Clubbin’ and clobberin’
~~~The first thing you see is Felecia Fellatio, Steve Studnuts’ personal interview gal that looks as though Vanessa Williams and Beyonce Knowles morphed into a single human, standing outside a building on a slightly rainy night. Some might even argue that it’s a drizzle, my nizzle.
It would seem obvious that the brick building was a nightclub, noting that the heavy beat that’s audible through the walls sounds like that Justin Timberlake “Rock Your Body” song or whatever it is…
(Editor’s Note- Though I’m not a big fan of Justin Timberlake, more of the Slayer/Megadeth/Motley Crue mold, I’m aware of what’s popular on nightclub’s DJ list. Or at least I like to think that I am.)
There’s a purple and pink neon sign, just above the bouncer-laden entrance in a slanting cursive font, that simply reads “FLUIDS”. The name of the place could refer to the spirits served inside at a profitable rate for the establishment, or what ends up on the bed sheets before the next day’s sunrise, after a man and woman lose their inhibitions and indulge themselves with the pleasures of “hookin’ up”… albeit for one night.
Regardless your interpretation, Felecia has no problem getting in even though there’s a Studnuts paid for lackey following her with a video camera. She’s dressed for a hot time on the town, wearing a red, low cut blouse covered by a black, Debra-like sports coat and a mini skirt so short she almost required a second hair-do. Black pumps accentuate her outfit, making her mocha skin almost appear like the creamy center of a chocolate Oreo. The lackey was not dressed appropriately at all.
Once inside, she immediately spots Steve, wearing a white spandex shirt and black slacks, on the dance floor in the middle of a female mass of humanity that resembles thin, breast-enhanced moons revolving around a muscular tanned planet. She waves to him after making brief eye contact, which in turn is followed by Steve rolling his eyes just before he begrudgingly saunters off the floor and in her direction. The women he left now stand there, in the middle of the dance floor, motionless… even as Justin’s song slowly mixes into Britney Spears’ “Slave 4 You”. Steve meets Felecia and camera boy near the bar.~~~
Studs: (With a bit of disgust on his face) Felecia, this had better be good…. my doob’s about half fat and I think I have at least three of those chicks talked into comin’ back to the crib and getting nakey.
Felecia: Steve, I’m sorry… but I need some bits from you to add to your website. I also need some reaction to Explosion of Injuries and a response to Mr. Paradox and his intentions of killing you.
Studs: Killing me? Parasox? Which, in case anybody was wonderin’… I had already planned on callin’ him Parasox about a week before it was mentioned elsewhere, just for the record. I was just too lazy and/or busy getting laid to do it before now.
Felecia: I thought you were calling him Paracox, making fun of his name and saying that a pair of cocks was in his mouth.
Studs: That’s so last month, Felecia. Parasox refers to what he stuffs in the front of his fuckin’ pants to make people think he’s a dude. Ya dig? Gotta change it up or people lose interest. That’s a fact. (checks his watch)
Felecia: So?
Studs: So what?
Felecia: So what do you think about his plans on killing you? His last promo had him hiding under a table in Mexico looking for you. He killed a bunch of innocent people….
Studs: Hold up…. did you say he was lookin’ for me in Mexico? MEX-I-CO? Why the fuck would I be in Mexico? If I wanted refried beans and diarrhea I’d just eat at one of the fuckin’ taco stands here in Phoenix. Mexico… you gotta be shittin’ me.
Felecia: No, I’m not. He also said…
Studs: (interrupting again) He also said, he also said… I don’t give a flippity fuck what he said. Do you think I actually give a shit what that guy does or says? He’s invisible to me. Transparent. Saran fuckin’ Wrap. Ya dig?
Besides, I’m not even considering beatin’ his ass until I beat up his buddy, you know, that fag Zeno guy in that “Snake Match” shit.
But before all that… I got a date with douja and his fucked up little nephew. Looks like I get to pick a partner for some tag action against ‘em, which means I could pretty much choose ANYBODY and walk though ‘em like Hershey squirts. Hell, I could even pick a DEAD guy and beat those chumps.
Felecia: Undertaker? You’re partner’s going to be The Undertaker?
Studs: No, stupid… I meant a REAL dead guy, like a not fuckin’ breathin’, literally no pulse havin’ dead guy.
~~~In the background chaos, “Slave” fades out to Nelly’s “Hot in Herre”. Steve perks up when he realizes what song is now playing.~~~
Studs: Look, you’re gonna have to speed this shit up, chicks take this one and live up to its lyrics. I ain’t missin’ out on that, especially when they “let hang all out”. Know what I’m sayin’?
Felecia: Okay, okay… just one more question. Who’s going to be your partner?
Studs: (ponders for a second) Well, I was gonna keep it a surprise… but surprises are for jerkweeds who still believe in shit like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and Ron Jeremy endorsed Extenz. Which reminds me, I want my fuckin’ money back.
ANY-way… I’m gonna tell you who it is, then I’m outta here and back to the floor to bury my dong in the crack of some chick’s ass while she backs that thang up. Ya dig?
Now I could’ve picked Seth or Trey, but that’s just too easy.
My partner is gonna be….
MR. PARASOX. And that’s a fact….
Felecia: WHAT?! But you just said…. you just said you weren’t going to have anything to do with him. You just said…
Studs: Fuck what I just said. I do what I want, when I fuckin’ want, to whomever I want to do it to. He’s my partner and that’s it. He’s startin’ the match and he might, MIGHT see a tag when I get tired of watchin’ Toby and Kunta beat the shit outta him. And then when I see the need to end his sufferin’, I’ll tag his stupid ass and finish off douche-a and Jerry Cunt by myself. Okay?
Now get the fuck outta here or I’m gonna miss this song and be hella pissed. You wouldn’t like me hella pissed….
Felecia: O…
Studs: Don’t talk, Felecia, just leave. Okay? Get your shit… and split. I’m outta here, my scriptwriter is still a little sore from the tag-team Texas Streetfight he had Saturday night and wants to quit our dialog. He’s such a pussy…
~~~And with that, Steve turns and quickly descends a flight of stairs onto the sunken dance floor. He’s immediately engulfed and disappears into a sea of sweaty, hot chicks. Some of ‘em might even be lesbians. Some of them might be chicks with huge tits. Others could even be French kissing girls or Russian Mail Order brides. One might even have a picture of Madonna and Britney’s open mouth kiss at the MTV Music Awards in her purse, or maybe a picture of Stacy Kiebler’s cartwheel at Armageddon where sources say you got a glimpse of her raw snatch. Okay, I’ll stop now. That should be good for about 5 hits.~~~
*A corpse, one that looks a little like Beyonce Knowles, crashes through the crowd and lands directly in front of Steve. On it, pinned by a knife, is a note…*
“To Steve: I was in Mexico for three reasons: it’s too cold in South Dakota, the beer’s cheap, and the women are of minimal virtue. I only remembered what the hell I was doing after gunning down the bar.
To your offer of a tag team, I must say: no fucking chance, friend. The only time you and I will ever share a wrestling ring is when I rip your throat out to the cheers of the crowd and the whining of the iAd.
And by the way, as to your comments on my manhood: at least I don’t purchase porn star-endorsed penis enlargers, unlike some people.
Adios.”
*A shadowy figure can be seen on the ceiling briefly, and then he is gone.*
~~~Steve, after noticing he’s been dancing on a corpse, sighs briefly~~~
Studs: That’s a damn shame, that bitch was kinda fine…. oh wait, there’s a note.
~~~He removes the knife, and squints to read aforementioned note under strobe lights and machine created fog~~~
Studs: (reading aloud to himself) “I was in Mexico for three reasons: it’s too cold in South Dakota, the beer’s cheap, and the women are of minimal virtue.”
Well, I DON’T go to Mexico for three reasons. 1) Minimal virtue women, I guess, is your way of sayin’ the bitches have moustaches. I, on the other hand, just come out and say the bitches have moustaches. 2) I don’t need to find cheap beer. And 3) Everything else about the place sucks ass.
(goes back to reading)
Studs: “To your offer of a tag team, I must say: no fucking chance, friend.”
Whoa…. first of all, it wasn’t an offer. Big B said I could pick ANYBODY I wanted. You don’t have a choice, fuck knuckle. You’re my partner and that’s it.
(looks at the note again and reads aloud)
Studs: “…at least I don’t purchase porn star-endorsed penis enlargers, unlike some people.”
Of course you don’t… YOU’D HAVE TO HAVE A PENIS TO ENLARGE IT, SCUMBAG. Why the fuck do you think I said you stuffed socks in your gatdamn pants? I swear… some people are so fuckin’ stupid. But anyway, lookin’ forward to our tag-team match. Uh, friend. (winks)
~~~Steve crumples the note and tosses it over his shoulder. He goes back to dancing as Rick James’ “Superfreak” blast through the club. Steve is seen bumping into paramedics just before static ensues~~~
(A balding man with horns growing out of his head walks on stage)
Bald Guy: Live, direct from hell, it’s DOCTOR AZATHOTH!
(Lots of cheering from the audience, as a huge burst of pyrotechnics signals the entrance of the night’s main attraction. Dr. A comes in with a big electric guitar, and raises his hands to acknowledge the crowd. He then gestures for silence.)
Dr. A: Before a start my set, I have a personal message for all you evil despots out there: Don’t let your henchmen go around killing whores willy-nilly. Oh sure, it seems innocent enough, but these random murder sprees can have big consequences. They piss off the police and super-heroes, they deprive the King-Archons of necessary sacrifices, and worst of all, signal an instability in one’s henchman that at best will lead to numerous instances of insubordination, and at worst will end with them throwing carcasses filled with nitroglycerin into your bathtub. While you’re in it.
Anyway, this next song goes out to a guy I know. Parallax, I know you’re hurting (Although I can’t quite remember why), but petty revenge isn’t the answer. Your job is to obey your master without question, not go starting your own vendettas. Also to send thank-you notes. That goes for you too, Scudnuts. If I don’t get some love soon there’ll be no monkey paw refills for you next year. Anyway, here I go!
(Azathoth, with backup singers Falco, Donny Osmond, Zager and Evans, launches into his diso remix of the song “Book of Love” from the movie Never Steal Anything Wet)