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Slumdog Jobber

"Just an old broken-down piece of corned beef that wants to be alone.."

“…Before you judge someone, walk a mile in his shoes…”

Well.. fat chance of that! Because a tramp named Tony stole mine. Besides, if you found them you’d only end up in a crack house somewhere. Buuttttt maybe you can judge me purely off my foot scrapings and fungus allergies.

It’s not all bad news, though – I’m currently in the process of crafting some little shoes for myself. So I managed to get a hold of some rope. Now at first I was just going to kill myself.. but the rope snapped cos of my current weight situation. So then I collected two plastic bottles from out of the bins and attached them under my feet. And yeah, you guessed it.. they’re like what Jesus would wear if he were homeless. Or.. watched a lot of Art Attack when he was a kid.

“…Don’t judge me. You know my name, but not my story…”

There’s another little quote for ya you set of Shakespearian cunts!

REFLECTION:
From sharing a red carpet with Daniel LaRusso (premiering our film: You’re A Deadman) to sharing a brown stained blanket with Tramp Tony. And yes, before you ask… the brown stuff was stains of shit. Who’s shit, though..? Remains an unsolved mystery to this day. Tony, however – professes that I had a bit too much of grandpa’s old cough medicine that night. There was also this apparent raid I did on some curry house up in Chinatown a few years back. Granted, it wasn’t my finest of hours holding Mr. Gook at gunpoint. It was either his life or a large serving of chicken madras. Regardless, the next morning when I woke up in my dumpster (shared with Tony) the air did have a profound smell of a man that had consumed large amounts of curry the night before. But really, we were living in a dumpster; the smell could have been anything. Or, even just us quite frankly.

Thinking back, though – there wasn’t too much difference between Tramp Tony and Daniel LaRusso. So ok, one was a multi-millionaire who became an overnight success and the other was………… Daniel LaRusso. Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you? Tramp Tony had only gone and won the lottery shortly after the curry house heist. Ha, imagine that… the lucky scummy cunt. Didn’t even leave me a rotten toenail.

I mean, the only one out of those social circles that I stayed in contact with was Wes. Yeah… Wesley Snipes. We became friends when we were in the joint together. It’s funny, his favourite motto was: sly by name, sly by nature. Turns out.. wasn’t too fond of Mr. Balboa. Accordingly to Wes… if he dies, he dies. So no love lost there.

But that’s beside the point. The point is….. we all look the same in the shower. It’s all a myth; I was actually bigger than Wes. His more mimicked a mini Pepsi can. And sure, that’s fine – if you like mini Pepsi. But the majority want the full fat version. The few that don’t.. well, they’re the ones where their arseholes are gaping after they drop the soap. AM I RITE?! AM I RITE?!

Scratch that, the point is simply this… FUCK YOU WESLEY SNIPES! Fucking sell-out. Not returning my calls. Fucking last I heard you were all cosied up with Sly again. Back in the royal graces of Hollywood and making movies again. Well that’s just GREAT. I’d watch the cunts but I don’t have a DVD player, a TV – or even just a little house on the prairie. A pot to piss in would be nice. Fuck, when I was stateside.. they even turned their noses up at me at the trailer-park. Skanky Sally let’s every cunt else in (literally) but not ‘The Fabulous One’. Fuck Skanky Sally! You skank.

It seems the only place I’m welcome is back inside. I don’t know, maybe I should go beat up an old lady and gain a long stretch. Fuck it, take some spice and let nature run its course. I mean, the last time I did that I was totally zombied. According to Tony – we tried breaking into a twenty four hour bowling alley, eventually someone let us in, and then attempted to play ten frames of bowling with bricks. By frame three.. the cops came.

Though, I swore to my mam that I’d never touch that shit again. I’d probably be on the same wing as the Red Power Ranger if I dabbled. No, that’s not his nickname. The actual Red Power Ranger from Power Rangers. Yeah, apparently stabbed his girl or some shit. Real piece of work.

Funny story, me and Wes would goad the fucker. I’d even eat his lunch – probably why I’m about four hundred pounds right now. Ha, when Wes was in the shower he would go: hey Ranger… it’s morphing time. Then, instantly – Wes’ dick would elevate and go really stiff. It was a good laugh, good times.

Good times… until Red snapped, that was. Some paedophile got the brunt of our jibes. Yeah, totally went Kung Fu Panda on his sick ass. Wait, I know what you are going to say: well he deserves it. Fair argument.. though, if you knew the shit we put the Red Ranger through then even you would have mercy on his soul.

But that’s all I have. Good memories and false promises. Oh, and a sleeping bag that has tramps cum in. It’s dry, though.. so not all bad. Used to have a dog, too – but even he fucked off. Not to make movies I don’t think – just somewhere better than living in doorways. Though, Sparky, if you’re listening… do come back. I’ve upgraded to living in a ‘vintage’ Vauxhall Corsa now. It was a present from a friend of mine. No, not Wes. She’s female. And yes… I’ve been fucking her.

Mary. She’s so much more than a leg-over. She’s my Mary. She’s also classed as homeless and full-time crack whore. No, not a tramp; that’s a derogatory term. She’s my rock. Whilst every cunt and their dog (and even my dog) turned their backs on ‘The Fabulous One’.. Mary stood by. I mean, not like l have a choice. But if your asking would I chose prime Pamela Anderson or my Mary – It’d be my Mary nine times out of ten. The only time Pammy would ever have a chance is if she caught me in one of my lonely mindsets. But thankfully, those days are long gone. All thanks to Mary.

Believe ‘The Fab One’.. if your loved-one is prepared to pop your piles – then THAT, my friend.. is love. Plus, above all that.. Mary makes a cracking rat burger!

SCENE #1
It’s muddy, wet and freezing.. welcome to Manchester, England. There, pulled up in the middle of a field is an old rusty Vauxhall Corsa. Don’t get me wrong; decent car back in the day.. that’s if the day was 1989, Marty McFly. Meanwhile, beside the car itself – is just some scruffy little scallywag. If you’re unfamiliar with that term – basically, you wouldn’t introduce him to your mam.. well, not if you don’t mind your mam being sexually assaulted that is.

He looks about mid-twenties, skinny in stature, and about as trustworthy as R-Kelly in a kindergarten class. After circling the car and looking in a few times (immediately I’m thinking dogging) the scab then knocks on the window.

SCAB: Jon, man.. wake up.

He knocks on the window again. Each time speaking – breath clearly visible.

The scene is set inside of the 1989 Vauxhall Corsa. On the declined front seat (drivers side) is ‘The Fabulous One’ Jonny O’Dell. Though, not as ‘fabulous’ like reminiscent from his ‘glory’ days. No, fucking hell.. the guy is a spitting-double of a depressed Val Kilmer (2019 version).

Speaking of the car, though.. I’d be surprised if it actually still drives. It clearly hasn’t been looked after and I’d guess that it has been left stationary for awhile. What a mess; shit everywhere. There’s a pair of under-crackers hanging from the rear-view mirror and the rest of O’Dell’s unwashed clothing sprawled out all over the back seat. Food waste, packaging and empty beer cans consume the rest of the car.

O’DELL: Not today… go away.

SCAB: It’s fucking freezing out here, man.. open up!

O’DELL: Training’s postponed.

SCAB: Come on, Jon.. it’s only light rain.

O’DELL: Fuck sake, get in!

O’Dell reaches over to open the passenger side door. As he moves, the sound of empty beer cans clatter. The scab opens the door and makes light-conversation as he’s getting into the car.

SCAB: So where’s Mary?

He sits down and shuts the door.

O’DELL: If you must know, she’s out getting dinner.

SCAB: Out by the bins again?

O’DELL: No, my lad – we’re pushing the boat out this evening. There’s a kestrel nest not far from here.

SCAB: Eggs? Nice.

O’DELL: No, I just said kestrel.

There’s silence. Almost as if the scab is trying to process if Jonny is actually going to eat a fully grown kestrel. Snatched away from her young, only to be barbecued on one of those little disposable barbecues.

SCAB: Christ Jon, it smells like a fishery on a hot summers day in here.

O’DELL: Yeah, if the fish was battered in shit.

SCAB: Fucking nasty.

O’DELL: Well young Gavin, you may be new to this homeless game but I’ve been a veteran for over three years now. Fuck, I’m due to go into the Hall Of Fame at this rate.

GAVIN: There’s no excuse not to stay clean.

O’DELL: Soap is like caviar round these parts, mate. Good luck with that. You have so much to learn Homeless Skywalker.

GAVIN: Teach me, Jon. Teach me.

O’DELL: That’s why you have the luxury of sitting on top of that half eaten pizza. Even when I told you to ‘fuck off’ you persisted. You might not have any shoes, but you have something a lot of people don’t..

GAVIN: Morales?

O’DELL: Wait, you got morales?!

GAVIN: No.

O’DELL: Fucking hell, I was about to say.. it was only yesterday you got caught wanking outside of a post office.

GAVIN: Oh.. ‘I’ve’ got something not a lot of people have.

O’DELL: Yeah, but doesn’t matter now.. you’ve fucked it up. Moments gone.

GAVIN: No, come on. I want to know..

O’DELL: You’ve failed again.

GAVIN: Failed what?

O’DELL: Wanting something doesn’t mean you automatically get it. That’s important.

GAVIN: Yes, Master Splinter.

O’DELL: No, cut it out. I’m being serious..

GAVIN: So what is it?

O’DELL: You got heart kid! aright?!

There’s a break in dialogue. They both look at each other in the front of a cramped, pungent and overwhelmingly shitty Vauxhall Corsa.

O’DELL: Right, now get out before I snog your face off!

SCENE #2
We go outside onto the field with the scab now known as Gavin, and ‘The Fabulous One’ Jonny O’Dell. Both equally as scruffy but if I was pushed to call for a winner then I’d have to award it to O’Dell. But don’t tell him, it’ll probably be the most prestigious thing he’s ever won. Even in his ‘hay-day’ as he likes to call it.

O’DELL: Ok, so if you can be arsed to come from your cardboard box from across town – alllll the way over to my car to simply wake my fat-ass up.. then that shows heart. Maybe boredom, but let’s just go with heart. We know that. Now let’s see your metal, kid.

GAVIN: Steal chairs?!

O’DELL: No, not that metal. You learn the ropes right here..

The camera pans down to reveal a scruffy blue mat (probably stolen from a leisure centre).

GAVIN: What ropes?

The scene is strikingly comparable to the scene off Cool Runnings where Earl reveals a shit bobsled on wheels.

O’DELL: Ok, so we don’t have a ring. But we don’t need a ring. That’s for posers.

GAVIN: But how can I do springboard moonsaults?

O’DELL: Fucking springboard moonsaults?! If you want to be a gymnast then join the circus with the rest of the clowns.

GAVIN: But I thought that’s what you get taught in wrestling?

O’DELL: No, this is where you learn your craft.

GAVIN: Fuck me, look at all the bird shit.

O’DELL: Its bird shit, not the burning fires of London. You’ll live. And there was me bigging you up saying you had passion..

GAVIN: Heart.

O’DELL: Ok, heart then! And you’re worried about a bit bird shit?! Back in the 80’s what else do you think we had..? Hell in a bastard cell?!

GAVIN: Did that have bird shit on?

O’DELL: It still has bird shit on!

GAVIN: The bastard or the cell?

O’DELL: Mate, I’m telling you.. the art of wrestling fucked off a very long time ago and it’s never coming back.

GAVIN: Sorry, Jon.

O’DELL: No, you’re alright mate. I know you’re just trying to make light of the situation but you really need to make a conscious decision on whether you want to do this thing or not.

GAVIN: I’m not bothered about the bird shit you know..

O’DELL: Forget about the bird shit!

GAVIN: So what is it?

O’DELL: It’s just… it. IT has been the best and worst thing of my whole life for the past thirty years and look at me now. Look at me now..

GAVIN: Ok, so you fell off the wagon a bit.

O’DELL: A bit?! My best mate is a thieving little cunt – so what does that make me?

GAVIN: A thieving fat cunt?

O’DELL: Pot kettle.

GAVIN: You’re anxious. I can tell..

O’DELL: Ha, anxious. I’m ‘The Fabulous One’.. I don’t get anxious.

GAVIN: You’re about as convincing as Oscar Pistorius in a courthouse.. pull the other leg why don’t you.

O’DELL: Ok! I admit it… I’m shitting a fucking brick!

GAVIN: It’s ok to get like that, mate. I get like that every time I go to the Jobcentre – trying to convince the fuckers I’m actually looking for work.

O’DELL: You should probably do that.

GAVIN: This is my work.

O’DELL: What? Rolling about in a field with a fifty five year old man?

GAVIN: Yes, and practising my sunset flips on a stray greyhound I found.

O’DELL: I told you not to try that shit at home! I’m not training backyarders.. this school is for strictly professionals.

GAVIN: I don’t have a home. And according to this – Silent Witness doesn’t have one either..?

O’DELL: What the fuck are you talking about?! Silent Witness..

Unbeknownst to us, Gavin has slyly done a little Google search on his iPhone. He then slides it straight back into his pocket.

O’DELL: How the fuck you paying for that?!

GAVIN: I’m not, the government is.. I just told them I was disabled and they bought me one.

O’DELL: Wait, back up..

GAVIN: Yeah, just tell them you suffer with obesity.. they’ll believe you.

O’DELL: No, Silent Witness is homeless..? Since when?!

GAVIN: I don’t know, it just said he was homeless and a Cyclops or something.

O’DELL: That son of a bitch. Get your phone back out and pull it up again..

Gavin, on request – pulls the iPhone out of his pocket and taps away like a little nerd. O’Dell watches every moment, waiting on the local skip-rat to come up with the goods.

GAVIN: Yeah, it’s legit.

O’DELL: Of course it is! Fuck sake.. I can’t even be the homeless guy in wrestling now – some cunt else has to be as well. It was like when I was the first person to wear a robe back in the 80’s and every cunt else and his dog started wearing one after. I mean.. get your own shit – this isn’t a fucking gimmick. This isn’t something I want. If he’s homeless then I’m the queen’s mother! Typical pro-wrestling.. wanting to use this shit as a storyline and pry on people’s personal lives.

GAVIN: He’s also training some wrestler.

O’DELL: (sighs) Don’t tell me… he’s homeless just like you? Stealing from his mothers handbag as well, maybe?

Gavin scrolls down on his phone with his index finger – then suddenly stops.

GAVIN: Not that I know of.

O’DELL: Great, what else is on that wonderful device of yours.. expect large amounts of animal porn?

GAVIN: Well I know you’re wrestling some Eddie Izzard looking fucker.

O’DELL: Wait.. what?! Give that here! There must be some mistake..

O’Dell grabs the phone off of Gavin and looks intently at the screen.

O’DELL: Fuck sake, Lee said he’d give me a job but I didn’t think I would actually be doing jobs on TV.

GAVIN: What do you mean?

O’DELL: Because I’m there to do the job, aren’t I? I’m there to put this guy over. It doesn’t matter if I win, lose or draw. This is how the job works.. with me on my back and them on top. But as long as Lee hands me that little brown envelope at the end of the night then that’s all that matters.

GAVIN: Ha, does Lee Best shit in the envelopes?

O’DELL: Fuck sake, Gavin.. no. Money. That’s all I’m bothered about.

GAVIN: I think you should go and break that little Spice Boy’s legs!

O’DELL: I’m not going to do that. Well, not on Lee Best’s show. Without this wellness thing I’d still be..

GAVIN: Homeless?

O’DELL: No, I’m still homeless.

GAVIN: Well do you have to go to meetings or some shit?

O’DELL: What? Like when I was supposedly an alcoholic?

GAVIN: Mate, if HOW is anything like the government in this country then they’ll stop your money.

O’DELL: Shit, I never thought of that.. all I’ve had so far is a few ‘inspirational’ quotes sent to my mam’s house from HOW headquarters.

GAVIN: What like? You’re a strong independent woman..

O’DELL: Kind of, yeah.. and that I don’t need no man to be my savior.

GAVIN: Hold on, so how did Lee know how to contact you then if you’ve been living in this swamp?

O’DELL: My mam’s house. It’s down as my last known address.. but forget that! How does this little computer-thingy give me all of the info on this twat I’ll be putting over?

Gavin peers over O’Dell’s shoulder to seemingly offer him some assistance. Come on, give the man a break – he’s a fifty five year old man.. this isn’t a landline phone. Christ, he hasn’t used a toaster in so long he’ll probably shove the plug up his arse. But please, don’t tell him that the knife doesn’t go inside the toaster.. he’s a grown man – he can work it out for himself.

GAVIN: Go on, keep scrolling… no, too far..

O’DELL: What’s this?!

GAVIN: Calm down, it’s just nude Traci Bingham.. give it here!

Gavin resumes control of his iPhone and within a matter of seconds gets the page back up.

GAVIN: His names Chris Diamond, he looks faggy – I think you can take him..

O’DELL: Chris Diamond? I don’t care if it’s against Ruby fucking Wax.. there’s no way I’m going over. I’m telling you, mate – all I am is another body to them. My job is to make the stars look good and that’s something I’ve learned to accept.

GAVIN: So what are you stressing over?

O’DELL: That cunt (Diamond). I’ve seen many cunts in my day – and believe me they’re all the same cunt. This cunt is the same cunt I’ve seen and dealt with a million and one times before in my career – and they’re exactly that.. a cunt.

GAVIN: Seduce it.

O’DELL: I can’t be arsed to stroke the guys ego – who treats this business like it’s a night-out. I just want to go in there and call the match. But this whole thing about socializing again.. you know, backstage.. with the boys. I don’t think I can do it. The pressure of being somebody when everyone thinks I’m a useless cunt. You know, having to go through a match with a divvy that only wants to become his own highlight reel.. it’s a fucking joke. My brain has been zapped down to the size of a peanut due to all the spice – and I won’t be able to remember the endless amount of reversals. Besides… why the fuck should I?! I tell ya, if he can take my finisher ‘The Climax’ – that’s been banned from ten states and I haven’t been able to execute since 1999.. then I will consider doing his pointless moveset. But believe me, kid.. he wants no part of The Climax.

GAVIN: Why? Does no-one kick out?

O’DELL: No mate, I landed full-weight on a poor bastard in a barn in Texas and he never wrestled again. Trust me, Neil Diamond wont wonna work with ‘The Fabulous One’.

GAVIN: Not if you’re wanting to do a duet of ‘Sweet Caroline’ with him.

O’DELL: What are you going on about?

GAVIN: You called him Neil Diamond.. it’s Chris Diamond.

O’DELL: Oh shit, yeah.. ha. I wouldn’t mind working with Neil, but he’s gotta let me take lead on chorus.. because I always hit them high notes. But this other Diamond guy.. he needs to go back to school.

GAVIN: Sandbag the cunt!

O’DELL: Gavin, this isn’t back in the day where you could just give some daft-cunt a slap.

GAVIN: Why not?

O’DELL: Because.. my job. If I give this cocky little prick a good kickin’ and don’t even attempt to work with the guy – then kiss goodbye to earning myself an honest living again. Yep, I can see it now, in front of Lee Best himself.. trying to explain why I’ve fucked up his talent roster. Besides, who am I to say: sorry Lee, the greatest jobber of our generation can’t do the job for you.

GAVIN: Then go there and roll back the years, Jon-boy!

O’DELL: Roll back the years? Oh ok, so the year is 1991 – we’ll dig up Whitney Houston and tell her to go centre stage at the Super Bowl again then shall we? It’s not that easy, Gavin!

GAVIN: If the year is 1991 you won’t have to dig her up.. probably just ask her?

O’DELL: Cheeky twat!

GAVIN: I don’t get it, though.. you’ve told me about the dirty tricks in wrestling. This is how you were raised in the sport and now it’s all a foreign language. All of the stories.. ha, tell me about the time you faced Big Tommy Rutherfod – and how you had him in a side-headlock for a full hour..

O’DELL: Ha, yeah.. I was ribbing him; I told him it was an Iron-Man match. But like I keep telling you.. it was a different job back then.

There’s a little break in dialogue once more. Almost like the words O’Dell is speaking are getting him right in the feels. Gavin seems to be invested, too.

O’DELL: Mate, I got trained by Bobby ‘Beatdown’ Thompson.. do you even know who that is?

GAVIN: Not a Scooby-Doo.

O’DELL: That’s sad.. I’m sure that little gadget will tell ya all about Bobby ‘Beatdown’ Thompson. And he fucking didn’t get that nickname for kissing arse either.

GAVIN: Tell me more about, Bobby. Jon..

O’DELL: Ok.. story time. I was twelve years old, and to get to training I had to walk fifteen miles in all weathers to wrestle on blue mats like this one..

GAVIN: The mat is lovely, Jon. Really is.

O’DELL: Well, when I got there.. Mr. Thompson would beast me until I was puking out of my nose. The only way I learnt how to actually work was on shows where he and the rest of the vets would beat the shit out of me. Sure, they all got a good laugh out of it, and my face looked like Rihanna after her loss to Chris Brown – but it was all part of the learning experience.

Gavin looks scared. Maybe he’s having premonitions of Jonny O’Dell mutilating him on the blue mat (covered in bird shit) on the field.

O’DELL: Yeah, before I went stateside – I was considered the very best in the world. Not through arse kissing and playing the political game.. but just honest hard genuine graft. I tell ya, lad.. If you’re good at sucking dick; don’t be a pornstar.. be a pro-wrestler.

GAVIN: Well, the horse in the next field has never given me any complaints.

O’Dell just stares at Gavin with complete and utter disdain. Perhaps this is a signal to him that he’s not the scummiest little cunt to ever live. No, that title solely goes to his esteemed best friend. Gav, meanwhile – is completely oblivious to this social mishap and simply waits for O’Dell to pick up the conversation again.

O’DELL: And this chocolate-cock (Diamond) thinks he’s God’s gift to women?!

GAVIN: Looking for a few pointers, grandpa?

O’DELL; Fuck off! It’s still in fully working order.. I’ve had more fanny than he’s had hot dinners. Ha, fucking God’s gift! Sure, if the gift is a doormat because the bitch friend-zoned him. Lets have it right.. he’s a soft-cock. She says.. ‘jump’ – and he says.. ‘how high?’ Then she says.. ‘off the biggest and nearest cliff’ – Then he probably will say.. ‘but if I jump off this big cliff I might die’ – then it all gets a little awkward because deep down he knows what he’s good for, little punk–

Gavin mentally switches off as O’Dell appears to be having some sort of rant.. possible mental breakdown – I’m not sure. What I do know is that Gavin, meanwhile – is on Facebook browsing some hot chick’s holiday album from 2010. So yeah, he’s got himself in deep.. he’s one slip of the finger on the ‘like’ button from getting a restraining order.

O’DELL: –It’s much like pro-wrestling; he’s no different from the rest of them. A bunch of man-babies in spandex that want to live the dream. Well keep having those wet-dreams in your mam’s house, cunts.. because you’ve fucking drowned it in all your Neo Matrix bullshit wrestling. That no-one likes apart from the snowflake wrestling community and virgins (also included in the snowflake wrestling community).

Gavin then lifts up his head from out of his phone.

GAVIN: So why not do what you told me?

O’DELL: Fucking forget what I told you!

GAVIN: Where’s your heart?!

O’DELL: My heart? I’m a pro-wrestler; I have no heart.. I’m faker than the work itself. There’s just that little small detail your missing, Gavin. That little thing called…. ‘politics’.

GAVIN: (sighs, whilst muttering) Fuuuuccckkkinngg hellll..

Gavin is seemingly getting frustrated that Jonny O’Dell keeps going round in circles with what he has to say/rant/profess.. frankly – boring us to death. Again, it’s freezing and Gavin is eager to undergo his wrestling training. I’d guess ‘politics’ has been a highly opinionated subject expressed by O’Dell over the years. However, I don’t think Donald Trump’s ‘building a wall’ theory has quite been on ‘The Fabulous One’s’ agenda. More so, the concept of being de-pushed (mostly squashed) all of his professional life.

By god, I know I’m just addressing this now.. but what an ugly lanky cunt Gavin is. His wrestling name needs to be ‘Lurch’ and nothing else will suffice.

O’DELL: Well aren’t you going to warm up or are you waiting for me to piss on ya?!

Gavin’s face lights up, thankful the never-ending story has seemingly concluded.

GAVIN: Oh, and by the way…… IT’S FOR THE WORLD TITLE AND IF YOU BEAT DIAMOND YOU’RE WRESTLING MIKE BEST! OK BYE!

Gavin then abruptly drops a verbal nuclear bomb on O’Dell (to seemingly entice him) before he fucks off on his lap of the field. Gavin gets a good head start on O’Dell before O’Dell can fully process what he’s just heard.

O’DELL: WAIT…!!! WHAT?!?! I’M FIGHTING FOR THE STRAP..?!?! YOU’RE RIBBING!!

Off-camera, projected from further afield – Gavin’s voice is heard which can only faintly be distinguished.

GAVIN: I’M NOT RIBBING..!!!

O’DELL: YOU’RE FUCKING RIBBING!!!

GAVIN: I’M NOT FUCKING RIBBING..!!!

O’DELL: WHO’S.MIKE.BEST..?!?! WHO.DOES.HE.WORK.FOR..?!?!

O’Dell went from half-cupping his mouth with his hand to half-cupping his ear with his hand. Shades of a big muscular ‘brother’ dressed all in yellow springs to mind (OOC: oh, fuck off! Don’t you dare mark me down for that; I know the real shit doesn’t exist in HOW World – but how the fuck could I best describe that?! The racists’ name was not typed so you can allow it!).

O’DELL: WHO’S MIKE BEST..?!?! ANSWER YOUR SENSEI..!!!

O’Dell grunts before cupping his ear again – before this all comes crashing down. Best ask him if it… hurts inside.

O’DELL: IMMEDIT–

O’Dell shouts again but it clashes with the dialogue on its way back to him. All that can be made out in Gavin’s reply was the word ‘son’.

O’DELL: SORRY..!! REPEAT THAT MATE..!! REPEAT..!!!

GAVIN: SON OF GOD..!!!

O’DELL: NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE FUCKING CRYPTIC..!!! NOT WRESTLING JESUS!!!

O’Dell goes back to cupping his ear. He doesn’t get an answer – so he attempts it once more. I mean.. he gotta be a man, he can’t let it slide (OOC: Ok, I’ll stop now).

Then, just as O’Dell is about to yell again – he gets an unexpected return from Gavin. The young trainee hunches over, hands on his knees and completely out of breath.

O’DELL: You ok, lad? Here, open your mouth.. it’s raining. Get yourself a drink.

GAVIN: (panting) It’s.. it’s… Lee Best’s.. son…

O’DELL: Shit.. you sure?

GAVIN: (still panting) Yes.. it is.. it is.. his father..

O’DELL: Ha, did you mean to do that? It’s funny, because you’re out of breath.. do Chewbacca.

Gavin is so knackered that he doesn’t even acknowledge O’Dell. The sick’o is trying to get his bearings when all he’s done is one lap of the bastard field.

O’DELL: Soooooo – let me break this down for ya..

Gavin begins to cough his lungs up but O’Dell offers zero sympathy. Get ready for the return of Falkor.. because the never-ending story has another chapter to go yet (or six maybe?).

O’DELL: The dream is over, folks. We might as well pack up and go home.. or maybe some of us don’t have homes to go back to so bus stations, maybe..? Whatever. Because the dad (Lee Best) of the local pub football team (HOW) has decided to let his son (Mike Best) play in the tournament. Not only is he playing.. he’s a fucking striker, too. You know, to score all the goals and to hog all of the glory. He isn’t slumming it with the jobbers like me – because daddy is protecting his asset.

Don’t get me wrong though, Mike. Your daddy is a wonderful man. He really opened his heart that fateful day he tripped over me whilst I was begging. Not only did he hire me on the spot but he also gave me some money.. albeit it was dollars and it’s as much use as pixie dust here. But the sentiment was there. Respect, Daddy Bear. Ha, pops wasn’t going to give me a bite of his hot-dog, though.. the bastard.

I’m sure you’re a good kid, Mike. Looks like Lee’s raised you well. You’ll have them ‘best genes’.. betcha’ a handsome lil fucker. Now I would say the same about my son but he looks like the love-child of David Guest and a pigeon. But that’s not the reason I’ve never bothered to see him all of this time.. truth is, Mikey – I’m as broke as a tooth fairy in a house full of meth heads.

Now here’s a little advice for you, cos I know you’re greener than green–

Gavin would normally interject here and tell O’Dell that Mike Best is a HOW Hall Of Famer – but he’s fit for the bin. I think O’Dell presumes that this is Mike Best’s first stint in HOW and can’t comprehend that there’s been any more history post 2002. Gavin, meanwhile – sits down on the blue mat. He’s obviously not bothered that he’s sitting on bird shit either.

O’DELL: –Don’t just swan into the locker-room like you own the joint like Neil (Diamond) will inevitability do. Cos the likes of Darkwing and Kostoff will not take to you acting like Billy Big Bollocks. Like some cock of the walk, you know? Just find a spot in the corner.. mouth shut, ears open. Because the moment you enter that locker-room you’re learning. And if they put a toilet brush in your face.. take it like a man. Or you’ll gain a lot of enemies very very quickly, rookie–

Gavin: Are you speaking from experience?

Gavin pipes up – O’Dell, however.. looks a bit embarrassed by Gavin’s retort and chooses to ignore it. It somewhat takes O’Dell off his trail of thought.

O’DELL: –But if that’s what the company wants then that’s what the company wants. You’re the guy that’s gunna lead us into the next generation – but don’t be like Neil (Diamond). The way he’s going he ain’t gunna be worth a shit. You see, now that me and your dad are practically best mates.. that makes me your uncle. And little Mikey, your uncle Jonny has had his time in the stars.. it’s your turn, little-one. No longer do you have to watch the stars from your bedroom window through the telescope your dad got you for Christmas…. your time is now. And son, just call it a simple passing of the torch if you like.

GAVIN: But you don’t have a torch..

O’DELL: A shitty coat then!

So prepare with the treatment oils and have some banging hot broad for the rub-downs.. and I’ll do my job in making Neil (Diamond) look a million dollars for you. Because Christ, I’m really up against it here.. talk about entering a cock-fight caught with your pants down.

Then, if you want to actually learn how to wrestle then come knock on my door.. or, just be here on the field, that’s fine – whatever. We’ll have you learn old-Brit-style, and I’ll bend you in shapes that not even Walt Disney could draw.

RIGHT HERE.. at the best wrestling school not even money could buy.

O’Dell stands proudly with his hands on his hips and a smile full of teeth. Granted, the teeth are yellow and have a slight pigment of brown.

O’DELL: Certainly better than what that cunt Silent Witness is doing.. the fucking carny!

O’Dell holds pose.

GAVIN: That’s good, mate – but I’d get a better sign for the school instead of smearing your name in shit on a fence.

O’Dell breaks pose.

O’DELL: Don’t concern yourself with that! You just roll… ROLL! Roll until you either become a sausage roll yourself – or you have them coming out of your fucking ears!

The camera pans out with Jonny O’Dell acting like a drill sergeant – barking orders and unintentionally spitting. Gavin, meanwhile – gets up and just.. rolls. He keeps rolling as our picture gets smaller and smaller, fainter and fainter. Until they are just a pair of indistinguishable pixelated blobs.

Roleplay Countdown

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