Post by sincmercier on Jul 29, 2013 3:01:30 GMT -6
Sinc: Explosions. We need more explosions.
Henry: You...are a moron.
Sinc: You're right, we need to go bigger. Get the lesbians in here from Real Housewives...I'm sure their husbands still don't know about their secrets.
Henry: Mor..On. Definition...in the Old English dictionary...Sinc Mercier.
We see our hero, Sinc Mercier, with his trustee sort of sidekick sort of smartass manager Henry Sage setting up a type of set or stage as it were, for a major project of Sinc's. There's all kinds of strange items and pieces of scenery laying around from a plastic cow, to smoke machines, to laser lights and even a disco ball. This scene was as if John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever hurled out his lunch, his dinner, and the revenue from his only slightly bad movie all into one place with Old Macdonald and Ghost Rider throwing in a couple of fireworks and fake animals as well to add even more absurd flavor to the pile of crap that Sinc was building up. Looking around, you'd see that there are several studio cameras set up around the place and endless hazards and bad ideas everywhere you turn. However, all this strangeness being forged at this very moment in time was for good reason. Sinc was setting up for a major video of some kind, for what purpose is still not entirely sure, but he will almost most definitely explain it as time goes on.
The man with him was named Henry Sage, a skinny, tall, tailor suited, and British man that Sinc met when he wrestled overseas in England after accidentally mistaking Henry for a criminal that stole Sinc's favorite pair of socks so long ago and clocking him in the face sending him to the ER. Sinc was also only slightly drunk when this event happened, and claims he does not recollect it ever being a 'thing'. But he does remember hiring Henry as his wrestling manager to make up for any emotional or physical damage he may have caused, but mostly emotional, and the two became inseparable ever since Henry accepted the offer proclaiming his life was 'all down hill anyway'. And so, here they are, in a tiny studio apartment somewhere in San Francisco trying to film a low budget video of a sort that is almost surely going to end up a very BAD idea. But the thing with Sinc was, he bled bad ideas. And nobody could get passed his iron headed stubbornness to prove otherwise. Henry comes close at times, but not enough.
Sinc: Look Henry, your not helping here. Actually, you're just standing there drinking MY soda while I am trying to organize the room, and all my awesome props, to film my badass intro promo for all my fans and the tough guys on the roster who think they can crush me. AND I AM NOT AN ICE CUBE! I do NOT...want to be crushed as such. I am fire...I am so on fire...I am more firey than Katy Perry on the Fourth of July. Cause baby...I'm a firework.
Henry: Fans? Hmm...I'd say more along the lines of...those-who-would-be-comfortably-skull-banged-by-your-idiocy-because-they- have-no-brains themselves fans.
Sinc: What do you know, you're British.
Henry: No Sinc, the right words would be sexy. Damn sexy and proud of it. So sexy Prince George's wife would pray for me to be her baby's pop pop instead of that near hairless fellow. Prince...pfft...of what...Rogaine? We Brits practically invented Hair Treatment.
Sinc: Maybe I could use that in my awesome promo video. How much cooler my hair is than the rest of those dudes on the roster. Because you gotta admit, it's pretty fluid man.
Henry: Yes, and then maybe you can snap a pic of your testicles, send the pic to the BBC, and then convince them to do a news story on how your brains ended up there instead of your head, brilliant.
Sinc began starting to ignore Henry and refocus on setting up his items for his video. He now had a rubber chicken apparently in one hand and a rope in the other. He stepped on his tip toes and tried tying it to the ceiling of his apartment. It didn't work out too well. The chicken fell completely off and Sinc ended up slipping on it and falling on his back. He growled out of irritation and shook his fist at the ceiling.
Sinc: Curse you media video gods! Why do you hate me so!?!
All the strange and taboo items and props in the room were now as if taunting him. Eying him in jest and mocking his efforts as if humor wasn't a forte of his. Sinc felt the whole room was against him, and Henry's nagging didn't help whatsoever either. He looked up at Henry while still on his back from the fall and shook his head conversing with him on the ground lazily.
Sinc: You know Henry, you're just jealous. Crazy insanely jealous of my amazing vigor and titillating strife!
Sinc then got to his feet, but not without bumping his head on his own coffee table. But he endured the pain without a whimper and stood eye to eye with Henry obviously giving off an intensity and wishing in his mind that Henry was a bit more supportive and cooperative with Sinc's antics. This was never a good sign whenever Sinc tried convincing Henry of something, it just didn't work ever.
Sinc: Yeah I said it. You didn't have to be my manager you know. I could have went back to Mr. Rellington from the old days, but I wanted a change and thought you were the go to guy. Plus I thought you'd go all Patrick Stewart on me and stuff and give me some wisdom like Picard does on Star Trek or whatever. You're more like that assh*le Mr. Bean who doesn't say a damn thing in any of his movies, and when he does it's lame and uninteresting!
Henry musters a smirk and raises his eyebrow. It was as if he was putting on a gambling face, a 'Let's Play Cards' welcoming smug that would make even the slightest poker face break down into a fold. But Henry played along to a point, and by playing along, he went back to old reliable and that was sarcasm and wit. He'd let Sinc down gently this time.
Henry: Sinc...let me make something very clear to you. The sole reason why I even bothered to bugger my way into your less than perfect life is because I feel sorry for you, and, frankly, I'm terrified to see you prance around an established federation without a Jimminy Cricket to bloody guide you because your nose grows so big every time you open your mouth that Ron Jeremy's Penis couldn't even compare. Let alone Ron Weasley's boner for that school girl slut in J.K. Rowling's atrocious Potter series. Be thankful I stick around, because you'd be, in the famous words of Freddie Mercury, biting the dust otherwise.
Sinc blinks. Once. Only once. Anymore blinking and he would have lost him.
Sinc: I...I don't eat dust.
Henry: Yup, that's about the latter from you mate.
Sinc: And Ron Jeremy's Penis? COME ON MAN! If I was writing and not speaking I'd even capitalize the word Penis because that's just a bit too extreme. You're more metaphorical than I am, SOOOOO unnecessary.
Henry: Well at least I know you passed Kindergarten.
Sinc raises a finger as if about to continue to argue and counter Henry's statements but he knew they'd just be going around in circles and getting nowhere from it. He gave up the verbage and simply returned to his tasks. Sinc started setting up the pyrotechnics around the apartment and tested the smoke machine. He may not have been able to set up ALL the things he wanted, but he could at least keep the awesome effect going with the few things that seemed to work. He grabbed a small switch plugged into the wall and took a few steps back from the mini stage he had prepared. Henry looked apathetic to the whole situation and believed being flashy and showmanship was the least of Sinc's worries coming into a brand new federation with new game changers and brand new territory to claim.
Henry: Are you sure this is a good idea?
Sinc: Trust me...you gotta look vicious before jumpin into the yard with the dogs. It's a dominance thing man. Jesus, don't you ever watch Animal Planet?
Henry slaps his forehead and sighs. They were now comparing animals. Looks like Sinc hasn't quite passed Kindergarten after all.
Sinc: Now let's test this sucker out and make sure my new promotional video is nice and shiny for the masses!
Sinc presses the switch and nothing goes off. He presses it a few more times and things still aren't working.
Sinc: What the hell! Hold on a second...
He places the switch on the ground and walks towards the pyrotechnics and begins fiddling with the circuits. He doesn't see any real problems. Henry picks up the switch with a devious smile on his face and a devilish twinkle in his eye. He notices the switch wasn't fully plugged in correctly. He plugs it in, see's Sinc still checking out the circuitry, and presses the switch. Almost instantaneously Sparks and miniature fireworks shoot out towards Sinc's head catching him off guard and then the whole room lights up with pops and whistles and booms. It was magical kids!
Sinc: SON OF A F*CKING BI-
The scene cuts out with a chuckling from Henry and an agonizing scream from Sinc. That's friendship folks.
Henry: You...are a moron.
Sinc: You're right, we need to go bigger. Get the lesbians in here from Real Housewives...I'm sure their husbands still don't know about their secrets.
Henry: Mor..On. Definition...in the Old English dictionary...Sinc Mercier.
We see our hero, Sinc Mercier, with his trustee sort of sidekick sort of smartass manager Henry Sage setting up a type of set or stage as it were, for a major project of Sinc's. There's all kinds of strange items and pieces of scenery laying around from a plastic cow, to smoke machines, to laser lights and even a disco ball. This scene was as if John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever hurled out his lunch, his dinner, and the revenue from his only slightly bad movie all into one place with Old Macdonald and Ghost Rider throwing in a couple of fireworks and fake animals as well to add even more absurd flavor to the pile of crap that Sinc was building up. Looking around, you'd see that there are several studio cameras set up around the place and endless hazards and bad ideas everywhere you turn. However, all this strangeness being forged at this very moment in time was for good reason. Sinc was setting up for a major video of some kind, for what purpose is still not entirely sure, but he will almost most definitely explain it as time goes on.
The man with him was named Henry Sage, a skinny, tall, tailor suited, and British man that Sinc met when he wrestled overseas in England after accidentally mistaking Henry for a criminal that stole Sinc's favorite pair of socks so long ago and clocking him in the face sending him to the ER. Sinc was also only slightly drunk when this event happened, and claims he does not recollect it ever being a 'thing'. But he does remember hiring Henry as his wrestling manager to make up for any emotional or physical damage he may have caused, but mostly emotional, and the two became inseparable ever since Henry accepted the offer proclaiming his life was 'all down hill anyway'. And so, here they are, in a tiny studio apartment somewhere in San Francisco trying to film a low budget video of a sort that is almost surely going to end up a very BAD idea. But the thing with Sinc was, he bled bad ideas. And nobody could get passed his iron headed stubbornness to prove otherwise. Henry comes close at times, but not enough.
Sinc: Look Henry, your not helping here. Actually, you're just standing there drinking MY soda while I am trying to organize the room, and all my awesome props, to film my badass intro promo for all my fans and the tough guys on the roster who think they can crush me. AND I AM NOT AN ICE CUBE! I do NOT...want to be crushed as such. I am fire...I am so on fire...I am more firey than Katy Perry on the Fourth of July. Cause baby...I'm a firework.
Henry: Fans? Hmm...I'd say more along the lines of...those-who-would-be-comfortably-skull-banged-by-your-idiocy-because-they- have-no-brains themselves fans.
Sinc: What do you know, you're British.
Henry: No Sinc, the right words would be sexy. Damn sexy and proud of it. So sexy Prince George's wife would pray for me to be her baby's pop pop instead of that near hairless fellow. Prince...pfft...of what...Rogaine? We Brits practically invented Hair Treatment.
Sinc: Maybe I could use that in my awesome promo video. How much cooler my hair is than the rest of those dudes on the roster. Because you gotta admit, it's pretty fluid man.
Henry: Yes, and then maybe you can snap a pic of your testicles, send the pic to the BBC, and then convince them to do a news story on how your brains ended up there instead of your head, brilliant.
Sinc began starting to ignore Henry and refocus on setting up his items for his video. He now had a rubber chicken apparently in one hand and a rope in the other. He stepped on his tip toes and tried tying it to the ceiling of his apartment. It didn't work out too well. The chicken fell completely off and Sinc ended up slipping on it and falling on his back. He growled out of irritation and shook his fist at the ceiling.
Sinc: Curse you media video gods! Why do you hate me so!?!
All the strange and taboo items and props in the room were now as if taunting him. Eying him in jest and mocking his efforts as if humor wasn't a forte of his. Sinc felt the whole room was against him, and Henry's nagging didn't help whatsoever either. He looked up at Henry while still on his back from the fall and shook his head conversing with him on the ground lazily.
Sinc: You know Henry, you're just jealous. Crazy insanely jealous of my amazing vigor and titillating strife!
Sinc then got to his feet, but not without bumping his head on his own coffee table. But he endured the pain without a whimper and stood eye to eye with Henry obviously giving off an intensity and wishing in his mind that Henry was a bit more supportive and cooperative with Sinc's antics. This was never a good sign whenever Sinc tried convincing Henry of something, it just didn't work ever.
Sinc: Yeah I said it. You didn't have to be my manager you know. I could have went back to Mr. Rellington from the old days, but I wanted a change and thought you were the go to guy. Plus I thought you'd go all Patrick Stewart on me and stuff and give me some wisdom like Picard does on Star Trek or whatever. You're more like that assh*le Mr. Bean who doesn't say a damn thing in any of his movies, and when he does it's lame and uninteresting!
Henry musters a smirk and raises his eyebrow. It was as if he was putting on a gambling face, a 'Let's Play Cards' welcoming smug that would make even the slightest poker face break down into a fold. But Henry played along to a point, and by playing along, he went back to old reliable and that was sarcasm and wit. He'd let Sinc down gently this time.
Henry: Sinc...let me make something very clear to you. The sole reason why I even bothered to bugger my way into your less than perfect life is because I feel sorry for you, and, frankly, I'm terrified to see you prance around an established federation without a Jimminy Cricket to bloody guide you because your nose grows so big every time you open your mouth that Ron Jeremy's Penis couldn't even compare. Let alone Ron Weasley's boner for that school girl slut in J.K. Rowling's atrocious Potter series. Be thankful I stick around, because you'd be, in the famous words of Freddie Mercury, biting the dust otherwise.
Sinc blinks. Once. Only once. Anymore blinking and he would have lost him.
Sinc: I...I don't eat dust.
Henry: Yup, that's about the latter from you mate.
Sinc: And Ron Jeremy's Penis? COME ON MAN! If I was writing and not speaking I'd even capitalize the word Penis because that's just a bit too extreme. You're more metaphorical than I am, SOOOOO unnecessary.
Henry: Well at least I know you passed Kindergarten.
Sinc raises a finger as if about to continue to argue and counter Henry's statements but he knew they'd just be going around in circles and getting nowhere from it. He gave up the verbage and simply returned to his tasks. Sinc started setting up the pyrotechnics around the apartment and tested the smoke machine. He may not have been able to set up ALL the things he wanted, but he could at least keep the awesome effect going with the few things that seemed to work. He grabbed a small switch plugged into the wall and took a few steps back from the mini stage he had prepared. Henry looked apathetic to the whole situation and believed being flashy and showmanship was the least of Sinc's worries coming into a brand new federation with new game changers and brand new territory to claim.
Henry: Are you sure this is a good idea?
Sinc: Trust me...you gotta look vicious before jumpin into the yard with the dogs. It's a dominance thing man. Jesus, don't you ever watch Animal Planet?
Henry slaps his forehead and sighs. They were now comparing animals. Looks like Sinc hasn't quite passed Kindergarten after all.
Sinc: Now let's test this sucker out and make sure my new promotional video is nice and shiny for the masses!
Sinc presses the switch and nothing goes off. He presses it a few more times and things still aren't working.
Sinc: What the hell! Hold on a second...
He places the switch on the ground and walks towards the pyrotechnics and begins fiddling with the circuits. He doesn't see any real problems. Henry picks up the switch with a devious smile on his face and a devilish twinkle in his eye. He notices the switch wasn't fully plugged in correctly. He plugs it in, see's Sinc still checking out the circuitry, and presses the switch. Almost instantaneously Sparks and miniature fireworks shoot out towards Sinc's head catching him off guard and then the whole room lights up with pops and whistles and booms. It was magical kids!
Sinc: SON OF A F*CKING BI-
The scene cuts out with a chuckling from Henry and an agonizing scream from Sinc. That's friendship folks.
