Post by Deleted on Apr 13, 2013 9:15:44 GMT -6
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. WEDNESDAY.
“Holy hell, what happened to this place?” mumbled the NEW cameraman as he pulled up to the address given to him by the office. The building belonging to the address is a badly run-down mansion. Part of the front gate has collapsed. The paint on the house is peeling. Random pieces of plywood are scattered across the front yard. Glass from the shattered window on the front door covers the steps. A bright yellow foreclosure notice is plastered on the door. The cameraman, unsure if he’s in the right location, knocks on the door. A muffled shout is heard from behind the door.
“JUST STICK YOUR COCK THROUGH THE GLORYHOLE. FOR A HANDJOB KNOCK ONCE! BLOWJOB KNOCK TWICE! BLOWJOB IS DOUBLE.”
“Uhhh, what? Gross!” replies the cameraman. “I was sent here from the offices of New Edge Wrestling. They said this address needed a cameraman. Apparently I have the wrong address…”
The door suddenly swings wide open. Out steps reluctant NEW superstar, Bobby Backdoor.
“No, wait. Don’t leave! I did request a cameraman. I just didn’t think they’d send one. I didn’t think Jesse Styles would want to feature what I have to say.”
“Well, you’re on the roster. You have access to a camera. So, what am I here to shoot? You prostituting yourself to guys who walk to your door?” asks the cameraman.
“I am offended!” replies Bobby Backdoor. “That whole blowjob/hand job thing back there was a test. I wanted to see if you were a sicko who’d stick your dick through a stranger’s door. NOT to get you off for a low, low price of $25, so I can feed my cat this week. Not that at all. You passed, sir. But barely. I could tell you wanted it.”
“No, what?! Absolutely not! Anyway, what am I here to shoot?”
“Just turn on the camera and you’ll see!” replies Backdoor.
The NEW cameraman unpacks his camera. He mounts it on his shoulder and reaches up for the record button and presses it. “Okay, we’re rolling!”
“Hello, my name is Bobby Backdoor and welcome to another episode of NEW Cribs!”
“Uh…NEW Cribs isn’t a thing that already exists…”
“Goddamnit, cut!” screams Bobby. “Please don’t interrupt the shot! There is a reason you’re the cameraman and I’m the talent. Shut up and press the button.”
The cameraman sighs and nods his head. He resets the camera on his shoulder and gives a motion to Backdoor that it’s rolling.
“Hello, this is Bobby Backdoor and welcome to the FIRST EVER edition of New Edge Wrestling Cribs. We’re here today to show you a little behind the scenes of how a NEW superstar lives on his off days. This house before you may look like an abandoned hobo hangout, but it once was a glorious Hollywood mansion, where various celebrities would attend the greatest parties ever thrown.”
Bobby sighed and stopped for a second to collect himself, before continuing.
“But now this place is a wreck. It’s a perfect symbol of my life and career. It’s something that was once great and now has been destroyed by Jesse Styles and New Edge Wrestling. It is in foreclosure with the bank because of non-payment. Non-payment because all of my money was gone after NEW killed PWE and TEW. I had no steady income left to pay my mortgage. You see, I bought this once-glorious abode with my gay porn money. They say this is the house that double anal fisting built, and Jesse Styles destroyed. I would agree with whoever “they” are. It’s all his fault. And people ask, Bobby why don’t you just go back to porn? That ship has sailed. I am past that part of my life. Now if I’m going to blow six Puerto Ricans, I’m going to do it because I want to. Not because some film school dropout behind a camera tells me to.”
Bobby turns to walk toward the door, motioning for the cameraman to follow.
“Anyway, New Edge Wrestling fans, come with me as I show you the rest of my…err…Bank of America’s crib!”
We enter the front door and pass through a barren foyer area. Bobby continues to talk, leading the tour.
“Coming up now is the infamous Backdoor living room. So many lavish parties were centered around this place. I saw Elton John’s taint for the first time in this room. Such a special time in my life. It’s sad to think those things are never going to happen again. Now this room is only used by hobos for sex.”
On the floor of the living room is two dirty, filthy hobos grinding up against each other. Picture a naked Willie Nelson banging a female version of naked Willie Nelson. Just gross stuff. Bobby sees them and yells.
“Goddamnit Theo! I told you I was having a guest in here to record. Couldn’t you have waited a few hours to 69 with Margaret? And I thought I told you guys to take a shower!”
Bobby turns to the camera, motioning them out of the room.
“Sorry about that. I apologize for how inconsiderate my friends can be sometimes. They’re not all there upstairs, but they mean well.”
“What the fuck, man? Some things can NEVER be unseen. THAT is one of them.” replies the cameraman.
“Ah…that? Bobby replies. “That’s nothing. You should see some of the shit I’ve done, man. I got whole library of my videos I could lend you. The whole ‘Mars Goes Gay’ series was pretty crazy. You’ve never seen gay until you’ve seen sci-fi gay. Whole ‘nother level of weird.”
“I’ll pass.” the cameraman firmly replies.
“Alright, your loss. Anyway, follow me right this way. We’re going to head upstairs to the master bedroom.”
The cameraman follows Bobby up a long, spiraling staircase into what apparently is the master bedroom. The bed is one giant, custom-made heart shaped bed, as big as three or four king beds put together. It takes up about seventy percent of the room. It’s the only thing in the room. Every single inch of carpet and wall is covered in the painters plastic that gets put down so paint doesn’t get on floors. Bobby stops for a second before speaking.
“This, NEW fans, is where the magic happened. Do you know how many people can fit on that bed?! The whole cast and crew of Will and Grace has been on that bed at the same time! And you might be wondering about the plastic. Well, if you get as freaky as we’ve gotten, you stain a few carpets and coat a few walls. Eventually you just throw plastic down to protect what you’ve got. If you think about it, you’re standing on the dried semen of so many members of the Hollywood elite right now. Be proud.”
“Oh, gross!” the cameraman replies as he jumps back out of the room.
“Stupid cameraman. Dried semen can’t hurt you. The sexually transmitted diseases are long dead by now. Anyway, follow along. Just a couple stops left. Now, to the pool!”
We head down the winding staircase and out through a back door into a pool area. The pool water is surprisingly clear, but the cameraman is stopped in his tracks with a sharp pain.
“Ahhh…what is that? My eyes…they’re burning!”
“Oh…yeah. With the kind of guys we have in this place, we can’t be sure what diseases they have. So we load the pool with all kinds of chemicals. That pool will kill any and all bacteria that it encounters. You’re basically swimming in straight bleach at this point, but I’ve gotten used to it. The doctors say I’ll almost certainly die of cancer because of it, but cancer is better than AIDS. Anyway, I forget sometimes that the effects of the chemicals can hurt the weak. Let’s leave here and head to one last place. The garage!”
We leave the poolside area, go back through the house, and enter an enormous, nearly empty garage. The only thing left in the garage is a run-down taco truck sitting in the center. Bobby speaks.
“This garage was once filled with a fleet of expensive cars. But all of those have been taken from me. I used to love nothing more than to take my little red convertible out and put the top down. I’d crank the soundtrack to CATS on Broadway and stalk Hollywood Boulevard, looking for Danny DeVito so I could punch him in his stupid bald head for flipping me off at that Dodgers game…Fuck you DeVito! Fuck you! Anyway…as of yesterday all I had left was one solitary black Escalade, which I traded for this old taco truck.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” asks the cameraman.
“It’s all part of the plan to win this week. You see, I’m facing Jarek Whitaker. I knew nothing about this man, so I went on the internet and put his name in a google image search. What resulted from that even horrified me. All these pictures of nasty fat women appeared. It seems that my opponent Jarek is enamored by the large female form. So we’re going to take this taco truck and go where the big women are. Get in the truck!”
TWO HOURS LATER. OUTSIDE BAYVIEW METHODIST CHURCH. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
“What are we doing outside of a church?” asks the cameraman.
“You see, I was stumped on where to find big women. That’s not a group of people somebody like me would ever seek out. So I went online and found out that this church is home to the biggest Weight Watchers meeting in Southern California. It is happening as we speak. When the ladies exit out of that door, we’ll be sitting here in this taco truck. The willpower of those fat broads will crumble in seconds.”
“You’re putting a taco truck outside of a Weight Watchers meeting?!” asks the cameraman. “That’s some really cruel stuff.”
“Spirit of competition.” responds Backdoor. “Some things have to be done to win. I need to take out Whitaker, and getting a big, nasty woman to distract him will help me achieve this victory. Here’s the plan. The meeting will end and the big broads will see the taco truck. They’ll freak out and head over here. The biggest, nastiest one of them will get a taco filled with these.”
Bobby pulls out a bottle and shows it to the cameraman, who responds.
“Horse tranquilizers?!”
“Yes, horse tranquilizers. You can’t take out a person that size with regular roofies. It doesn’t work. I learned that when I tried to date rape the Oakland Raiders offensive line. Didn’t work.”
“Well, after you knock out a fat woman…how do you plan to move her? It’s going to take more people to get her from here to Chicago. That’s quite an undertaking.”
Bobby stopped to think, before responding. “You know, that’s something I didn’t think about. I will need to hire some help to carry the fat woman and get her to Chicago. But where can I find somebody to hire cheaply for far less than minimum wage? Hmmm…”
20 MINUTES LATER. HOME DEPOT PARKING LOT. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
“Bobby, it’s 3:30 in the afternoon. I think all of the people looking for work here are out on jobs already.” states the cameraman.
“Nonsense. There are always illegal Mexicans looking for cheap labor to do. That is a certainty in life. We just need to wait here until we spot one. Look, there! There’s a Mexican. Let’s go hire him!” shouts Bobby.
“Bobby, that’s Mario Lopez. In a suit and tie.”
“I see a Mexican! Mexican’s need work.” responds Backdoor.
“That’s Mario Lopez…from Saved by the Bell! He still works on television. He isn’t going to work for less than minimum wage to help you move a fat woman to Chicago. You’re going to have to find some other person to help you in your quest to beat Jarek Whitaker. Mario Lopez isn’t the person you’re looking for.” says the cameraman.
“Hey, it doesn’t hurt to ask.” replies Bobby.
5 MINUTES LATER, ON THE HIGHWAY. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
“Thanks so much for agreeing to help me, Mario Lopez!”
“Hey, I’m Mexican. This is what we do. Now let’s get going so you can kick some Jarek Whitaker ass!”
“YEAH!” they all scream in unison.
END.
“Holy hell, what happened to this place?” mumbled the NEW cameraman as he pulled up to the address given to him by the office. The building belonging to the address is a badly run-down mansion. Part of the front gate has collapsed. The paint on the house is peeling. Random pieces of plywood are scattered across the front yard. Glass from the shattered window on the front door covers the steps. A bright yellow foreclosure notice is plastered on the door. The cameraman, unsure if he’s in the right location, knocks on the door. A muffled shout is heard from behind the door.
“JUST STICK YOUR COCK THROUGH THE GLORYHOLE. FOR A HANDJOB KNOCK ONCE! BLOWJOB KNOCK TWICE! BLOWJOB IS DOUBLE.”
“Uhhh, what? Gross!” replies the cameraman. “I was sent here from the offices of New Edge Wrestling. They said this address needed a cameraman. Apparently I have the wrong address…”
The door suddenly swings wide open. Out steps reluctant NEW superstar, Bobby Backdoor.
“No, wait. Don’t leave! I did request a cameraman. I just didn’t think they’d send one. I didn’t think Jesse Styles would want to feature what I have to say.”
“Well, you’re on the roster. You have access to a camera. So, what am I here to shoot? You prostituting yourself to guys who walk to your door?” asks the cameraman.
“I am offended!” replies Bobby Backdoor. “That whole blowjob/hand job thing back there was a test. I wanted to see if you were a sicko who’d stick your dick through a stranger’s door. NOT to get you off for a low, low price of $25, so I can feed my cat this week. Not that at all. You passed, sir. But barely. I could tell you wanted it.”
“No, what?! Absolutely not! Anyway, what am I here to shoot?”
“Just turn on the camera and you’ll see!” replies Backdoor.
The NEW cameraman unpacks his camera. He mounts it on his shoulder and reaches up for the record button and presses it. “Okay, we’re rolling!”
“Hello, my name is Bobby Backdoor and welcome to another episode of NEW Cribs!”
“Uh…NEW Cribs isn’t a thing that already exists…”
“Goddamnit, cut!” screams Bobby. “Please don’t interrupt the shot! There is a reason you’re the cameraman and I’m the talent. Shut up and press the button.”
The cameraman sighs and nods his head. He resets the camera on his shoulder and gives a motion to Backdoor that it’s rolling.
“Hello, this is Bobby Backdoor and welcome to the FIRST EVER edition of New Edge Wrestling Cribs. We’re here today to show you a little behind the scenes of how a NEW superstar lives on his off days. This house before you may look like an abandoned hobo hangout, but it once was a glorious Hollywood mansion, where various celebrities would attend the greatest parties ever thrown.”
Bobby sighed and stopped for a second to collect himself, before continuing.
“But now this place is a wreck. It’s a perfect symbol of my life and career. It’s something that was once great and now has been destroyed by Jesse Styles and New Edge Wrestling. It is in foreclosure with the bank because of non-payment. Non-payment because all of my money was gone after NEW killed PWE and TEW. I had no steady income left to pay my mortgage. You see, I bought this once-glorious abode with my gay porn money. They say this is the house that double anal fisting built, and Jesse Styles destroyed. I would agree with whoever “they” are. It’s all his fault. And people ask, Bobby why don’t you just go back to porn? That ship has sailed. I am past that part of my life. Now if I’m going to blow six Puerto Ricans, I’m going to do it because I want to. Not because some film school dropout behind a camera tells me to.”
Bobby turns to walk toward the door, motioning for the cameraman to follow.
“Anyway, New Edge Wrestling fans, come with me as I show you the rest of my…err…Bank of America’s crib!”
We enter the front door and pass through a barren foyer area. Bobby continues to talk, leading the tour.
“Coming up now is the infamous Backdoor living room. So many lavish parties were centered around this place. I saw Elton John’s taint for the first time in this room. Such a special time in my life. It’s sad to think those things are never going to happen again. Now this room is only used by hobos for sex.”
On the floor of the living room is two dirty, filthy hobos grinding up against each other. Picture a naked Willie Nelson banging a female version of naked Willie Nelson. Just gross stuff. Bobby sees them and yells.
“Goddamnit Theo! I told you I was having a guest in here to record. Couldn’t you have waited a few hours to 69 with Margaret? And I thought I told you guys to take a shower!”
Bobby turns to the camera, motioning them out of the room.
“Sorry about that. I apologize for how inconsiderate my friends can be sometimes. They’re not all there upstairs, but they mean well.”
“What the fuck, man? Some things can NEVER be unseen. THAT is one of them.” replies the cameraman.
“Ah…that? Bobby replies. “That’s nothing. You should see some of the shit I’ve done, man. I got whole library of my videos I could lend you. The whole ‘Mars Goes Gay’ series was pretty crazy. You’ve never seen gay until you’ve seen sci-fi gay. Whole ‘nother level of weird.”
“I’ll pass.” the cameraman firmly replies.
“Alright, your loss. Anyway, follow me right this way. We’re going to head upstairs to the master bedroom.”
The cameraman follows Bobby up a long, spiraling staircase into what apparently is the master bedroom. The bed is one giant, custom-made heart shaped bed, as big as three or four king beds put together. It takes up about seventy percent of the room. It’s the only thing in the room. Every single inch of carpet and wall is covered in the painters plastic that gets put down so paint doesn’t get on floors. Bobby stops for a second before speaking.
“This, NEW fans, is where the magic happened. Do you know how many people can fit on that bed?! The whole cast and crew of Will and Grace has been on that bed at the same time! And you might be wondering about the plastic. Well, if you get as freaky as we’ve gotten, you stain a few carpets and coat a few walls. Eventually you just throw plastic down to protect what you’ve got. If you think about it, you’re standing on the dried semen of so many members of the Hollywood elite right now. Be proud.”
“Oh, gross!” the cameraman replies as he jumps back out of the room.
“Stupid cameraman. Dried semen can’t hurt you. The sexually transmitted diseases are long dead by now. Anyway, follow along. Just a couple stops left. Now, to the pool!”
We head down the winding staircase and out through a back door into a pool area. The pool water is surprisingly clear, but the cameraman is stopped in his tracks with a sharp pain.
“Ahhh…what is that? My eyes…they’re burning!”
“Oh…yeah. With the kind of guys we have in this place, we can’t be sure what diseases they have. So we load the pool with all kinds of chemicals. That pool will kill any and all bacteria that it encounters. You’re basically swimming in straight bleach at this point, but I’ve gotten used to it. The doctors say I’ll almost certainly die of cancer because of it, but cancer is better than AIDS. Anyway, I forget sometimes that the effects of the chemicals can hurt the weak. Let’s leave here and head to one last place. The garage!”
We leave the poolside area, go back through the house, and enter an enormous, nearly empty garage. The only thing left in the garage is a run-down taco truck sitting in the center. Bobby speaks.
“This garage was once filled with a fleet of expensive cars. But all of those have been taken from me. I used to love nothing more than to take my little red convertible out and put the top down. I’d crank the soundtrack to CATS on Broadway and stalk Hollywood Boulevard, looking for Danny DeVito so I could punch him in his stupid bald head for flipping me off at that Dodgers game…Fuck you DeVito! Fuck you! Anyway…as of yesterday all I had left was one solitary black Escalade, which I traded for this old taco truck.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” asks the cameraman.
“It’s all part of the plan to win this week. You see, I’m facing Jarek Whitaker. I knew nothing about this man, so I went on the internet and put his name in a google image search. What resulted from that even horrified me. All these pictures of nasty fat women appeared. It seems that my opponent Jarek is enamored by the large female form. So we’re going to take this taco truck and go where the big women are. Get in the truck!”
TWO HOURS LATER. OUTSIDE BAYVIEW METHODIST CHURCH. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
“What are we doing outside of a church?” asks the cameraman.
“You see, I was stumped on where to find big women. That’s not a group of people somebody like me would ever seek out. So I went online and found out that this church is home to the biggest Weight Watchers meeting in Southern California. It is happening as we speak. When the ladies exit out of that door, we’ll be sitting here in this taco truck. The willpower of those fat broads will crumble in seconds.”
“You’re putting a taco truck outside of a Weight Watchers meeting?!” asks the cameraman. “That’s some really cruel stuff.”
“Spirit of competition.” responds Backdoor. “Some things have to be done to win. I need to take out Whitaker, and getting a big, nasty woman to distract him will help me achieve this victory. Here’s the plan. The meeting will end and the big broads will see the taco truck. They’ll freak out and head over here. The biggest, nastiest one of them will get a taco filled with these.”
Bobby pulls out a bottle and shows it to the cameraman, who responds.
“Horse tranquilizers?!”
“Yes, horse tranquilizers. You can’t take out a person that size with regular roofies. It doesn’t work. I learned that when I tried to date rape the Oakland Raiders offensive line. Didn’t work.”
“Well, after you knock out a fat woman…how do you plan to move her? It’s going to take more people to get her from here to Chicago. That’s quite an undertaking.”
Bobby stopped to think, before responding. “You know, that’s something I didn’t think about. I will need to hire some help to carry the fat woman and get her to Chicago. But where can I find somebody to hire cheaply for far less than minimum wage? Hmmm…”
20 MINUTES LATER. HOME DEPOT PARKING LOT. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
“Bobby, it’s 3:30 in the afternoon. I think all of the people looking for work here are out on jobs already.” states the cameraman.
“Nonsense. There are always illegal Mexicans looking for cheap labor to do. That is a certainty in life. We just need to wait here until we spot one. Look, there! There’s a Mexican. Let’s go hire him!” shouts Bobby.
“Bobby, that’s Mario Lopez. In a suit and tie.”
“I see a Mexican! Mexican’s need work.” responds Backdoor.
“That’s Mario Lopez…from Saved by the Bell! He still works on television. He isn’t going to work for less than minimum wage to help you move a fat woman to Chicago. You’re going to have to find some other person to help you in your quest to beat Jarek Whitaker. Mario Lopez isn’t the person you’re looking for.” says the cameraman.
“Hey, it doesn’t hurt to ask.” replies Bobby.
5 MINUTES LATER, ON THE HIGHWAY. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
“Thanks so much for agreeing to help me, Mario Lopez!”
“Hey, I’m Mexican. This is what we do. Now let’s get going so you can kick some Jarek Whitaker ass!”
“YEAH!” they all scream in unison.
END.