MAY 30, 2010
INDIANAPOLIS MOTOR SPEEDWAY- GASOLINE ALLEY
SPEEDWAY, INDIANA
11:23 AM LOCAL TIME
GASOLINE ALLEY
Terrence Thompson looked up at the sign, tears glistening in his eyes. "Its so beautiful," he whispered.
"Yeah, well, enjoy the beauty while walking, dude. You're blocking Vitor Meira."
Terrence wheeled around at Pollaski's voice, gulping as he came face to face with six stern looking crew members pushing a red and white IndyCar. "Sorry," he apologized sheepishly, leaping aside so the car could pass. He marveled at the machine rolling by, swallowing so he wouldn't drool.
"Don't even THINK about touching it." A feminine voice whispered in his ear, and Terrence glanced to his side grinning meekly into his wife's stern gaze. “The last thing we need is for you to be thrown out before the race even starts.”
"I wasn't gonna!" Terrence protested, sounding every bit like the kid who had just been caught shoving candy into his pockets.
Wendy giggled. "Let's go," she said, tugging on her husband's sleeve. "Before you pass out," she cruelly added under her breath.
The Indianapolis 500 had finally arrived, the World's Largest Single-Day sporting event. For the Indy-living, auto-loving Terrence Thompson, it was a second Christmas. With a Luxury Box on the front stretch, it was shaping out to be one of the greatest days of his life. Terrence walked behind Meira's car, smoothing out the navy blue polo shirt and khaki pants he had reluctantly agreed to wear (Wendy had suggested a suit and tie, but after Terrence had threatened to revoke her gate pass, the two had compromised).
Next to him, holding her daughter in her arms, walked Wendy, wearing a pale green Sunday dress, and holding a bright Yellow scarf in her hand in support of her favorite driver, Sarah Fisher. Theresa was also in a nice dress, this one pink, looking around at all the marvels of Gasoline Alley. Both mother and daughter had sets of earplugs gripped in their hands, while Terrence was more than happy to take in all the screams of the engines without protection.
Behind the family walked Daniel Pollaski and Cassie DeSlair. Pollaski wore a dark blue and violet Hawaiian shirt, while Cassie had elected to don a pale blue sundress.
"Oh my God!" The WhirlyBirdz' nanny exclaimed, pointing at a small group of women. "Its the Kardashians! Do you see them, Wendy?"
"Huh?" Wendy exclaimed, looking behind her. "No. I'm sorry. I was never much of a Star Trek fan."
Terrence snorted in amusement, as did Pollaski and Cassie, while Wendy looked thoroughly confused.
"Actually, keep your eye out," Pollaski warned Cassie. "There's gonna be celebrities all over the place here. Hell, I heard Jack Nicholson's going to be waving the green flag."
"Here we are," Terrence announced, pointing at a set of doors in the back of the looming grandstands. "Let's go."
The quintet walked through the doors, flashing their passes and being directed by ushers to the elevators. A short ride to the top later, they emerged in a hallway. "This is us," Terrence indicated, and the five entered through a doorway, into the suite.
And gasped.
The luxury suite was more akin to a large apartment than anything else. Built to accommodate over fifty people, the suite contained several couches, a massive catering buffet table laden with food, private restrooms, and several closed circuit televisions. Through a door on the other side of the suite, they could see the viewing platform, with grandstand style seating for all occupants overlooking a magnificent view of the speedway's front stretch.
The suite was about half full. Thompson Auto employed six mechanics other than Terrence and his uncle, and three of them had shown up with their families, as well as Lisa, the receptionist. Terrence assumed the other three mechanics were on their way, but was relieved to see that there seemed to be enough room to accommodate the entire company.
“Hey, Terrence!”
Shoving his way through his employees, Uncle Steve walked over, wearing an old and tattered Rick Mears t-shirt. Terrence shot a sidelong glance at his wife, who seemed rather disgusted at how underdressed her husband's uncle was.
Terrence embraced his uncle, and looked around the suite again. “Not too shabby a place.”
“Hell, I wish we could afford to do this EVERY year,” his Uncle crowed. Terrence noticed the man held a half-quaffed mug of Budweiser in his hand, even though it wasn’t even noon yet. Steve raised the mug, “God Bless the British Petroleum Oil Spill!”
Luckily, it was a toast no one else felt like duplicating.
“Bah,” Uncle Steve snarled. “C’mon Terrence. Lets go pick out the best seats for ourselves.”
Terrence allowed himself to be led away out to the viewing platform, while Wendy set Theresa down, and followed Cassie and Pollaski over to the buffet.
“I have to say, it’s nice to be able to watch the race in style this year,” Wendy commented, as she reached for a plate. “Normally Terry puts us in the front row on the first turn, and once the race starts, you can’t even hear yourself think for four hours. And that’s WITH earplugs.”
“It’s still going to be plenty loud,” Cassie cautioned. “But I’ve only ever been to qualifying. This is my first race.”
“Well, Sports Illustrated said a Luxury Box at the Indianapolis 500 is the best viewing experience in all of sports,” Pollaski added.
“Well, then thanks for inviting me,” Cassie told Pollaski, blushing slightly. “I wouldn’t have been able to come if I hadn’t.”
“Actually,” Wendy began, surprised that Cassie hadn’t been told that she, like Pollaski, was technically an employee of Thompson Auto (for tax purposes). Immediately, Dan’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head frantically at Wendy mouthing ‘don’t tell her!’, all the while hoping that Cassie wouldn’t look his direction.
Wendy paused for a second, confused by Pollaski’s franticness, then caught on. She paused. Had her manager honestly neglected to tell Cassie that she was invited to this, just so he could take her as his ‘date?’
She couldn’t figure out if it was the lowest, or most romantic thing she could think of.
Finally, against her better judgment, she decided that there wasn’t too much harm in letting Pollaski’s lie stand. “Yes, I’m glad he brought you along too.” Wendy said, forcing a smile.
“Thanks,” Cassie said, beaming at the redhead. “I think I’m going to go see what kind of view we have of the track.”
Both Dan and Wendy watched Cassie walk away. As soon as she was out of sight, Wendy let fly a slap, connecting solidly with the back of Pollaski’s head, causing the portly man to lurch forward, nearly dropping his plate.
“Ow!” Dan protested, massaging where her hand had hit.
“You didn’t tell her she could come on her own?” Wendy asked fiercely. “Because that’s what you were supposed to do.”
“I know,” Pollaski said, “and I was going to do it. But I thought this way…”
“You could get in her pants?” Wendy demanded, arching an eyebrow.
“No!” Pollaski argued. “Just… I thought, maybe it’d give me a shot at… you know… going out.”
Wendy stared at Pollaski thoughtfully. On one hand, she knew Daniel Pollaski was one of the most perverted people she had ever met in her life. On the other hand, there was something about the way Daniel was acting that suggested that he was actually nervous at the whole deal. Could it be the great Daniel Pollaski, who had once sat outside a feminist convention reading nudie mags in a lawn chair, actually had a teensy crush on someone?
If so, the Apocalypse was coming sooner than she thought.
MAY 30, 2010
INTERSTATE 70- THE RV
NEAR MARSHALL, ILLINOIS
11:23 PM LOCAL TIME
(Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the most exciting Indianapolis 500 in history, but for the Thompsons, it had been one hell of a day. Sitting in a luxury box for the greatest spectacle in racing had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience, even though it had been a heartbreak for Terrence’s favorite driver, the snake-bitten Tony Kanaan. But a spectacular end-of-race crash had left Dario Franchitti the winner, and it had been a rewarding experience for the men to watch his wife Ashley Judd running down the pit lane to greet her victorious husband.)
(Jiggle jiggle jiggle)
(But now, it’s time for the Birdz to head for Saint Louis, where the biggest match of Terrence Thompson’s comeback is tomorrow. So we open our scene in, of all places, the cockpit of the WhirlyBirdz RV. Terrence Thompson’s cruising down Interstate 70, maneuvering the forty-five foot monstrosity known as the King Aire. The copilot seat next to him is empty, and, from the unfocused image of [I]Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs[/I] playing behind him, it’s obvious that the other occupants of the vehicle are watching a movie.)
(Still, it gives Terrence time to think, and cut a promo using the dash-mounted camera. He’s got a lot of things to think about. About the only blemish on his day had been the viewing of Jacob Wright’s latest promo, which understandably had left the Twister in a fairly grumpy mood.)
(But now, it’s rebuttal time. As usual, Terrence [and the other drivers on the road] prefers to keep his eyes on the highway, although he does glance at the camera from time to time.)
Twister- "Cute, Jacob, very cute."
(It should be noted that the word ‘irritated’ shouldn’t even begin to describe Terrence Thompson’s mood this evening.)
Twister- "You see Jacob, I may have used a lot of words to say it, but all I said during my last promo was that you were a shitty champion who didn't deserve the title. Its the opinion of me, one man. One man who's about to kick your ass into the Mississippi River, but one man nonetheless."
(A scoff of annoyance, and a shake of his head)
Twister- "Like the idiot you are, you went and made this personal."
"So let's get one thing out of the way, Jacob. The only thing my wife and you have in common is a strong sense of idealism. Wendy wants wrestling to be regarded as a competition, nothing else. Two combatants enter the ring, one wins, one doesn't. No gimmick matches, no weapons, and sure as FUCK no outside interference. As such, she tries to set an example. And this is where our disagreement comes in. She thinks that by adhering to those principles, she can show people like Hollywood and Ojeda that there is a better way. I think she's just setting herself up to be hurt. Like in that match with Hollywood. She dominated the whole fucking thing, but the moment defeat was eminent, Brian broke out a chair, and my wife ended that match on her back, settling for a disqualification instead of a clear cut victory."
(Terrence takes a couple of breaths to calm himself before he completely tees off on the poor camera. When he finally speaks, there’s anger, tinged with sadness in his voice.)
"You think that's easy, Jacob? You think it's fucking easy watching the woman you love nearly get her head caved in by a craven bastard like Brian Hollywood? If it were up to me, the only thing left of Hollywood would be a stain on my Charger's bumper. But Wendy insists on doing things her way, and the eternal argument continues."
(Terrence risks a glance at the camera, and there’s a borderline rage in his eyes. Looks like Wright pushed the wrong button.)
Twister- "But you see, I RESPECT my wife, so unless I'm asked, I won't be taking matters into my own hands. I've learned all to well what happens when you meddle in Wendy Briese's business without her permission."
(Like say, at Tag Wars, when Terrence clobbered her tag partner with a tire iron. She didn’t talk to the guy for a full day after that. And Terrence still feels bad about that. Not bashing Victor Mandrake in the head, mind you. More about how it screwed his wife out of the WWA Tag Team Title)
Twister- "But if I didn't respect my wife, you can damn well bet I would be doing everything in my power to keep her out of that ring. But I know that Wendy is tougher than anyone else in Pro-Wrestling X, and that includes you or I. My wife has survived no less than four kidnappings. She has had her own father disown her and murder her mother. She's had an overgrown freak of a half-brother try to murder her, and another overgrown idiot lock her in a dungeon for two weeks. She's come back from a career threatening ankle injury, and has overcome every fucking obstacle you could possibly think of. And through it all, she hasn't let bitterness creep into her, and she still keeps the same positive outlook on life. So don't you DARE tell me I don't respect my wife, because you have no idea how much I do."
"See Jacob, believe it or not, I may come off as a loudmouth braggart but in reality, I have respect for a lot of people in this industry. I respect my wife. I respect the Belmonts. I respect Danny Szatkowski. Hell, I even have respect for Victor Mandrake. I just don't have any for you."
(Terrence pauses for just a second, as he makes a lane change, checking every mirror in the RV before he dares move over)
Twister- "I don't give a damn what agreement you had with Darin Zion going into High Stakes. What I saw, and what the fans saw, was you curtain jerking against Thor, and Zion beating Hollywood for the title. And then Zion begs you to take the shot; you do, and win in fairly short order. It seemed to me that Darin got his big win over Brian, decided he'd rather run around in a mask with his name spelled backwards than represent this company, and made sure his good buddy Jacob was there to catch the belt when he dropped it. But that's just what I saw."
(Small shrug)
Twister- "But like I've said, what happened at High Stakes could easily be overlooked if you'd have acted like a champion since then. But let's take a look at your month in a little detail, shall we?"
(While [thankfully] keeping his left hand on the RV’s wheel, Terrence raises his right hand, with one finger up. It’s the index, not the middle, as tempting as that is at this moment.)
Twister- "Week one, you beat Emoboy. With John Pariah's help. Great start to the reign there, buddy."
(Up comes a second finger. It IS the middle one, but the effect just isn’t the same)
Twister- "Week two, riding the immense wave of momentum you recieved from beating Emoboy with John Pariah's help, you bring in your cousin to hold a marriage ceremony for you and your belt. And then, you summed up your representation of the PWX as its champion in the best way possible- you turned it into a circus."
(Terrence risks a full on glare into the camera for just a second…)
"I fucking hate circuses, Jacob"
(…then looks back, holding up a third finger)
"Week three, you lose to John Ojeda."
(And the pinky comes up.)
Twister- "Week four, all we see out of you is you sneaking around backstage, handing me a 'script' that's really a pancake menu, and belly flopping yourself through a table, once again making everyone in this fed proud to have a self-indulgent child as our champion."
(Terrence pauses, looking pensive for just a second)
Twister- "You know what? I changed my mind. I forfeit our match, because I just can't wait to see what you'd do if we let you keep the title for another month. Probably color the faceplate with crayons or something."
(Another pause, as Terrence realizes Jacob, being the dumbass he is, might actually take the forfeit seriously and not show up for the match, thinking it had been called off)
Twister- "And yes, I'm being sarcastic. About the forfeit. You probably are halfway to the store to buy a sixty-four pack of Crayolas by now."
(Zing!)
Twister- "Oh, and before we go any further, being driven into the mat by Sah'ta Thor and winning by disqualification does not count as 'beating Brian Hollywood in mere minutes.' And the match where you pinned Ojeda was the worst Adrenaline main event in history. But keep on riding THOSE horses."
"As far as my loss to Hanson goes, I'll admit it, I screwed that match up. Hanson played a beautiful possum ploy, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. It’s a shame Hanson's plane blew up, and he's scattered over the better part of three states, because I wanted to pay him back for that. You see, I learn from my mistakes, and I rarely lose to the same guy twice. Unlike, say, a certain somebody who got pinned by a certain worthless hippy, was so upset about being pinned he got pinned by the same hippy in a battle royal the very next week, and then thrown over the top rope by the SAME hippy in ANOTHER battle royal two weeks later!"
(Terrence takes another glance at the camera, putting on a face of mock-surprise, very similar to the one Wright sarcastically used in his promo)
Twister- "Aw jeez, I have YouTube and can look at match histories too! You seem to have forgotten about that second pinfall Jake. Were you THAT concussed by the protest sign? Or is it selective memory? Because if I lost to Randy Treehugger three times, I'd want to forget it too."
"But you're right about one thing, Wright. I'm not proud of my Next Generation championship. I'm proud of who I beat for the title, and its kinda cool I'm the last champion ever before the belts are merged, but winning the Next Generation title in itself was no great accomplishment. I don't know how the hell I got a shot at Valerie fresh off of losing to Noah, but I did, and I took advantage of it. But I said then that I viewed that match as more of an audition for the May Madness tournament. The En-Gee title was little more than a stepping stone to me."
(From the side of his seat, Terrence pulls out his Next Generation title, holding it up for the camera to see. It should be noted that Terrence normally does NOT drive with his title belts sitting next to him. He just figured a visual aid would be apropos here.)
Twister- "And that's what this has become Jake. One shiny little stepping stone to you. Because Jacob, despite your cute little answer to my rhetorical question, I can't be stopped. Even if somehow, by the grace of God, you escape St. Louis with the Grand Prix title, I'll be back to challenge you again before you can break out the Crayolas and get to coloring. And I've already told you about how often I lose twice."
(Pause. Although anyone else finding it disturbing that that was the third time Terrence has used the word ‘cute’ in this promo?)
Twister- "I don't."
(He meant about losing twice, not finding the usage of the word ‘cute’ disturbing.)
Twister- "So, Jacob, write some more poetry lamenting how nobody respects you. Hold a little RIOT rally, get your self-righteous act on, and feel real good about yourself. Because tomorrow night, I'm coming for you. I'm going to take your title. For the shit you talked about my marriage, I'd take your pride and dignity too, but its obvious you don't have any left."
(Pause, smirk, new attempt at a catchphrase)
Twister- "The Mechanical Mayhem is coming for you, Jacob. Prepare to be overwhelmed, and destroyed."
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