WEEKEND CHECK-UP
As ReVival keeps on keeping on, we find ourselves in one of our many jaunts to the backstage area. The Glueminati locker room is a bit more tightly packed than it was at the last show, is that due to Sid Philip’s significant girth? I’ll never say.
Ask FLAMBERGE.
Anyway, while TAB is tied up probably cackling about something with his grandpappy and FLAMBERGE is out chasing a small fly that caught his line of sight a few minutes back, so instead we have just Cecilworth Farthington, Sid Philips and Joe Fontaine. Just three innocent dudes being guys. Cecilworth looks up from his well-jabbed telephonular device for a few seconds and decides that it’s probably worthwhile to start conversation as he slowly pulls out his gear from his bag, ahead of tonight’s big main event.
Cecilworth Farthington: Lads! Lovely to see you as always. I assume you both had magnificent weekends. I went to Mexico and threw a book at a man, which was rather therapeutic if I’m honest with you.
Joe Fontaine: Sweet! Me and Sid won some tag team titles!
Cecilworth looks at the shiny metal that sits between Joe and Sid on the bench.
Cecilworth Farthington: Of course you did! Never had any doubts of your tag team victory.
Cecilworth coughs for no real reason.
Cecilworth Farthington: Anyway.
Joe Fontaine: Anyway! Uh. Big night tonight! The biggest of nights! Biggerer? Nah. Probably not the right syntax for that word, is it?
Sid Phillips: I can’t with you.
Joe Fontaine: I mean, you can and you are, syntaxually speaking.
Sid Phillips: That’s not even a word. You just made that up. I can see the red line underneath it.
Joe Fontaine: No, you can’t. We’re talking to each other like two – sorry, Farthy, I mean three – cool dudes, as cool dudes would have human conversations. If you want, though, we could talk about the weather. I’m sure that’ll excite you.
Sid Phillips: Anything but that, please.
Maybe Joe and Sid would continue to bicker like the old married couple of brothers-in-law that they are until the end of time, but they do share space with another man, who coughs again.
Cecilworth Farthington: Speaking of red lines… I think we draw a big ole one of those tonight. Tonight, in tag team grappling action, we establish what the new era of PRIME is going to look like by taking down the old guard… and associates. Pesky associates.
Joe Fontaine: I wouldn’t mind taking the middle-aged guard down a few pegs, too, really. Just a lot of guards being broken in general. An all-around festival of guard-breaking.
Cecilworth Farthington: I mostly reserve my rage for the very old and the very poor. I can probably find a bit of space for middle-aged Russia victims though.
Sid nervously adjusts the tie on his very well-tailored suit.
Sid Phillips: How poor are we talking?
Cecilworth Farthington: You know it when you see it.
Joe Fontaine: So, Rezin?
Cecilworth thinks about this for a second, in a “The Thinker” level of deepitude and thoughtreadyness.
Cecilworth Farthington: I think that dude does it out of choice… and I don’t know how to feel about that.
Sid Phillips: I suggest that you should feel powerbombs. Uh, I mean, not that you should take them, ‘cause we’re all friends here. Just a general powerbomby feeling.
Cecilworth stops in his tracks and looks up and down at Sid, clearly having a “oh, I made this happen” moment of brief regret, but it is still very undeterred by the whole thing.
Cecilworth Farthington: Ya know who could do with some powerbombs? Brando and The Cal-van. I mean for a start, when even is Cal and how do you load it into a van? Exactly, thank you!
Joe rolls his shoulders, a motion that seems all too dangerous considering the expression on his face on the mention of “The Cal-van”.
Joe Fontaine: Farthy? I don’t want to load Cal into a van. I want to load her into an ambulance. Maybe one with the tires slashed by a nice cartoonish Russian man.
Cecilworth Farthington: You’re right, we should continue to get the Russian and the drone owner to all of our heavy lifting. It’s worked out so far! People are WAY madder at them… although I’m not giving Alexei my fucking number. No way, no how.
Sid Phillips: Seems unwise.
Joe Fontaine: That man knows how to use Google. Russian Google.
Cecilworth Farthington: Ruslan google.
Cecilworth chuckles to himself, it doesn’t really feel like he earned it if I’m honest with you.
Joe Fontaine: Oh, shit.
Joe seems awed. Sid… less so, judging from the palm on his forehead.
Sid Phillips: Did we have, I don’t know… a plan for dealing with the Deadbeat Suplex Dad and Lady Calzone? Because I know what my plan is, and I’m not even in the match.
Cecilworth Farthington: That’s very easy when your entire plan is “powerbomb”.
Cecilworth stops dead in his tracks for a second.
Cecilworth Farthington: In saying that, my entire plan is “choke someone”, so I’m not all that more creative when I think about it.
Sid Phillips: We could combine the two. There is, after all, such a thing as a “choke bomb”.
Cecilworth Farthington: Is this a no DQ match?
Joe and Sid don’t reply, instead sharing an awkward look between them.
Cecilworth Farthington: Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. So, Joe, how are you at the ole referee razzle dazzle?
Joe Fontaine: So, the problem with getting trained by a stupid idiot goody-two-shoes is that I’ve never done it before.
Cecilworth throws a fatherly arm around Joe and gives him a reassuring smile.
Cecilworth Farthington: I have so much to teach both of you.
Sid Phillips: Does it involve powerb–
Joe immediately puts a hand up to Sid’s mouth and shushes him.
Joe Fontaine: No, honey. No.
Cecilworth Farthington: It does involve good quality powerbombs but that’s why Joe’s role is so important…
Cecilworth’s “hug” is a little tighter now and he leans in closely to Joe, Cecilworth’s eyes quickly dart back to the ACE Network cameras, who, valuing the continued use of their collective arms, slowly start to leave The Glueminati’s locker room.