Post by dooley on Apr 7, 2007 21:11:36 GMT -5
It's a dark and quite in the city of Dublin. The stars are visible in the night sky above as the illuminate the cool Irish ground. The scene is anything less than beautiful. But this is not where our story is being told We are taken to a bar on the outskirts of town where very few ever go. The street lights either don't operate or have been shattered. The road is cracked and littered with garbage. A thick polluted smog covers the air traveling with the wind. On the street corner the homeless wonder hoping to find a kind soul that will help them. All the business have been closed for the day. While the homes have been locked up as well. Each praying for peaceful night. All excapt this one particular bar. A creaky sign hanging on a single hinge simply reads, "Pub." Lights from the inside the bar make the moving shadows visible from the outside. Sounds of music from the jukebox and shouting can be heard. Suddenly the door swings open and large man comes flying outside the pub landing on the concrete street. Guy Dooley is right behind him. He charges the man who lays on the street and punts him clear across the face. The oversized man rolls over on his back his mouth busted open, teeth missing, and his nose broken. His face covered in blood. Dooley looks down on him before spitting in his face. Guy turns his back on him stumbling to the door of the bar. Removing a cigarette from his pack and placing it between his lips. Then taking a match and ignites it across the five o'clock shadow that is clearly present of his cheek. He lights his cigarrete taking a few hits. Droping the match to the ground before reentering the pub.
::Pub Local #1::
Way to go Dooley!
::Pub Local #2::
Kicked his Yankee ass! Cheers to Guy! Ireland's favorite bastard son!
::Pub Locals::
CHEERS!
Guy Dooley sluggishly takes a drunken bow. Cracking a smile and releasing a slught chuckle. He wander across the bar room floor and a few more locals pat him on his back. Dooley finds his seat has been taken from the bar, the locals here have learned to respect him. Guy plops into his wooden chair almost tipping it over. He slams his hand on the counter signaling the bartender. The bartender walks over places a empty glass infront and starts to fill it with refreshing beer. Dooley takes a massive gulp of it before putting back onto the bar counter. Guy then looks up at the bartender and the two exchange friendly smiles.
::Bartender Petey::
You know Dooley if I was a smart man I would have kicked your ass out of my pub by now. This is the 12th man this week you've felt needed a swift kick in the ass and a hard toss out of here. 4th guy today by my count. You trying to break some bar fight record? It's becoming really bad for business. But luckily for you...I am not a smart man.
::Guy Dooley::
C'mon Petey! You and me know that fat, yankee son of a bitch had exactly what was coming to him. I will be damned if I let some tourist come into my country and into my bar. And order a damn glass water! Either drink like you got some balls or go breast feed your spoiled lad. Petey, me and you go back a long time. What have I always said no matter how drunk or beat up I am. What have I always said about those yankee bastards...
::Bartender Petey::
The only good yankee bastard is a dead...yankee bastard.
::Guy Dooley::
Cheers to that buddy. But you forgot the second part of that. The only good yanke bastard is a dead yankee bastard unless...
::Bartender Petey::
Unless what?
::Guy Dooley::
Unless said yankee bastard is of the female persuasion. Has a amazing rack and...is more than willing to put out!
The two old friends share a laught. As Guy Dooley takes another drink of his beer as a commercial comes on the television. The old black and white tv starts to show clips of men flying through the air, jumping off ladders, putthing each other through tables, and other violent manuevers. Dooley places his hand on his chin and rubs it back and forth. He hangs his head and shakes it to side and side. Cracking a smirk and chuckling some more. Taking another gulp of his beer he looks back up to see the XVI logo come across the screen before the commercial ends.
::Guy Dooley::
What in god's name was that crap? Is that what these yankees call wrestling these days!?
::Bartender Petey::
I suppose you think, you can do better Dooley?
::Guy Dooley::
Hell yes I can.
::Bartender Petey::
Damn it, Guy...I though you quit that shit. You hung the boots years ago.
::Guy Dooley::
Old habits die hard, Petey. Did you see that garbage they are putting on out there!? Most of the match takes place in the air not on the ground. Tables, ladders, chairs, what the hell is that bull shit!? Whatever happened to looking at a man square across the ring and beating the living hell out of each other. Breaking bones, cracking ribs, ending every night laying in a hospital bed! That is wrestling! No amount of front flips, back flips, hip tosses, arm drags, or weaponry can ever change that. Half those poor sons of bitches look like they are dressed up for some Halloween party or drag show. Did you see them? *laughing* They look damn ridiculous. Leave it to those yankee bastards to make a mockery out of it. They did it to soccer and now they are doing it to wrestling! Guess it is time for this Irishmen to come out of retirement. Beat some sense back into these people! Show them true wrestling! But...
::Bartender Peter::
But?
::Guy Dooley::
I can't remember the name of that damn yankee company! *laughing*
::Bartender Petey::
*chuckling* XVI, Guy, it was called XVI.
::Guy Dooley::
Then it looks like I will be paying XVI a visit.
::Bartender Petey::
Do me a favor first, Dooley. Sober up before you get there. That way you can give those guys at least a fighting chance.
::Guy Dooley::
Cheers to that!
::Petey and Dooley::
CHEERS!
::Pub Local #1::
Way to go Dooley!
::Pub Local #2::
Kicked his Yankee ass! Cheers to Guy! Ireland's favorite bastard son!
::Pub Locals::
CHEERS!
Guy Dooley sluggishly takes a drunken bow. Cracking a smile and releasing a slught chuckle. He wander across the bar room floor and a few more locals pat him on his back. Dooley finds his seat has been taken from the bar, the locals here have learned to respect him. Guy plops into his wooden chair almost tipping it over. He slams his hand on the counter signaling the bartender. The bartender walks over places a empty glass infront and starts to fill it with refreshing beer. Dooley takes a massive gulp of it before putting back onto the bar counter. Guy then looks up at the bartender and the two exchange friendly smiles.
::Bartender Petey::
You know Dooley if I was a smart man I would have kicked your ass out of my pub by now. This is the 12th man this week you've felt needed a swift kick in the ass and a hard toss out of here. 4th guy today by my count. You trying to break some bar fight record? It's becoming really bad for business. But luckily for you...I am not a smart man.
::Guy Dooley::
C'mon Petey! You and me know that fat, yankee son of a bitch had exactly what was coming to him. I will be damned if I let some tourist come into my country and into my bar. And order a damn glass water! Either drink like you got some balls or go breast feed your spoiled lad. Petey, me and you go back a long time. What have I always said no matter how drunk or beat up I am. What have I always said about those yankee bastards...
::Bartender Petey::
The only good yankee bastard is a dead...yankee bastard.
::Guy Dooley::
Cheers to that buddy. But you forgot the second part of that. The only good yanke bastard is a dead yankee bastard unless...
::Bartender Petey::
Unless what?
::Guy Dooley::
Unless said yankee bastard is of the female persuasion. Has a amazing rack and...is more than willing to put out!
The two old friends share a laught. As Guy Dooley takes another drink of his beer as a commercial comes on the television. The old black and white tv starts to show clips of men flying through the air, jumping off ladders, putthing each other through tables, and other violent manuevers. Dooley places his hand on his chin and rubs it back and forth. He hangs his head and shakes it to side and side. Cracking a smirk and chuckling some more. Taking another gulp of his beer he looks back up to see the XVI logo come across the screen before the commercial ends.
::Guy Dooley::
What in god's name was that crap? Is that what these yankees call wrestling these days!?
::Bartender Petey::
I suppose you think, you can do better Dooley?
::Guy Dooley::
Hell yes I can.
::Bartender Petey::
Damn it, Guy...I though you quit that shit. You hung the boots years ago.
::Guy Dooley::
Old habits die hard, Petey. Did you see that garbage they are putting on out there!? Most of the match takes place in the air not on the ground. Tables, ladders, chairs, what the hell is that bull shit!? Whatever happened to looking at a man square across the ring and beating the living hell out of each other. Breaking bones, cracking ribs, ending every night laying in a hospital bed! That is wrestling! No amount of front flips, back flips, hip tosses, arm drags, or weaponry can ever change that. Half those poor sons of bitches look like they are dressed up for some Halloween party or drag show. Did you see them? *laughing* They look damn ridiculous. Leave it to those yankee bastards to make a mockery out of it. They did it to soccer and now they are doing it to wrestling! Guess it is time for this Irishmen to come out of retirement. Beat some sense back into these people! Show them true wrestling! But...
::Bartender Peter::
But?
::Guy Dooley::
I can't remember the name of that damn yankee company! *laughing*
::Bartender Petey::
*chuckling* XVI, Guy, it was called XVI.
::Guy Dooley::
Then it looks like I will be paying XVI a visit.
::Bartender Petey::
Do me a favor first, Dooley. Sober up before you get there. That way you can give those guys at least a fighting chance.
::Guy Dooley::
Cheers to that!
::Petey and Dooley::
CHEERS!