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[A lonely stretch of road somewhere in northern Florida. We know it’s Florida because: a) there’s a long stretch of swampy marsh running alongside the road on either side, and: b) because this is a PWP promo — where the hell else would we be?]
[It’s late afternoon wherever we are, the slowly setting sun burning through a haze of clouds just over the horizon. There’s an odd orange glow to the entire scene. There’s also an odd pair of wrestling misfits just now entering our view. Marky Peters and Chad Cormier shuffle in from the bottom of the screen. They’re still dressed in their bright neon wrestling gear, Marky with a packed duffelbag thrown over his right shoulder, a long flagpole leaning over his left. Chad brings up the rear, his stuffed duffel dragging on the gravel behind him. They look tired.]
Chad: How much farther, dude?
Marky: Not far, brah. I think I saw a set of those plastic Mickey Mouse ears on the side of the road about a mile back. That’s gotta be a sign.
[Did I mention they were in Northern Florida? I believe I did. Of course, as we all know last week’s show was in Miami, at the very Southern TIP of the state, while next week’s broadcast comes from Orlando, round about in the middle of the limp penis that is Florida. So just what the hell are these two clowns doing up north? Well, given that there’s almost two full weeks in between shows, we could go on the assumption they’re just killing time. But armed with the knowledge that these two are idiots of the highest caliber, that would be a generous assumption. No, they’re lost, and what’s worse… they’re too dumb to know it. For that matter, they still think they’ve got a shot at winning that match they lost week. Somebody really oughta tell them.]
Chad: Marky, dude, my legs feel like pudding. I need to hit the gym, bubba.
Marky: Soon, Chiz, soon. I got a good feeling about this.
[A huge pick-up truck with one of those king cabs goes whizzing by the boys, speeding through a massive puddle that splashes the lads with a heavy dose of marsh water. It’s like something out of a bad road movie. In fact, that’s pretty much what this is… a really bad road movie. How unique.]
[Hold on a shot of Marky and Chad, now drenched, standing helplessly on the side of the road, looks of dejection and despair on their faces. Sucks to be them.]
[Cut away. We’re now looking at the duo from high above, like from a helicopter. We watch them shuffle pathetically up the road to nowhere.]
[Cut away again. This time we’re at a small roadside gas station. Marky and Chad can be seen dragging their exhausted carcasses up the road, their expressions brightened somewhat by the site of civilization. A rather disgusting looking old man leans back in a wooden chair on the porch of the gas station. He’s dressed in dirty coveralls and ratty boots, a big lump of chewing tobacco stretching out his bottom lip and leaving a trail of black juice down his chin. We’re about to witness another staple of the road picture — a run-in with a redneck yokel. Yes sir, we’re really burning both ends of the creativity lamp here today.]
[Marky approaches the old man, a chipper smile on his tired face (Marky, not the old man). Chad meanwhile dumps his duffel on the porch of the little shack and ambles over to a nearby hose, apparently looking to soak himself off after having walked for the last few miles with mud caked onto his skin.]
Marky: Yo, dude, hey… you got a bathroom around this place?
[The old man says nothing. He just maintains his position, leaning back in a chair, both front feet of it off the ground. He chews for a few seconds before craning his head to the right a spitting out a big wad of tobacco juice. Then and only then does he speak.]
Attendant: [*splrrt*] Ayup.
[Marky smiles. In the background we see Chad struggling with the hose.]
Marky: Excellent. Where is it?
[Again it takes a few drawn-out moments and another spit before the crusty attendant answers. When he does, it’s with a lifeless flip of the wrist over his right shoulder.]
Attendant: [*splrrt*] Outhouse is ina back.
[Having managed to unravel the hose, Chad stands hunched over in the background holding the nozzle above his head while he attempts to turn the water on.]
Attendant: Ayup. *splrrt* Out back.
Marky: Hmmm. [bright smile] Cool. Thanks, brah.
[Before Marky can head off in search of the “facilities”, he’s stopped by the attendant who speaks yet again.]
Attendant: Might wanna warn yer frien, there.
Marky: Warn him? About what?
[Just then Chad succeeds in his attempt to the spicket on. At first nothing comes out of the hose. Marky turns over his shoulder and watches his partner as he waits patiently for the hose to come to life.]
Marky: Looks okay to me, dude.
[*gurgle – gurgle – SPLUUUT!*]
[And just like that a clump of rusty colored, rather thick liquid splurts out of the end of the hose and all over Chad’s back. Hmmm. Not as refreshing as he may have been hoping for.]
Attendant: Dem pipes is rusted. [*splrrt*]
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( Looks like the remainder is missing on this one.)