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It’s a balmy 30 degrees on Monday Night and you know what that means.
Open mic night at O’Sullivan’s where the crème de la crème of Chicago’s talentless drunks can inflict themselves upon an equally unimpressive audience. It’s 6:45 pm, the stage is set, the audience appropriately sloshed. Sutler Reynolds-Kael scrambles out onto the stage wearing a black “Dan Ryan” t-shirt that just has a picture of Dan’s face directly in the center of it.
Moving to the microphone Sutler retrieves a small notebook from his pocket, clearing his throat before reading.
“Dan Ryan looks like what happens when you fill Stretch Armstrong with pudding. I respect Dan Ryan the same way I respect a T-Rex, an ancient predator with weirdly proportional limbs and a tiny brain programmed to do one or two things really well!”
“Boooo.”
A flat cord strikes out from the audience as Sutler’s eyes snap up from his notebook.
“Fuck you, this is good material!”
“Who the fuck is Dan Ryan and why do we care?!”
Sutler chews his lip for a moment as his face warms with frustration. Jamming his hand into his pocket the Son of Scions digs his phone free of his pocket before displaying a picture of Dan Ryan.
“See?! He’s like a reverse T-Rex, he has big ole’arms but look at his tiny weird little bird feet.”
“I don’t know, you sure that’s not just the camera angle?” another audience member joins in.
“Look it’s just supposed to be an insu-.. You know what, shut up, it’s like my Uncle Graystone used to say, get used to the taste, kid!”
An audible groan from the audience as Sutler stashes his phone and returns to his notebook.
“Dan Ryan looks like the kind of guy who gives meat the Ryan sweats.” Sutler’s eye darts up from his notebook as a collective groan sweeps over the audience. He looks back down quickly moving onto the next. “I’d say good on Dan Ryan for finally breaking away from Lindsay Troy but seeing as how she is using him to punish the Rated-R Indy Star Darin Matthews I guess we can expect that codependent relationship continue.”
“Now who the fuck is Lindsay Troy!?”
“She’s what you’d expect to happen if a lady ostrich wished to be human, Dan and her have been in each other’s lives ever since he pushed her out of the way of the meteor that killed off the rest of the Dinosaurs AYEEEEEEEEE!”
Pulling a pen from his pocket Sutler adds a note to his book while giggling to himself. The room remains chilly with at least two people getting up and leaving.
“So next Saturday I have to face Dan Ryan in a match and I heard if you leave out a bowl of bacon mashed potatoes in your window the night before your match he is obligated to give you three wishes. Dan Ryan is so hard he named his second daughter Peanut, after the thing that killed his first daughter. Gotta watch out for those allergies, man, check all the labels. Come on, guys, dead daughter jokes!”
Unfortunately Sutler is only greeted with more dead silence which is frankly a little more disconcerting than boos. Clearing this throat he stuck his nose back down into the book again.
“Dan Ryan is a saddle-goose lump of a yaldson, the kind of dilberry maker that gives a snollygoster a good name. My dad wrote that one.”
More silence as he thumbed another page– it’s mostly doodles of dicks and butts.
“My dad’s dead, thanks for the respect assholes. Let’s see.. In the DeNucci Cup I’ll show the whole World that nobody slaps harder than Dan Ryan. Slaps the mat I mean, when I make him tap with the Sutler Method, badum tish! My submission move is called the Sutler Method, it’s a play on my name. I thought of it myself.”
With a golf clap and a laugh, Sutler brushed off the silence and pressed on.
“Okay, okay, everybody calm down. I workshopped three more dead daughter jokes but I think we can just skip to the Big finish! Next Saturday at Refueled L I hope Dan Ryan is ready to be handed his first L of the new year compliments of Sulter Reynolds-Kael. But for real, I’m still leaving the bacon mashed potatoes out, I want a puppy dog, Mike Best’s autograph and a submission victory at Refueled, that’s my time, GOOD NIGHT!”