Post by Tomas Luger on Jan 23, 2010 1:52:48 GMT -5
It’s around eleven in the A.M. and Tomas Luger yawns his way into the kitchen area of the hotel suite they’re staying at this week. He’s wearing Captain Morgan boxer shorts and a sleepy, stupid look on his face as he reaches into the cabinet and grabs a bowl. He picks up the Kix off the counter and begins pouring a bowl. Like a moth to the flame, Humphries comes from another room in the suite, wearing the same boxer shorts as Luger and donning the same sleepy, idiot look on his face. The champion of the Masses grabs another bowl down from the cabinet and Humphries begins pouring himself of bowl of Kix too. The two sit down at the dining table and begin pouring white gold on their crunchy, deliciousness. Luger spoons a bite of cereal into his mouth, milk running down his chin, and chews like an oblivious barn animal. Humphries pours his milk and sets the carton in front of him, reading the health and nutritional facts as he gobbles down his breakfast. Humphries breaks the silence.
Humphries: So, Dragzilla sure has been quiet this week, huh?
TL: Ungh…
Humphries assumes the grunt means yes.
Humphries: Wonder why that is?
TL: Ungh…
Humphries: I know you don’t care, but still. What if he got murdered or kidnapped or abducted by aliens.
TL: He’d probably like all the probing, the binding, and the torture, so I’m not too worried.
The two continue to spoon cereal into their craws like a game of Hungry, Hungry Hippos.
Humphries: What if he doesn’t show up for your match on Showdown?
Tomas pauses mid chew.
TL: Then I suppose I’d win, Hump.
The two continue their morning gorge in more relative silence, but you can just tell that something is bothering Humphries about this situation.
Humphries: So, what are we doing today. Texas kinda sucks…
TL: I dunno. Texas isn’t so bad, but I suppose since you can’t get drunk at the bars it isn’t great, huh?
Humphries: What if we make up some fliers and hand ‘em out.
TL: For what, man?
Humphries: Well, some fliers asking if anyone’s seen Dragzilla. We could put a picture on it and have them contact the federation if he’s found.
Luger puts the bowl to his lips and noisily slurps down the milk from his bowl. Humphries follows suit. Luger puts his bowl down and wipes his mouth.
TL: Sure, why the hell not? I’ve got nothing better to do.
Humphries face brightens.
Humphries: Alright! I’m gonna go get some markers and make up the fliers.
TL: I’m gonna shower. We head out in half an hour, buddy.
Humphries runs off and Luger heads to the bathroom.
****
The two senior members of The Rabble of Dangerous Miscreants exit the hotel and hail a taxi. Humphries has a stack of fliers in his clutches. They enter the cab.
Cabbie: Where to, guys?
Humphries thrusts one of the fliers into the face of the man as he turns around to find out their destination.
Humphries: Have you seen this drag queen?
The cab driver looks at the flier then at Humphries then at Luger.
Cabbie: Look, pal, I just want to know where I can drop you.
Luger hands the driver a roll of bills.
TL: We want to see some sights today. What’s your name there, home slice?
The driver takes the roll and rifles through it, his face lighting up some in the process.
Cabbie: I’m Ralph, what kinda sights you guys wanna see?
TL: Well, Ralph, we want you to be our guide to all the most debaucherous places this town has to offer. We should start with any gay clubs, work our way onto strip clubs, then hit any adult movie stores, adult book stores, maybe even hit up some gay bars. We’re probably going to want to hit up some lingerie boutiques, you know Vicky’s Secret and the like. Anywhere a homo/transvestite/hermaphrodite would haunt. Sound like a plan?
Ralph’s expression sours some, then he looks at Humphries and then back at Luger.
Ralph: Why the hell would you and a kid wanna go to these places? I know I sure as hell don’t wanna.
TL: Ralph, you watch much television?
Ralph: Sure.
TL: You ever heard of The Wrestling Domain?
Ralph: Sure, but I’m not a huge fan.
TL: Well, Ralph, I’m a wrestler for that particular federation. I’ve got a match here in town on the twenty fourth and this weirdo on the flier has gone missing, we think. We’re trying to find him, make sure he hasn’t OD’d on heroin or been left for dead after a two hour anal fisting, anything like that. I don’t want to disappoint the fans.
Ralph: What kind of fucked up place do you work for?
TL: It’s a long story, Ralphy, my friend. Suffice it to say, they let anyone, and I mean anyone work there. Trust me, we’re not all pole smoking degenerates like this guy.
Ralph looks once more at Humphries.
Ralph: Oh. What’s with the kid, he your son?
TL: Sort of. I adopted him illegally, and he’s my partner in crime, so to speak. He wears goat pants. He’s sweetly naïve. You know how it is.
Ralph looks at Humphries goat pants and Humphries smiles and waves at him. Ralph shakes his head and pulls the cab away from the curb.
Ralph: Whatever you gotta do, buddy. Let’s take you and the kid sight seeing.
****
So, Lugernauts, here we are. In the midst of my comeback. But like LL Cool J once rapped, don’t call it a comeback. I’ve been here for years. Did anyone else notice me get a victory over Scott Pandora last week? Yeah, he may have been disqualified, but that’s his problem. Scott, what did I tell you? Do you remember? That makes us even. Loser. Go on. Fade into a footnote anytime now. Simple Scott. You’re like Sloth from the fuckin Goonies, man. Sloppy bitch. What else needs to be said? Nothing, moving on.
Ah, the return of a Legend. Apparently, Jason Hartnell is under the assumption that I’m hiding under my bed and locking my dogs in safes to protect their sweet anal virginity. Let me sort through some things, there J Hizzle. You are about as big a problem for me as jerking off is for a guy with five arms. You talk like we should all walk around on egg shells in your presence, but the fact of the matter is that I’m a fucking lunatic. I don’t care. I’ll take you on again anytime, anywhere. That doesn’t just go for you, big guy, so don’t start feeling special. Here it is, right now, for the record-
ANYONE.
ANYTIME.
ANYWHERE.
I DON’T CARE.
Yeah, I’m the easy to beat opponent, keep fooling yourself. I will admit that I wasn’t prepared for you. Sure, I can do that. I wasn’t prepared for you. Happy? But don’t kid yourself into thinking that you’re somehow the end all, be all around here. You may be solid in the ring, and your backstage shit may entertain some fans, but guess who has, is and always will equal a ratings spike and an up tick in ticket sales and merchandise sales?
Uh, yeah, that’d be me, shit for brains.
Why else would the Moderators book me on THREE STRAIGHT SHOWS? Trust me, it isn’t because they needed fodder. No, that's why Dragzilla gets booked against Jamie Krenshaw in a title match. Gotta protect our champions precious streak, na'mean? Tomas Luger=Profits. If I come up with a new, devastating move I’m gonna have to call it Dollars and Sense. J, do me a favor, and don’t do this to yourself. You beat me and let’s leave it at that. You don’t want to goad me, buddy. I know, you’re thinking to yourself, “Hey, I’m Jason Fucking Hartnell. I don’t fear anyone. I’ll rip this little faggot’s head off and shit down his neck and forget to flush, ‘cause this is my time”. Don’t think that. I may never, ever beat you in the ring, but there’s so much more to this business, isn’t there? Listen to me on this one, and let it go with the victory. I’m not shook of you, you’re little diatribe you put out this week about me being an epic failure was cute at best. Just like you, cute at best. I’ve wrestled better, with and against. You aren’t as big and scary to me as you think, you fuckin half assed boogey man. Step off my twenty dollar shoes before I wreck one of those nice thousand dollar suits I saw you wearing. This is YOUR warning. Do with it whatever you want. Chump.
Yes, I know the effect this is probably going to have. That’s why I’m Tomas Luger. And that’s why you are whoever you are. Deal with it.
****
Tomas Luger and Humphries exit a gay bar. Luger is checking his backside as best he can and Humphries has a look on his face like he’d just seen his family pet mauled by the Loch Ness Monster.
TL: Do I have glittery hand prints on my ass?
Humphries just stares off into nothingness, obviously shaken by what he’d just witnessed.
TL: C’mon, Ralph’s waiting. Are we out of fliers.
Still bewildered, Luger shakes Humphries back into reality on the outside of that homosexual dungeon.
TL: Hump, it’s gonna be alright. I’m sure you don’t really have a pretty mouth, buddy. I wonder if taking you around chicks would have the same effect on me, though.
Humphries: Let’s get outta here, Tom. I don’t feel so good.
The two walk over to Ralph’s cab and enter into the backseat.
Ralph: Any luck in there?
TL: Well, I got six phone numbers and it would seem I have a sweet behind, but no one had seen my opponent.
Ralph: What’s with the kid?
Humphries is just staring out the window.
TL: Uh, first time, you know?
Ralph: No, I don’t really. Not my scene, if you know what I mean.
TL: Yeah, I do. I think that’s it, Ralph. We’re out of fliers and we still haven’t found him.
Ralph: Well, I’m sure whoever this Dragzilla character is, he’ll find his way home and to that ring in time for you to wrestle him. Plus, there aren’t too many spots like that around Texas, you know what I’m sayin?
TL: Not the community for it, huh?
Ralph: Shit no, I’ve seen guys like that get drug behind trucks for fun around here. So where to now, fellas?
TL: Let’s go get a beer at a normal bar, waddya say, Ralph?
Ralph: What about the kid, they won’t let him in.
Luger glances over at Humphries.
TL: He can wait in the cab, I don’t think he’s gonna leave the hotel for a few weeks after this, I wouldn’t worry about him leaving the cab.
Humphries looks over at Luger, concern on his adolescent face.
Humphries: Tom?
TL: Yeah, Hump?
Humphries: Next time, let’s just put his picture on the back of a milk carton.
The cab speeds off, leaving the seedy underworld of gay Texas in the nearing dusk.
****
So, Dragz, we meet again. You and I have a bit of a past, don’t we. Well, not the past I’m sure you’d like for us to have, but a past none the less. Between now and our days in The TWF, we’ve matched up before, but it’s different this time. This time, there is no Juggernaut ENT at your back, helping out when the going gets tough. This time you’re just Dragz from the block. Oh, I meant to ask! How’d that title shot go for you? Everything you thought it would be? It was everything I expected it to be. Seriously, what can I say that Jamie Krenshaw didn’t?
You’re all gimmick, Dragz. You may have one of the most over the top personas ever to grace the squared circle, but that doesn’t equate into success inside the ring. In fact, I’m willing to bet that’s all you are, Dragz, is one big gimmick. Just like Marilyn Manson, you used to be the nerd that everyone picked on in high school. Did they call you a freak because you were quiet and liked to stare at all the popular girls? I’ll bet they did, you scared little kid. I don’t buy your bullshit for a minute though. All this “Kiss, Kiss” crap, it’s all an angle. You’re about as queer as a two dollar bill. I said that right, don’t worry. Fucking Howard Stern of wrestling. You can’t make it by being a “normal” wrestler, so you created this false image of over the top transexual to try to make it. How’s that working for you? That’s rhetorical, by the way, don’t bother answering.
Dragzilla, Dragzilla. You’re biggest claim to fame is your lengthy, and unlikely run in the When Worlds Collide tournament a couple of years ago, otherwise you’re filler. Want to know where all these wild accusations are coming from? From your drastic shift in recent weeks. You went from the Clit Commandoes, or whatever chafe of a gimmick that was, to some very morose and awkward dialog about yourself in recent weeks. Dude, you need a therapist, not a wrestling career. You need a bottle of cheap vodka and some Dr. Phil, not a match against Tomas Luger. I don’t blame you for not taping any promos this week, I mean, why should you? It’s just gonna be chalked up to wasted tape anyway. No one wants to sit through another worthless Dragzilla rant, filled with garbage and hollow threats and empty words.
Because that’s all you are, Dragz, good buddy. Hollow, empty, garbage.
I’ll understand if you pull a vanishing act in the ring on Showdown. If I was you, I wouldn’t want to have to lick my wounds in public and then wrestle me this week either. Fortunately, I’m not you. I don’t lick my wounds, I let them fester. They serve as a reminder for later. That’s why I can get beaten handily by Jason “Big Toughy” Hartnell and then come out and get a W against Scott “Big Waste” Pandora the next week. That’s why I can walk backstage and not worry about being jumped by any of these half asses, because I learn from my mistakes.
But it’s hard to learn, isn’t it Dragz, when you’re whole lie..er…life is one big mistake.
See ya on Showdown, Draggy, baby.
Kiss, Kiss my ass.
Chump
Humphries: So, Dragzilla sure has been quiet this week, huh?
TL: Ungh…
Humphries assumes the grunt means yes.
Humphries: Wonder why that is?
TL: Ungh…
Humphries: I know you don’t care, but still. What if he got murdered or kidnapped or abducted by aliens.
TL: He’d probably like all the probing, the binding, and the torture, so I’m not too worried.
The two continue to spoon cereal into their craws like a game of Hungry, Hungry Hippos.
Humphries: What if he doesn’t show up for your match on Showdown?
Tomas pauses mid chew.
TL: Then I suppose I’d win, Hump.
The two continue their morning gorge in more relative silence, but you can just tell that something is bothering Humphries about this situation.
Humphries: So, what are we doing today. Texas kinda sucks…
TL: I dunno. Texas isn’t so bad, but I suppose since you can’t get drunk at the bars it isn’t great, huh?
Humphries: What if we make up some fliers and hand ‘em out.
TL: For what, man?
Humphries: Well, some fliers asking if anyone’s seen Dragzilla. We could put a picture on it and have them contact the federation if he’s found.
Luger puts the bowl to his lips and noisily slurps down the milk from his bowl. Humphries follows suit. Luger puts his bowl down and wipes his mouth.
TL: Sure, why the hell not? I’ve got nothing better to do.
Humphries face brightens.
Humphries: Alright! I’m gonna go get some markers and make up the fliers.
TL: I’m gonna shower. We head out in half an hour, buddy.
Humphries runs off and Luger heads to the bathroom.
****
The two senior members of The Rabble of Dangerous Miscreants exit the hotel and hail a taxi. Humphries has a stack of fliers in his clutches. They enter the cab.
Cabbie: Where to, guys?
Humphries thrusts one of the fliers into the face of the man as he turns around to find out their destination.
Humphries: Have you seen this drag queen?
The cab driver looks at the flier then at Humphries then at Luger.
Cabbie: Look, pal, I just want to know where I can drop you.
Luger hands the driver a roll of bills.
TL: We want to see some sights today. What’s your name there, home slice?
The driver takes the roll and rifles through it, his face lighting up some in the process.
Cabbie: I’m Ralph, what kinda sights you guys wanna see?
TL: Well, Ralph, we want you to be our guide to all the most debaucherous places this town has to offer. We should start with any gay clubs, work our way onto strip clubs, then hit any adult movie stores, adult book stores, maybe even hit up some gay bars. We’re probably going to want to hit up some lingerie boutiques, you know Vicky’s Secret and the like. Anywhere a homo/transvestite/hermaphrodite would haunt. Sound like a plan?
Ralph’s expression sours some, then he looks at Humphries and then back at Luger.
Ralph: Why the hell would you and a kid wanna go to these places? I know I sure as hell don’t wanna.
TL: Ralph, you watch much television?
Ralph: Sure.
TL: You ever heard of The Wrestling Domain?
Ralph: Sure, but I’m not a huge fan.
TL: Well, Ralph, I’m a wrestler for that particular federation. I’ve got a match here in town on the twenty fourth and this weirdo on the flier has gone missing, we think. We’re trying to find him, make sure he hasn’t OD’d on heroin or been left for dead after a two hour anal fisting, anything like that. I don’t want to disappoint the fans.
Ralph: What kind of fucked up place do you work for?
TL: It’s a long story, Ralphy, my friend. Suffice it to say, they let anyone, and I mean anyone work there. Trust me, we’re not all pole smoking degenerates like this guy.
Ralph looks once more at Humphries.
Ralph: Oh. What’s with the kid, he your son?
TL: Sort of. I adopted him illegally, and he’s my partner in crime, so to speak. He wears goat pants. He’s sweetly naïve. You know how it is.
Ralph looks at Humphries goat pants and Humphries smiles and waves at him. Ralph shakes his head and pulls the cab away from the curb.
Ralph: Whatever you gotta do, buddy. Let’s take you and the kid sight seeing.
****
So, Lugernauts, here we are. In the midst of my comeback. But like LL Cool J once rapped, don’t call it a comeback. I’ve been here for years. Did anyone else notice me get a victory over Scott Pandora last week? Yeah, he may have been disqualified, but that’s his problem. Scott, what did I tell you? Do you remember? That makes us even. Loser. Go on. Fade into a footnote anytime now. Simple Scott. You’re like Sloth from the fuckin Goonies, man. Sloppy bitch. What else needs to be said? Nothing, moving on.
Ah, the return of a Legend. Apparently, Jason Hartnell is under the assumption that I’m hiding under my bed and locking my dogs in safes to protect their sweet anal virginity. Let me sort through some things, there J Hizzle. You are about as big a problem for me as jerking off is for a guy with five arms. You talk like we should all walk around on egg shells in your presence, but the fact of the matter is that I’m a fucking lunatic. I don’t care. I’ll take you on again anytime, anywhere. That doesn’t just go for you, big guy, so don’t start feeling special. Here it is, right now, for the record-
ANYONE.
ANYTIME.
ANYWHERE.
I DON’T CARE.
Yeah, I’m the easy to beat opponent, keep fooling yourself. I will admit that I wasn’t prepared for you. Sure, I can do that. I wasn’t prepared for you. Happy? But don’t kid yourself into thinking that you’re somehow the end all, be all around here. You may be solid in the ring, and your backstage shit may entertain some fans, but guess who has, is and always will equal a ratings spike and an up tick in ticket sales and merchandise sales?
Uh, yeah, that’d be me, shit for brains.
Why else would the Moderators book me on THREE STRAIGHT SHOWS? Trust me, it isn’t because they needed fodder. No, that's why Dragzilla gets booked against Jamie Krenshaw in a title match. Gotta protect our champions precious streak, na'mean? Tomas Luger=Profits. If I come up with a new, devastating move I’m gonna have to call it Dollars and Sense. J, do me a favor, and don’t do this to yourself. You beat me and let’s leave it at that. You don’t want to goad me, buddy. I know, you’re thinking to yourself, “Hey, I’m Jason Fucking Hartnell. I don’t fear anyone. I’ll rip this little faggot’s head off and shit down his neck and forget to flush, ‘cause this is my time”. Don’t think that. I may never, ever beat you in the ring, but there’s so much more to this business, isn’t there? Listen to me on this one, and let it go with the victory. I’m not shook of you, you’re little diatribe you put out this week about me being an epic failure was cute at best. Just like you, cute at best. I’ve wrestled better, with and against. You aren’t as big and scary to me as you think, you fuckin half assed boogey man. Step off my twenty dollar shoes before I wreck one of those nice thousand dollar suits I saw you wearing. This is YOUR warning. Do with it whatever you want. Chump.
Yes, I know the effect this is probably going to have. That’s why I’m Tomas Luger. And that’s why you are whoever you are. Deal with it.
****
Tomas Luger and Humphries exit a gay bar. Luger is checking his backside as best he can and Humphries has a look on his face like he’d just seen his family pet mauled by the Loch Ness Monster.
TL: Do I have glittery hand prints on my ass?
Humphries just stares off into nothingness, obviously shaken by what he’d just witnessed.
TL: C’mon, Ralph’s waiting. Are we out of fliers.
Still bewildered, Luger shakes Humphries back into reality on the outside of that homosexual dungeon.
TL: Hump, it’s gonna be alright. I’m sure you don’t really have a pretty mouth, buddy. I wonder if taking you around chicks would have the same effect on me, though.
Humphries: Let’s get outta here, Tom. I don’t feel so good.
The two walk over to Ralph’s cab and enter into the backseat.
Ralph: Any luck in there?
TL: Well, I got six phone numbers and it would seem I have a sweet behind, but no one had seen my opponent.
Ralph: What’s with the kid?
Humphries is just staring out the window.
TL: Uh, first time, you know?
Ralph: No, I don’t really. Not my scene, if you know what I mean.
TL: Yeah, I do. I think that’s it, Ralph. We’re out of fliers and we still haven’t found him.
Ralph: Well, I’m sure whoever this Dragzilla character is, he’ll find his way home and to that ring in time for you to wrestle him. Plus, there aren’t too many spots like that around Texas, you know what I’m sayin?
TL: Not the community for it, huh?
Ralph: Shit no, I’ve seen guys like that get drug behind trucks for fun around here. So where to now, fellas?
TL: Let’s go get a beer at a normal bar, waddya say, Ralph?
Ralph: What about the kid, they won’t let him in.
Luger glances over at Humphries.
TL: He can wait in the cab, I don’t think he’s gonna leave the hotel for a few weeks after this, I wouldn’t worry about him leaving the cab.
Humphries looks over at Luger, concern on his adolescent face.
Humphries: Tom?
TL: Yeah, Hump?
Humphries: Next time, let’s just put his picture on the back of a milk carton.
The cab speeds off, leaving the seedy underworld of gay Texas in the nearing dusk.
****
So, Dragz, we meet again. You and I have a bit of a past, don’t we. Well, not the past I’m sure you’d like for us to have, but a past none the less. Between now and our days in The TWF, we’ve matched up before, but it’s different this time. This time, there is no Juggernaut ENT at your back, helping out when the going gets tough. This time you’re just Dragz from the block. Oh, I meant to ask! How’d that title shot go for you? Everything you thought it would be? It was everything I expected it to be. Seriously, what can I say that Jamie Krenshaw didn’t?
You’re all gimmick, Dragz. You may have one of the most over the top personas ever to grace the squared circle, but that doesn’t equate into success inside the ring. In fact, I’m willing to bet that’s all you are, Dragz, is one big gimmick. Just like Marilyn Manson, you used to be the nerd that everyone picked on in high school. Did they call you a freak because you were quiet and liked to stare at all the popular girls? I’ll bet they did, you scared little kid. I don’t buy your bullshit for a minute though. All this “Kiss, Kiss” crap, it’s all an angle. You’re about as queer as a two dollar bill. I said that right, don’t worry. Fucking Howard Stern of wrestling. You can’t make it by being a “normal” wrestler, so you created this false image of over the top transexual to try to make it. How’s that working for you? That’s rhetorical, by the way, don’t bother answering.
Dragzilla, Dragzilla. You’re biggest claim to fame is your lengthy, and unlikely run in the When Worlds Collide tournament a couple of years ago, otherwise you’re filler. Want to know where all these wild accusations are coming from? From your drastic shift in recent weeks. You went from the Clit Commandoes, or whatever chafe of a gimmick that was, to some very morose and awkward dialog about yourself in recent weeks. Dude, you need a therapist, not a wrestling career. You need a bottle of cheap vodka and some Dr. Phil, not a match against Tomas Luger. I don’t blame you for not taping any promos this week, I mean, why should you? It’s just gonna be chalked up to wasted tape anyway. No one wants to sit through another worthless Dragzilla rant, filled with garbage and hollow threats and empty words.
Because that’s all you are, Dragz, good buddy. Hollow, empty, garbage.
I’ll understand if you pull a vanishing act in the ring on Showdown. If I was you, I wouldn’t want to have to lick my wounds in public and then wrestle me this week either. Fortunately, I’m not you. I don’t lick my wounds, I let them fester. They serve as a reminder for later. That’s why I can get beaten handily by Jason “Big Toughy” Hartnell and then come out and get a W against Scott “Big Waste” Pandora the next week. That’s why I can walk backstage and not worry about being jumped by any of these half asses, because I learn from my mistakes.
But it’s hard to learn, isn’t it Dragz, when you’re whole lie..er…life is one big mistake.
See ya on Showdown, Draggy, baby.
Kiss, Kiss my ass.
Chump