luger standing, decked out in chaps, boots, a flannel shirt and a bandana tied around his neck, complete with a cowboy hat. An old, wiry looking man approaches and spits out a sick brown glob onto the ground and puts out his hand.
Cowboy: You Luger?
TL: Yes sir!
Cowboy: I’m Martin, this here’s my ranch. You said over the phone you was interested in workin.
TL: Hells yes! When do I get to ride the horse?
Martin give’s Luger the stink eye and spits out more brown funk.
Martin: Just what in the hell did you say you do, again?
TL: I’m a professional wrestler, but I’m trying to come up with a backup job. Say, Martin, can I ask you a personal question?
Martin: I don’t think we need to be that close, son.
TL: How on Earth do you grow that incredible stubble? It looks like it could grate cheese, man! I haven’t shaved for like three days and I feel like a twelve year old boy compared to you.
Martin shakes his head and spits again.
Martin: You sure you want this job? Maybe you should get yourself something a little more friendly to a man such as yourself.
TL: Like what?
Martin: I dunno, son. Have you tried being a math teacher? Maybe something indoors?
TL: Hell no! I need to toughen myself up inside the ring, and this is perfect. Do you get a chance to watch much wrestling?
Martin: Nope.
TL: Well, I’m in this federation, The Wrestling Domain, we were based around here for a while. Sure you haven’t heard of us?
Martin: Nope.
TL: Uh, well, there’s a lot of sloppy wrestlers in the ring, you know guys that don’t know how to execute moves without hurting someone. Guys like Scott Pandora, you ever heard of him?
Martin: Nope.
TL: Oh, he’s this big sumbitch, but he’s an absolute retard in the ring. It’s like watching a kid with polio try to catch rain on his tongue. Just pathetic. Anyway, I have to wrestle these guys and I nearly got my damn shoulder separated trying to carry ol Scotty P through our last match. So I figured, while I’m searchin for work, why not try to find something that’s gonna make me a whole lot tougher, you know.
Martin: Kid, I don’t understand anything you’re talking ‘bout, but if you want some work, I’ve got a truck just come in and the hay needs to be bucked off it and stacked over yonder under that hay barn. Think you can handle that?
TL: Buck it! Ya get it?
Martin spits and shakes his head, taking off his hat and rubbing the top of his head.
Martin: You’re bout the weirdest fuckin kid I ever clapped eyes on, son. Just get over there and ask for Lance, he’ll help you get started on that hay, got it?
TL: Got it, boss!
Luger spits and smiles at Martin, who just walks away before Luger gives him an aneurysm. Luger puts his thumbs in his pockets and saunters over to the hay truck where two other guys are already working on taking the hay out of the truck and staking it. Luger walks up and tips his hat back with his thumb and smiles at the two men, who in turn glare at him without even stopping their work.
TL: Howdy!
The two stop and turn to Luger. The smile fades from The Champion of the Masses face.
TL: Uh, Martin sent me over to help out. Um...Lance?
The man on the truck nods at Luger.
Man on Truck: I’m Lance. You the new guy?
TL: Yeah, yes I am.
Lance: You ever bucked hay before, boy?
TL: Uh, no, no I haven’t. Is it hard?
Other Guy: You ever made love to a woman before?
TL: Um, yeah...
Lance: Huh, imagine that. No, it ain’t hard, but you can get hurt pretty easily, or hurt someone else if you don’t know what you’re doing. You want to hurt me, boy?
TL: No, I don’t suppose I do.
Lance: You wanna injure Wayne here?
Wayne gives Luger a leer. Luger swallows hard.
TL: No, not really.
Lance: That’s good. Tell you what, boy. I’ve got something you can handle. You see that barn over there?
TL: The big red one?
Wayne: Are you an idiot, boy?
TL: Um...what?
Lance: Yeah, the big red one little guy. You go on in there and you can milk the cows. You think you can handle that, boy?
TL: I suppose, say, can I ask you fellas a question?
The two men, who were about to get back to work, look back at Luger with as much disdain packed into their look as a human can possibly conjure.
TL: When do you get to ride the horse?
Lance and Wayne look at each other and begin to laugh, big belly holding, clutch your knees laughter. Lance wipes a tear from his eye.
Lance: Run along now, son, before you get hurt.
Luger tucks his head and make for the barn, passing by several roughnecks that all give him dirty looks and spit brown ooze as he passes. He opens up a side door on the barn and blinks as his eyes adjust to the lowlight. Inside there’s two rows of ten cows each. But not just any cows. Big, massive, beautiful Texas longhorns. Next to the right hand stalls is a small stool and a bucket sitting on it. Luger grabs the bucket and sets the stool under the first cow. He reaches up and grabs hold of the teat and begins pulling.
The cow lets out a boisterous moo and a massive kick, sending Luger reeling backward.
TL: Hey, God dammit! I can’t ride the horse, they won’t let me buck hay. I’m not failing this job too. You and me have to work together, sweetheart.
Luger sets the stool back up, replaces the bucket and pulls again.
Again, loud, groaning and kicking.
TL: Hey girl, what’s the big idea? Am I too rough? I’ll try a little easier then.
Luger, once again, sets up his stool and puts the bucket under the cow.
He reaches under with his right hand and with his left he reaches up and strokes the gigantic flank of the cow. He begins tugging lightly with his right and the cow moos, but doesn’t kick. The noise is awful loud, but at least the cow doesn’t appear to be pissed off.
TL: That’s right, you just need some romancin, don’t ya girl. I know how to treat the ladies.
Martin: Jesus Christ, boy, what in the fuck are you doing?
Luger turns around, knocking over the bucket and then kicking the stool as he stands. He wipes his hands on his chaps.
TL: Oh, Martin, you scared the shit out of me. Lance thought it might be better if I come and milk the cows instead. He didn’t want me to hurt him or Wayne trying to buck that hay, me being such a big, burly wrestler, it’s understandable.
Martin spits.
Martin: Son, that there is a bull.
Luger turns slightly pale and begins to wipe his hands more vigorously on his chaps.
TL: Uh, well, he didn’t seem to mind to much after. I had to rub him a little and whisper sweet nothings in it’s ear though.
Martin: Are you in love with my beeves, you sick sumbitch?
Luger looks at the cow, and looks at Martin, who just spits a brown goober out in disgust.
TL: I’m just gonna go.
Martin: That’s probably for the best, before someone kicks your ass.
Luger starts to walk out of the barn, but turns and grabs the rope to the bull he was jerking off.
TL: I’m taking him with me. We’ve got a bond that you don’t understand.
Luger walks out of the barn, longhorn in tow.
Martin just watches him go, shaking his head, and spits.