Post by Tomas Luger on Feb 20, 2010 18:51:34 GMT -5
Tomas Luger is fresh from the shower. Calm down, Damian, he’s wearing a towel around his waist. Bummer dude. He’s rifling through a duffel bag on the bed when there’s a knock on the door to his bedroom.
TL: Half naked, enter at own risk, Humphries.
The door cracks slightly and Humphries stands on the other side, not entering, but talking from the hall.
Humphries: So you’re starting another new job today?
TL: That’s right, buddy, the search must go on!
Luger pulls out a plain white tee, a pair of khakis, and a beige vest and tosses them on the bed, the camera cuts away to the door, slightly ajar, just as Luger takes the towel off and Damian Morningstar’s heartbeat skyrockets in his den of evil.
Humphries: So, where’d you get hired on this time? Factory line worker? Building inspector? Bartender?
TL (off camera): Bartender…that’s a good one, Hump. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for that next time. Nope, none of the above. Alright, you can enter, tell me how I look.
Humphries enters and nearly chokes trying not to laugh. Luger is standing, looking rather like a human hot dog, and to top off the uniform, he’s wearing a round knit cap with a red and yellow propeller on the top of it.
Humphries: Sweet hat.
TL: I got a job at one of those photography places in a local mall. This is the uniform. Do I look as ridiculous as I feel?
Humphries: Probably more ridiculous, though I am jealous of that hat. Can I have it when you’re done?
TL: Sure, why not? Yeah, I got my first day at Picture-rama. I figure, I see all the fans taking all these pictures at the events, why not go to the source? What a great way to interact with all those Rabbleholics, eh?
Luger heads for the door, grabbing a twenty from his wallet and handing it to Humphries.
TL: Get some take out or something, don’t answer the door unless it’s food, and above all else, if Damian Morningstar calls, don’t answer it, his heavy breathing and sounds of flesh on flesh over the phone freak me out at the best of times.
Humphries: Is that who’s been calling at all hours of the morning?
TL: I can only assume, Hump. Wish me luck!
Humphries: With an outfit like that, you don’t need luck, Tom.
Luger’s out the door and Humphries finally let’s out a few giggles of overflowing mirth.
****
Luger walks through the mall, as several fairly hot, fairly underage girls walk by trying to conceal their laughter. He just winks and gives ‘em the double gun. You know how he do! Luger walks into Picture-rama and is greeted by a similarily dressed woman, with a name tag that reads “Darcey!” She walks over to Luger, hand extended with the widest, toothiest smile extended across her overeager face.
Darcey: Wow, Mr. Luger! Thank you so much for taking this position at Picture-rama. Wow. What an exciting day, huh?
TL: Oh, yeah, Darcey, it’s great. I’m eager to put my knowledge of posing for pictures to good use helping others and all that jazz. What do you have for me?
Darcey (still smiling from ear to ear): Well, you’ve got an appointment in five minutes coming in. A mother and her one year old. She wants some photos to mark her sons first birthday! Isn’t that cute?
When she says “cute” her face scrunches up, trying to still find room for the smile and enunciate the elongated, lowered sound of “cyoooooote”. Luger nearly cringes like he’s watching a Morningstar promo, but holds it together.
Darcey: So, your gonna be in studio number three! Why don’t you go get things set up? Just remember the Picture-rama motto-
TL: Which is?
Darcey: You don’t know our motto?!
The spunky manager looks almost hurt, but can’t wipe the traces of her perma-smile off her face.
Darcey: “Picture-rama, we always leave you smiling!” Isn’t that great?!
Luger smirks.
TL: Don’t worry, darlin, that’s also one of my personal mottos.
Luger heads off to studio three, and leaves Darcey smiling wide, Like Damian Morningstar at a Cover Girl 60% off sale.
Darcey: Terrific!
In the studio, Luger sees the standard issue gear. Camera mounted on a tripod, a computer sits in the corner, and next to that are different lenses. At the far end are the pull down, backdrops and off to the side of the room are a random assortment of props.
TL: Yeah, it’s hard to see how they came up with porno, sheesh.
Luger sets up a tall box, to boost the baby to camera level and begins scanning the props for usable ideas.
TL: Hmmm…one year old baby boy. What says one year old baby boy?
Voice: Are you my photographer?
Luger, slightly startled, whirls around and sees a rather large woman holding what has to be the worlds ugliest baby. He could only imagine that this is what lil’ Morningstar looked like as a kid. Sour face, like he just shat his diaper. Pudgey from too much fatty breast milk. Sucking down a bottle like a it was made of rubber and phallic shaped. It takes everything in his power not to cringe.
TL (trying to pull a zealot like smile): Heya! I’m Tomas Luger, I’m gonna be photographing this little bundle of fun today!
The woman slides her baby onto one of her rolls that can only be determined to be a hip if you were bold enough to cop a feel. Luger, wasn’t that bold. She reaches out one of her stubby, sausage hands.
Mother: I’m Meg, and this is little Mikey.
Luger shakes her sticky, fat hand and makes it a quick one.
Mother: So, where do you want us?
Jenny Craig?Thought Luger, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
TL: Uh, well, “little” Mikey is gonna go ahead and sit here on this box, and you’ll probably want to stand behind him for support, plus a few mother/son pictures might be nice, huh?
Meg: That sounds nice. I was thinking, what if we put some angel wings on his back, and I can wear a halo?
Luger, finally, let a devious smile spread across his face like an infection.
TL: I’ve actually got an idea similar.
He moves to the backdrops and pulls down the stone gray one.
Meg: Oh?
TL: Yeah, what if we light some of these props on fire and you hold a pitchfork, and little Mikey here has some devil horns?
Meg: What?!
The look on the woman’s face made Luger think he’d just asked her if she wanted soup, salad or pie.
TL: I mean, lady, listen, everyone does the “Angel baby, angel mommy” thing. It’s played out. You want to stay up on current trends, don’t you?
Meg: Well-
TL: Listen, what better way to get ahead of the curve, than to throw a change up like this? I’m sure Mikey’s dumpy granny is gonna be expecting the whole “My grandbaby’s a saint” routine, but what will ‘ol Mrs. Buttersworth say if you bring home “Satan and his bitch”?
Meg: Listen here-
TL: C’mon, chubby, live a little. Mikey’s only gonna be one once in his life. Do you want him to live a little and look back and say, “Wow, my mom was the coolest mom ever. And a radical thinker!” Or do you want him to hate you because he’s got a boatload of baby pictures that make him look like a liar?
Meg: I think I want to talk to your-
TL: Think about it. He don’t look like no angel, and honestly, neither do you, lady. You don’t want to lie in his very first photo shoot do you? Do you want to set up a system in which your son thinks that it’s OK to lie?
The woman begins crying, Mikey begins laughing.
TL: I know, I’ll be in the picture with him! Perfect! What a way for your son to look back on his first years. “Wow, mom, I posed with Tomas Luger?! You’re the best mom ever, despite the fact you sheltered me from reality and overfed me into a weight problem I’m going to pay for later in life!” He’ll hate you less, for this, I swear!
Luger moves the crying woman behind the camera, and she continues to sob uncontrollably. Meanwhile Luger stacks up a couple of crates and tears apart some of the backdrops, pulling out a lighter and setting a blaze to them. He rushes over to the hysterical fat lady and puts the clicker in her hand.
TL: Now, now, look how happy Mikey is! Just push this when I tell you to.
Luger rushes back to stand behind the giggling baby.
TL: Alright, slim, take the picture.
You hear the camera click, as the woman continues to sob. Darcey comes rushing into the room, and the wide, ridiculous smile fades as she assesses the situation.
Darcey: WHAT IN H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS IS GOING ON IN HERE!!! WHY IS THERE A FIRE!!!!!
She yells into the entry room and another Picture-rama employee comes rushing in with a fire extinguisher to put out the small blaze Luger has started. Darcey marches right up to Luger and rips his name tag off.
Darcey: You, sir, are fired!
TL: I still get my fifty percent discount on those cameras I ordered, don’t I.
Darcey: JUST GET OUT!!!!
Luger looks back at another failed job, and smirks, pointing to the child.
TL: At least I left ‘em smiling, huh sweet cakes?
Luger pats Darcey on the ass and leaves the studio in chaos, as the photo comes up on the screen in the corner.
Tomas Luger, and one year old Mikey, smiling like little devils wile the fire blazes behind them.
****
Cut, and Paste.
Cut, and Paste.
Cut, and Paste.
Dude, Damian, are all your promos seriously the same watered down garbage? I know it’s popular to talk about your opponent in these things, but you didn’t have to just steal my work and call it your own, did you?
Oh, that’s right, you lack any and all talent, never mind. Feel free to use my material anytime, it was the best part of that senseless dribble you call trash talk.
But my least favorite part? The part where you, like everyone else, assume I’m some chaotic imbecile dancing for peanuts while Justin York works the hurdy gurdy in the streets. You don’t think I understand exactly what I’m doing? Let me enlighten YOU
Last week, Jamie Krenshaw, our Heavyweight and Tag Team Champion, the man that everyone likes to name drop, the man that is undefeated…he dropped my name. Jason Hartnell,, Mr. Sadistic, the man that beat me in like thirty seconds, he mentions me in passing. Colt Crawford, the man that can’t get a win to save his miserable life, the man that needs heat like a freezing Russian, he doesn’t attack you, he doesn’t make a name for himself beating the champ, he doesn’t waste his time on the likes of YOU , he comes after me. Even the man that sat on top of the world, The Blue Print, a man I’ve owned during my career, he makes sure Tomas Luger’s name stays on the tip of his tongue.
That’s what I do, Damian, that you’ll never be able to do. I stay relevant, all day, every day. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, I’m like a genie in a bottle, just ask for the heat and I’ll grant it to you. But you don’t get it, you don’t read outside the lines. Just because you talk deep, doesn’t mean anyone believes you are, pal. Open up them peepers and take a look at the peripherals. It might do you some good.
Now to bring the whole world crashing down around your miserable feet. Look at the card this week. The card before Super Card III. No Krenshaw. No Hartnell. No Eno. No Saber. Look who is on the card. Justin York. Rabble of Dangerous Miscreants. Tomas Luger. Rabble of Dangerous Miscreants. Wizard of Ahhs. Future Rabble of Dangerous Miscreants (hopefully, get back to me Wiz, we’d love to have you on board.). That’s right, guess who the bookers tapped right before a major card? Guess. Time to thank your lucky stars you drew me. Now you actually matter. Well, until our little match is over. Then win or lose, I go back to mattering to the entire wrestling community, and you go back to grasping at straws, trying to find a way to matter to anyone.
The saddest part, I’m not even focused on you this week. That’s right, other than a match, your barely an itch on my ass. No, Colt Crawford discovered the magic elixir of life. He did something very smart, and very foolish. He decided to bust me open, choke me with electrical cords and leave me for dead. Congrats Colt, you still can’t win a match, but now people know you exist. Don’t worry, after this week, you still won’t have any wins to your recent credit, but at least I’ll continue letting you ride my coattails, for the pure and simple fact that, I feel sorry for you. No one should have to be as awful as you are, Colt. Well, Damian should, but that’s his own fault. No, you’ve just had a rough shake of things. You just keep drawing the wrong name, at the wrong time. I’m gonna go ahead and make sure the fans hate you, Colt, by allowing them to love me in contrast.
Aren’t I a nice guy?
That concludes this Tomas Luger original. And I didn’t even have to steal any of my lines to make this work.
That always leaves me smiling!
TL: Half naked, enter at own risk, Humphries.
The door cracks slightly and Humphries stands on the other side, not entering, but talking from the hall.
Humphries: So you’re starting another new job today?
TL: That’s right, buddy, the search must go on!
Luger pulls out a plain white tee, a pair of khakis, and a beige vest and tosses them on the bed, the camera cuts away to the door, slightly ajar, just as Luger takes the towel off and Damian Morningstar’s heartbeat skyrockets in his den of evil.
Humphries: So, where’d you get hired on this time? Factory line worker? Building inspector? Bartender?
TL (off camera): Bartender…that’s a good one, Hump. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for that next time. Nope, none of the above. Alright, you can enter, tell me how I look.
Humphries enters and nearly chokes trying not to laugh. Luger is standing, looking rather like a human hot dog, and to top off the uniform, he’s wearing a round knit cap with a red and yellow propeller on the top of it.
Humphries: Sweet hat.
TL: I got a job at one of those photography places in a local mall. This is the uniform. Do I look as ridiculous as I feel?
Humphries: Probably more ridiculous, though I am jealous of that hat. Can I have it when you’re done?
TL: Sure, why not? Yeah, I got my first day at Picture-rama. I figure, I see all the fans taking all these pictures at the events, why not go to the source? What a great way to interact with all those Rabbleholics, eh?
Luger heads for the door, grabbing a twenty from his wallet and handing it to Humphries.
TL: Get some take out or something, don’t answer the door unless it’s food, and above all else, if Damian Morningstar calls, don’t answer it, his heavy breathing and sounds of flesh on flesh over the phone freak me out at the best of times.
Humphries: Is that who’s been calling at all hours of the morning?
TL: I can only assume, Hump. Wish me luck!
Humphries: With an outfit like that, you don’t need luck, Tom.
Luger’s out the door and Humphries finally let’s out a few giggles of overflowing mirth.
****
Luger walks through the mall, as several fairly hot, fairly underage girls walk by trying to conceal their laughter. He just winks and gives ‘em the double gun. You know how he do! Luger walks into Picture-rama and is greeted by a similarily dressed woman, with a name tag that reads “Darcey!” She walks over to Luger, hand extended with the widest, toothiest smile extended across her overeager face.
Darcey: Wow, Mr. Luger! Thank you so much for taking this position at Picture-rama. Wow. What an exciting day, huh?
TL: Oh, yeah, Darcey, it’s great. I’m eager to put my knowledge of posing for pictures to good use helping others and all that jazz. What do you have for me?
Darcey (still smiling from ear to ear): Well, you’ve got an appointment in five minutes coming in. A mother and her one year old. She wants some photos to mark her sons first birthday! Isn’t that cute?
When she says “cute” her face scrunches up, trying to still find room for the smile and enunciate the elongated, lowered sound of “cyoooooote”. Luger nearly cringes like he’s watching a Morningstar promo, but holds it together.
Darcey: So, your gonna be in studio number three! Why don’t you go get things set up? Just remember the Picture-rama motto-
TL: Which is?
Darcey: You don’t know our motto?!
The spunky manager looks almost hurt, but can’t wipe the traces of her perma-smile off her face.
Darcey: “Picture-rama, we always leave you smiling!” Isn’t that great?!
Luger smirks.
TL: Don’t worry, darlin, that’s also one of my personal mottos.
Luger heads off to studio three, and leaves Darcey smiling wide, Like Damian Morningstar at a Cover Girl 60% off sale.
Darcey: Terrific!
In the studio, Luger sees the standard issue gear. Camera mounted on a tripod, a computer sits in the corner, and next to that are different lenses. At the far end are the pull down, backdrops and off to the side of the room are a random assortment of props.
TL: Yeah, it’s hard to see how they came up with porno, sheesh.
Luger sets up a tall box, to boost the baby to camera level and begins scanning the props for usable ideas.
TL: Hmmm…one year old baby boy. What says one year old baby boy?
Voice: Are you my photographer?
Luger, slightly startled, whirls around and sees a rather large woman holding what has to be the worlds ugliest baby. He could only imagine that this is what lil’ Morningstar looked like as a kid. Sour face, like he just shat his diaper. Pudgey from too much fatty breast milk. Sucking down a bottle like a it was made of rubber and phallic shaped. It takes everything in his power not to cringe.
TL (trying to pull a zealot like smile): Heya! I’m Tomas Luger, I’m gonna be photographing this little bundle of fun today!
The woman slides her baby onto one of her rolls that can only be determined to be a hip if you were bold enough to cop a feel. Luger, wasn’t that bold. She reaches out one of her stubby, sausage hands.
Mother: I’m Meg, and this is little Mikey.
Luger shakes her sticky, fat hand and makes it a quick one.
Mother: So, where do you want us?
Jenny Craig?Thought Luger, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
TL: Uh, well, “little” Mikey is gonna go ahead and sit here on this box, and you’ll probably want to stand behind him for support, plus a few mother/son pictures might be nice, huh?
Meg: That sounds nice. I was thinking, what if we put some angel wings on his back, and I can wear a halo?
Luger, finally, let a devious smile spread across his face like an infection.
TL: I’ve actually got an idea similar.
He moves to the backdrops and pulls down the stone gray one.
Meg: Oh?
TL: Yeah, what if we light some of these props on fire and you hold a pitchfork, and little Mikey here has some devil horns?
Meg: What?!
The look on the woman’s face made Luger think he’d just asked her if she wanted soup, salad or pie.
TL: I mean, lady, listen, everyone does the “Angel baby, angel mommy” thing. It’s played out. You want to stay up on current trends, don’t you?
Meg: Well-
TL: Listen, what better way to get ahead of the curve, than to throw a change up like this? I’m sure Mikey’s dumpy granny is gonna be expecting the whole “My grandbaby’s a saint” routine, but what will ‘ol Mrs. Buttersworth say if you bring home “Satan and his bitch”?
Meg: Listen here-
TL: C’mon, chubby, live a little. Mikey’s only gonna be one once in his life. Do you want him to live a little and look back and say, “Wow, my mom was the coolest mom ever. And a radical thinker!” Or do you want him to hate you because he’s got a boatload of baby pictures that make him look like a liar?
Meg: I think I want to talk to your-
TL: Think about it. He don’t look like no angel, and honestly, neither do you, lady. You don’t want to lie in his very first photo shoot do you? Do you want to set up a system in which your son thinks that it’s OK to lie?
The woman begins crying, Mikey begins laughing.
TL: I know, I’ll be in the picture with him! Perfect! What a way for your son to look back on his first years. “Wow, mom, I posed with Tomas Luger?! You’re the best mom ever, despite the fact you sheltered me from reality and overfed me into a weight problem I’m going to pay for later in life!” He’ll hate you less, for this, I swear!
Luger moves the crying woman behind the camera, and she continues to sob uncontrollably. Meanwhile Luger stacks up a couple of crates and tears apart some of the backdrops, pulling out a lighter and setting a blaze to them. He rushes over to the hysterical fat lady and puts the clicker in her hand.
TL: Now, now, look how happy Mikey is! Just push this when I tell you to.
Luger rushes back to stand behind the giggling baby.
TL: Alright, slim, take the picture.
You hear the camera click, as the woman continues to sob. Darcey comes rushing into the room, and the wide, ridiculous smile fades as she assesses the situation.
Darcey: WHAT IN H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS IS GOING ON IN HERE!!! WHY IS THERE A FIRE!!!!!
She yells into the entry room and another Picture-rama employee comes rushing in with a fire extinguisher to put out the small blaze Luger has started. Darcey marches right up to Luger and rips his name tag off.
Darcey: You, sir, are fired!
TL: I still get my fifty percent discount on those cameras I ordered, don’t I.
Darcey: JUST GET OUT!!!!
Luger looks back at another failed job, and smirks, pointing to the child.
TL: At least I left ‘em smiling, huh sweet cakes?
Luger pats Darcey on the ass and leaves the studio in chaos, as the photo comes up on the screen in the corner.
Tomas Luger, and one year old Mikey, smiling like little devils wile the fire blazes behind them.
****
Cut, and Paste.
Cut, and Paste.
Cut, and Paste.
Dude, Damian, are all your promos seriously the same watered down garbage? I know it’s popular to talk about your opponent in these things, but you didn’t have to just steal my work and call it your own, did you?
Oh, that’s right, you lack any and all talent, never mind. Feel free to use my material anytime, it was the best part of that senseless dribble you call trash talk.
But my least favorite part? The part where you, like everyone else, assume I’m some chaotic imbecile dancing for peanuts while Justin York works the hurdy gurdy in the streets. You don’t think I understand exactly what I’m doing? Let me enlighten YOU
Last week, Jamie Krenshaw, our Heavyweight and Tag Team Champion, the man that everyone likes to name drop, the man that is undefeated…he dropped my name. Jason Hartnell,, Mr. Sadistic, the man that beat me in like thirty seconds, he mentions me in passing. Colt Crawford, the man that can’t get a win to save his miserable life, the man that needs heat like a freezing Russian, he doesn’t attack you, he doesn’t make a name for himself beating the champ, he doesn’t waste his time on the likes of YOU , he comes after me. Even the man that sat on top of the world, The Blue Print, a man I’ve owned during my career, he makes sure Tomas Luger’s name stays on the tip of his tongue.
That’s what I do, Damian, that you’ll never be able to do. I stay relevant, all day, every day. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, I’m like a genie in a bottle, just ask for the heat and I’ll grant it to you. But you don’t get it, you don’t read outside the lines. Just because you talk deep, doesn’t mean anyone believes you are, pal. Open up them peepers and take a look at the peripherals. It might do you some good.
Now to bring the whole world crashing down around your miserable feet. Look at the card this week. The card before Super Card III. No Krenshaw. No Hartnell. No Eno. No Saber. Look who is on the card. Justin York. Rabble of Dangerous Miscreants. Tomas Luger. Rabble of Dangerous Miscreants. Wizard of Ahhs. Future Rabble of Dangerous Miscreants (hopefully, get back to me Wiz, we’d love to have you on board.). That’s right, guess who the bookers tapped right before a major card? Guess. Time to thank your lucky stars you drew me. Now you actually matter. Well, until our little match is over. Then win or lose, I go back to mattering to the entire wrestling community, and you go back to grasping at straws, trying to find a way to matter to anyone.
The saddest part, I’m not even focused on you this week. That’s right, other than a match, your barely an itch on my ass. No, Colt Crawford discovered the magic elixir of life. He did something very smart, and very foolish. He decided to bust me open, choke me with electrical cords and leave me for dead. Congrats Colt, you still can’t win a match, but now people know you exist. Don’t worry, after this week, you still won’t have any wins to your recent credit, but at least I’ll continue letting you ride my coattails, for the pure and simple fact that, I feel sorry for you. No one should have to be as awful as you are, Colt. Well, Damian should, but that’s his own fault. No, you’ve just had a rough shake of things. You just keep drawing the wrong name, at the wrong time. I’m gonna go ahead and make sure the fans hate you, Colt, by allowing them to love me in contrast.
Aren’t I a nice guy?
That concludes this Tomas Luger original. And I didn’t even have to steal any of my lines to make this work.
That always leaves me smiling!