* * * * *
“I was *not* scared.”
[Huh? Who’s that?]
“Heh heh heh. You were crying like a bloody BITCH.”
[Where the heck are we?]
“I was *not* crying like a bloody bitch.”
“Heh heh. Bitch.”
“Shut up, cabbie dude.”
[Okay. So we’re in a cab. That’s a start.]
“Where’d you two say you were going? Bitch Street? Or was that Pussy Court? Heh.”
[I’d say it’s about time we faded up. As expected, we’re in the backseat of a taxi. Okay, technically *we’re* in the front seat, but with the way the camera is shooting back into the rear seat at our beloved heroes – Marky and Chad – we might as well be in the back seat. Anyway, you get the general idea. The PCW tag team champs are dressed in their street clothes, looking forever like two “out-of-towners”, not only here in London, but pretty much anywhere on the planet, including back in California. It’s amazing that two guys with as impressive physiqes as these two manage to look like total dorks in spite of themselves, but they do. Something about the proliferation of neon coloring and 80’s surfer fashion sense that does it. Oh well.]
“You know, Rip, you *were* kinda running scared.”
[The voice of Chad Cormier. The man who rarely speaks suddenly chips in with his two cents.]
Marky: Shut up, Chiz. You’re supposed to be on MY side.
Chad: Yeah, but you did.
Marky: Brah, that’s harsh. No really… that’s MEGA-harsh. In fact that’s super-COLOSSAL-mega-harsh.
Cab Driver: I dunno, laddie, I’d say your partner’s pretty dead on with his assessment, eh.
Marky: Leave me alone and just drive, dude. I don’t need any stuff from you.
[The cab driver smiles a devilishly contented smile into the rear view mirror and keeps on driving. Marky Peters sits in the back, absolute misery dominating his face. Chad Cormier sits next to him, unsure what to do (per usual).]
Marky: This sucks, yo. I dunno why everybody thinks I was runnin’ scared ah those monkey dudes. They didn’t frighten me. Hell, brah, I was just about to get my mojo working, but I had a match, yo. They got off light.
Cab Driver: Bollocks.
Marky: Shut UP, dude.
[Another mischievous smile from our driver.]
Marky: Seriously, cab-guy, why you gotta be so down on me like that? It’s cold, G. I’ll have you know, me and the Chisel here, we are totally the PCW tag team champs. Can the monkey guys say that? Hell no, dude. That’s all us. We rule!
Cab Driver: Whatever you say, chap.
Marky: That’s RIGHT! We TOTALLY rule!
* * * * *
(Guess what? Another unfinished RP. In this case I believe it truly was unfinished, as I don’t think I ever came up with where to take this next and scrapped it before ever posting.)