The desert sand swirled up into the air as a gust of wind went by. A man in a referee’s uniform coughed loudly as a result and clutched at his chest.
“I hate the desert!” Yelled Geoff Gones, personal ref for the Drudley family, “It’s a God damn piece of motherfucking shit!”
“There’s no need to swear.” Complained Grandpa Drudley through thick, taped frame spectacles.
“The hell there ain’t, it’s that God damn motherfucking Rubba Ray and D-Van’s fault!” Geoff wailed, dusting the sand out of his hair.
“Well, if you hadn’t have been hitting Tyke all the way to Vegas we might have been allowed to join in the gambling.” Grandpa explained.
‘Yeah, you son of a bitch!’ read Sign Dude’s sign.
“He was humming that God damn song! You know… that one, that goes da da da, du du du du, d…” Geoff moaned.
“Highway to Hell?” Grandpa interupted.
“Yeah, that’s it, he was humming it and it pissed me motherfucking off!”
“That’s our entrance music you moron.” Grandpa sighed.
“Well then save it for when we’re enterizing, we don’t need any motherfucking music when we’re sat in the back of D-Van’s God damn van!” Gones exclaimed.
Geoff scowled at Small Tyke Drudley, laying on the desert sand with flies buzzing around him.
“Is he ok?” Geoff asked.
“He’ll be ok, he saw Jesus, though it was actually just a cactus, and he decided to stare at the sky until he carried him off to Valhalla… he’ll come down in about an hour.” Grandpa explained.
Geoff turned his attention back to the dusty road before them, it was nothing more than a line drawn into the sand with a stick that cars drove on really.
It had been three hours since D-Van and Bertner had thrown them out of their van and Rubba Ray, who was following behind in his pick up truck, refused to let them in and told them to sit in the sand.
“Those guys are motherfucking douchebags, leaving us out here in the God damn desert. You know what, next time I’m refereeing for them I AM going to call it straight down the middle, and if they lose that’s their own damn fault.” Geoff proclaimed. “I’m making a stand against those guys, who’s with me?!”
Silence. Sign Dude held up a sign that read ‘Sit down you moron’ before throwing a small rock at him.
“Are you just going to take this kind of treatment?!” Geoff asked.
“I would’ve done the same if I was in their shoes, I’m surprised they don’t throw us out more often.” Grandpa said.
“Well I’m making a stand even if you guys are too chicken to.” Geoff said, holding one hand to his chest proudly.
‘They won’t give you any of the stuff they got from vegas if you do that!’ read Sign Dude’s sign. Geoff sat down.
“I hear they might make their debut in BOB soon.” Grandpa said with a smile.
“With BOB soon means in three months time.” Geoff snorted.
In the distance a small, dark shimmering block of color slowly swirled towards them. They could make out a second behind it. As it drew closer it was plain to see, and hear, that it was the rest of the Drudleys coming to get them.
“Should we throw some water on him or something?” Gones asked, looking over at Small Tyke who was running away in terror from a tumbleweed.
“Nah, just grab him and throw him in the back.” Grandpa said, dusting off his tye-die pants which were drawn up well past his waist.
As the two vehicles noisily came to a hault D-Van and Rubba Ray jumped out, whilst Bertner stared at himself in a mirror.
“We’re back!” D-Van yelled.
“You missed a hell of a time in Vegas, we beat up a waiter and stole this chicken!” Rubba Ray exclaimed, holding up a live chicken by the neck, “Anyone who’s going in my truck can expect smashed chicken brain soup!”
All of the Drudley lackeys grabbed Tyke and rushed to D-Van’s Vaulkswagen, with their hands over their mouths.
“Well, more for me I guess.” Rubba said to himself, climbing back into his truck.
“Oh TESTIFY!!!” D-Van screamed, spinning around with one hand in the air and his tongue sticking out.