Private: Bradlee Nelson
BUENOS NOCHES MUCHACHOS! It has been entirely too long since your beloved Broseidons of the Brocean have graced you with their most excellent of attitudes. You see, ever since they surfed away from that bingo hall in Ohio, they let the amber waves of grain carry them on over to Missouri Valley Wrestling, where the man they came to know as the Keanu Reeves of St. Louis, Ray McAvay, took our precious Pocatello boys in and let them keep doing what they do best: having nothing but a good time.
(Editor’s note: nobody calls Ray “the Keanu Reeves of St. Louis” except the Bros and we’re too lazy to do footnotes, you’re welcome)
After riding the Amber Waves, our delightful Broseidons of The Brocean’s have found newfound success as the MVW Tag Team Champions, and along with new success there are new challenges. The Pheonix Wrestling Alliance is the next great one for our Totally Tubular Tourists. Bradlee Nelson, the Bodacious one sits in the passenger seat. The MVW Tag Team Championship of the world strapped tightly around his waist. He has a white knuckle grip on the door handle with his right hand, his left hand is firmly clasped to the oh shit bar.
Bradlee Nelson: BROOOOOOO! WE’RE ALMOST THERE!
Bowie Abrams: Dude… I’m well aware. I’m flooring it.
See, the BROS have the definitely not ‘the mystery machine’ mystery machine looking van’s throttle pedal pinned to the floor. The motor whined and wheezed, as Bowie Abrams gripped the plush purple velvet steering wheel as tight as he possibly could. The van’s motor is screaming still, and Bradlee Nelson is absolutely mortified.
Bradlee Nelson: WE GOTTA GO FASTER DUDE!
Bowie Abrams: SHE’S AT TOP SPEED
Bradlee Nelson: BRO WE NEED TO BE GOING 97 MILES PER HOUR TO ENTER DAN RYAN’S HOUSE!
Bowie Abrams: DUDE! WE’RE AT 93!
Bradlee Nelson: WE NEED MORE POWWWWAAAAAAAA!!!!
Bowie’s eyes become super determined, and he presses down as hard as he can. He looks up at the shag carpet roof and screams. Bradlee, is also screaming. Because he realizes that they are now going 95 MPH and Bowie’s eyes are not on the road. His eyes turn towards the road, and the WELCOME TO TEXAS sign is approaching at a rapid pace. His dilated pupils look back at the speedometer… 96 miles per hour…
Bradlee Nelson: WERE ALMOST THERE BROOOOOOO!
Bowie Abrams: AAHHHHH!HHHHHH!!!!!!!!
Bradlee Nelson: AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Bowie Abrams: WE’RE GOING TO DAN RYAN’S HOUSE DUUUUUUUUUUUUUDEE!
Bradlee Nelson: LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The speedometer ticks over to 97 miles per hour just as they pass the ‘Welcome to Texas’ sign.
Bradlee Nelson: YOU DID IT DUDE!
Bowie Abrams lets out a sigh of relief and takes his foot off the gas. He slumps down into the driver’s seat and finally exhales. Bradlee Nelson reaches over and grabs a vape pen. He frantically inhales, and lets out a giant cloud.
Bradlee Nelson: Bro, all of this? All of this is Dan Ryan’s house. As far as you can see, everywhere the light touches, is his.
Bowie Abrams: Whoa dude. But like, what about that shadowy place?
Bradlee Nelson: Dude, that’s where the Lonesome Losers are from. You must never go there, bro.
Bowie’s eyes get wide, and then he pulls his Hawaiian shirt over his nose and mouth, clearly scared.
Bowie Abrams: Dude, I never want to meet a Lonesome Loser. They sound way harsh, bro.
Bradlee Nelson: Totally. But like, legend has it that sometimes you can make a bet with them and you can win fifty dollars.
Bowie Abrams: FIFTY DOLLARS?!
Bradlee Nelson: FIFTY DOLLARS, DUDE!
Bowie Abrams: Whoa. Think of all the sweet headbands we can get with fifty dollars.
Bradlee Nelson: Or suspenders. I think the mayor of ManJattan, Kansas wears suspenders. He’s friends with Dan Ryan.
Bowie Abrams: Oh no way, dude, we gotta face a mayor?! Won’t he, like, arrest us if we hurt him?
Bradlee Nelson: Dude, most mayors actually are the ones that get arrested.
The two ponder on the wisdom. Bradlee takes another hit of his vaporizer. His pupils dilate further. Bowie takes the vape and hits it as they pull over into the welcome to Texas rest area.
Bowie Abrams: I think we should wipe our feet on Dan Ryan’s welcome mat.
Bradlee Nelson: That’s so smart dude. Like, so fucking smart. If all of this is Dan Ryan’s house, he must be enormous. Colossal. Huge. You know, like all the big words that mean big. Or whatever dude…
Bradlee snags the vape back from Bowie and takes a deep drag. They look over and smile wide. Bowie pulls into a parking spot. The two got up out of the van and stared around wildly. How flat Dan Ryan’s house is, is absolutely astonishing.
Bradlee Nelson: Bro… That way is Houston. That’s like Dan Ryan’s entire bedroom.
Bowie Abrams: Wow.
Bradlee Nelson: Yeah dude, and Dallas… That’s where he entertains his friends. Like his living room bro…
Bowie Abrams: Dude, what about San Antonio
Bradlee Nelson: Bro, I hear that’s where he gets his fruit from. It’s like an entire orchard. In Dan Ryan’s house.
Bowie Abrams: Whoa he’s really taking a gamble trying to keep a whole orchard alive inside his house.
Bradlee Nelson: Dude. It’s incredible. This is what professional wrestlers get when they make it to the big time. When they make it up to Chicago.
Bowie Abrams: I always wanted to go to Chicago bro.
Bradlee Nelson: Bro…
The two fell down in the grass, continuing to vaporize more grass, while looking around. At a lot more motherfucking grass. Dan Ryan has a really great big house. That was the topic of conversation. The two got up and started to walk back to the van.
Bradlee Nelson: How much further dude?
Bowie Abrams: Like 23 hours bro…
Bradlee Nelson: Dude… we totally shoulda taken that boat that creepy pastey guy we sold weed to offered us a ride on.
Bowie Abrams: Never take Aircraft Carrier rides from strangers, Bradlee.
Bradlee Nelson: *sigh*
The scene fades into a puff of smoke.