Post by LAZERADE! on Aug 6, 2015 17:07:07 GMT -6
Brief OOC Note: Suggested listening for this RP can be found here. Also note this RP was originally posted for a match at Tatsu Pro.
The camera fades up on Funky Dragon. He’s sat in a plush armchair, wearing a smoking jacket.
Sit down, honky, let Funky tell yo’ a story. Bout the last time he fought a bunch of suckas all at once, like he gotta this coming Tatsu show? Why don’t you pour a nigga a cognac, an’ Funky’ll get to the telling.
Now, was that so hard?
A barely heard whisper is heard in return.
What? What? Dog, quit yo’ jibber jabber. That shit was rhetorical. Now shut yo’ mouth, an’ open yo’ ears.
Now yeah, this creepy ol’ guy, named Hong or Tan or summin’, was hosting this fighting tournament on his private island. Funky an' this cracker Roper, we had this sweet deal goin’, being slack in our matches and picking up prime odds at the bookies. Then this Kwai Chan Caine motherfunker, Lee turns up, and suddenly shit got real. Guy’s a motherfunking ninja or summin’. We all kick ass in our opening matches, simple. Funky pimp slaps some nobody, 3 seconds flat. No problem.
That night, it’s funking party time. Han, that was his name, pulls all these fine ass bitches outta his ass or summin’, says we get party time. Roper grabs the secretary; Lee grabs some meek looking piece of summin’ summin’. And Funky?
Funky gets the rest.
An’ Funky had a damn good time wit’ them ladies. We danced throughout the night, if you get what I’m sayin’. An’ when Funky’s done, Funky steps out to have a little smoke, lets those ladies have a break. That’s when Funky sees Lee doing some Crouching Tiger shit, running on roofs and kicking in some of Han’s peoples faces. Han had this thing ‘bout cats being out after dark.
Now, next day, an’ Han knows some nigga out tripping in the night. Prob’ly cause his rent-a-cops have boot prints fo’ faces. Sets Lee up against this fat ass loser, Lee straight up kills the bitch when Fatso starts fightin’ dirty. Han gets his panties in a twist, cancels the rest of the fightin’, and summons yo’ truly for a little one on one.
Guess what? Han comes straight out, and blames the only funking nigga on the whole funking island fo’ breaking his peep’s faces. Now, you know what Funky says, racism is decidedly unfunky. So Funky calls Han on his shit, he sets his boys on Funky. Funky lets loose some proper Liu Kang shit, beat all those crackers. That’s when Han decided to get involved, try some Honk Kong Phooey chop BS with his metal hand. Funky wasn’t having none of that, funked that bitch up. Took his money, took his bitches, took the first boat off that island, had a damn good month.
Funky wonders whatever happened to Lee and Roper.
Good times.
Hey, cracker, Funky’s glass is empty.
That’s better.
No. That’s Funky.
Funky leans back further in his chair, glass of cognac in his hand, as the camera fades to black.
The camera fades up on Funky Dragon. He’s sat in a plush armchair, wearing a smoking jacket.
Sit down, honky, let Funky tell yo’ a story. Bout the last time he fought a bunch of suckas all at once, like he gotta this coming Tatsu show? Why don’t you pour a nigga a cognac, an’ Funky’ll get to the telling.
Now, was that so hard?
A barely heard whisper is heard in return.
What? What? Dog, quit yo’ jibber jabber. That shit was rhetorical. Now shut yo’ mouth, an’ open yo’ ears.
Now yeah, this creepy ol’ guy, named Hong or Tan or summin’, was hosting this fighting tournament on his private island. Funky an' this cracker Roper, we had this sweet deal goin’, being slack in our matches and picking up prime odds at the bookies. Then this Kwai Chan Caine motherfunker, Lee turns up, and suddenly shit got real. Guy’s a motherfunking ninja or summin’. We all kick ass in our opening matches, simple. Funky pimp slaps some nobody, 3 seconds flat. No problem.
That night, it’s funking party time. Han, that was his name, pulls all these fine ass bitches outta his ass or summin’, says we get party time. Roper grabs the secretary; Lee grabs some meek looking piece of summin’ summin’. And Funky?
Funky gets the rest.
An’ Funky had a damn good time wit’ them ladies. We danced throughout the night, if you get what I’m sayin’. An’ when Funky’s done, Funky steps out to have a little smoke, lets those ladies have a break. That’s when Funky sees Lee doing some Crouching Tiger shit, running on roofs and kicking in some of Han’s peoples faces. Han had this thing ‘bout cats being out after dark.
Now, next day, an’ Han knows some nigga out tripping in the night. Prob’ly cause his rent-a-cops have boot prints fo’ faces. Sets Lee up against this fat ass loser, Lee straight up kills the bitch when Fatso starts fightin’ dirty. Han gets his panties in a twist, cancels the rest of the fightin’, and summons yo’ truly for a little one on one.
Guess what? Han comes straight out, and blames the only funking nigga on the whole funking island fo’ breaking his peep’s faces. Now, you know what Funky says, racism is decidedly unfunky. So Funky calls Han on his shit, he sets his boys on Funky. Funky lets loose some proper Liu Kang shit, beat all those crackers. That’s when Han decided to get involved, try some Honk Kong Phooey chop BS with his metal hand. Funky wasn’t having none of that, funked that bitch up. Took his money, took his bitches, took the first boat off that island, had a damn good month.
Funky wonders whatever happened to Lee and Roper.
Good times.
Hey, cracker, Funky’s glass is empty.
That’s better.
No. That’s Funky.
Funky leans back further in his chair, glass of cognac in his hand, as the camera fades to black.
