Post by hippoharry on Dec 8, 2017 1:41:40 GMT -6
YouTube Space
“Hey guys, Val_Dacious here, and always with my partner in crime, Southern-Fried Gamer.”
“How’s it going, Val?”
720p video of a woman decked to the nines in Marvel merch, and apparently the host of a YouTube show, sits on a red couch with a hefty white dude with flannel, a trucker cap and bushy red beard. They have Xbox controllers between them with an open seat. Similar red chairs surround the area with a TV glowing from somewhere off screen.
“Okay guys, we’re going to be playing retro wrestling games this week!”
“Slap ya momma - better believe these ones rock!”
“But we aren’t going to do this alone,” she says. “Let’s give a warm welcome to our guests: Harry and Richie Diderot!”
Production crew claps off screen as Harry, dressed in jeans and a leopard print shirt, and Richie, sagging behind in a Nintendo themed hoodie and multi-colored camo hat, walk into shot. They take seats near the intimate loveseat, but keep at least an arm’s reach from the show’s hosts.
“Welcome, welcome!” Val says. “How was the drive?”
“Gotta hit Denver soon,” Harry says. “When I make plugs for dis shit?”
“We can plug your stuff at the end,” she says gritting her teeth. “I hear you and Richie compete a lot online – Call of Duty?”
“Nah,” Richie says, “Destiny and Forza…”
“What about 2K?”
Both shrug. A production assistant comes into frame with the newest game from a rival company and places it facing the camera. The Hippo tries to look away, but he can tell they are framing him around this game and the big bucks that went into funding the program.
“So guys,” Val says, “ready to show your stuff?”
“Grl, if we gonna throw down,” Richie says. “I’mma snuff ya out!”
“Hi everyone, we’re playing 1996 classic game World Tour. And I’m taking on Richie Diderot. So, whose your guy?”
“The Giant!”
“All right, I’m playing Kurt Henning.”
The match goes over quick with Richie getting his ass beat, bad.
“Damn grl,” Harry says, “guess you eating dem words, grits.”
“Think you can do better?”
“Gimme dat shit!”
“Hell yeah!” says the big southern boy, “get this one going!”
They play a matchup between Macho Man and Kevin Nash. The Hippo fares better, but also loses badly to this cutthroat gamer. She fives her chubby buddy on the couch before turning towards the screen.
“Hey guys,” she says, “we just had a round of World Tour!”
“Whew-ee!”
“And I took these boys to the gun show!”
Harry and Richie look confused then back to the screen. Production assistants bring out a tray with various sushi rolls, some that smell horrible from their seats.
“The fuk is that?”
“Yeah mane,” Harry says, “try’an to poison us?”
“All right, we have a number of sushi rolls here,” Val says. “First, we have old wrestlers from the UCI and the Diderot Brothers will be taking on our unstoppable duo.”
“Better get down, boys. Bout to get this one southern fried!”
“So here’s the rules,” she says. “An obscure wrestler will appear across the screen. If you know their name, your team gets one point. Two points if you can guess their finishing move.”
“Aight,” Harry says looking to his brother, “we ready…”
“We ready…”
(together) “We ready for y’all!”
Viewers see a an outline of a man in short black tights, an oily pose and shiny dollar signs over his gear. Harry and Richie have three choices A) The Underwear Taker, B) “Priceless” Peyton Daniels, C) Shane Sayne. The bothers confer then give their answer.
“Gotta be B!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah grl,” Richie says, “we want B.”
An assistant unveils the winning answer, wherein they get a chance for a two-point answer. Richie thinks it is a powerbomb. Harry cannot make up his mind over a Curb Stomp or Pele Kick. They keep arguing while a timeclock clicks down from 25 seconds.
“We need an answer, guys.”
“Shit…”
“And there’s our ad revenue,” says the chuckling dude. “Ah, fuck it.”
“Your answer?”
Harry looks to his brother then says, “A powerbomb?”
“I’m sorry, brothers, it was a… a four hundred and fifty… I guess, that's a 450 splash?”
“Fo real?” Richie says. “He some kinda of high flyah?”
The screen changes over for them for the other team. Val seems lost when a comically colorful guy pops up on their screen. Her partner laughs then shouts a name out.
“That’s Captain Zero,” he says, “I remember that sam fool anywhere.”
A buzzer goes off as Val and the farmer-looking guy bump stomachs. Then comes the million-dollar question of what the hopeless curtain jerker did as a finisher – or planned to at least.
“Ooh, can’t remember that one.”
His partner squirms in her seat. “Any ideas?”
The clock ticks down with her pudgy co-man cycles through a crap ton of moves. Val continues to fidget hoping they can get the winning answer. After almost 55 seconds, Southern-fried yells out the last thing coming to mind.
“A body splash…” he says with a shrug to Val. “How bout that?”
The brothers Diderot look worried now as the answer unveils on screen, “Up, Up and Away” a top-rope body splash. The streamers make damn fools of themselves before returning to their seats. A different assistant, some yuppie dude in a pink cardigan, brings to boats to the players. Each plate has two sets of chopsticks, cut ginger and a ramekin of soy sauce. Harry grimaces as the assistant arranges their trays. Having lost, he knows what horrors await their mouths.
“All right guys,” Val says, “Looks like Southern and I will be chowing down on these Cali rolls with avocado and cream cheese.”
“Yum!”
“What we get?”
“You guys will be eating a southeast Asia delicacy,” she says. “Unagi rolls with trout roe and stinky tofu!”
“Ah fuck no!”
Harry restrains his brother as they take up chopsticks. Cameras close up on their faces while an assistant throws each a barf bucket. Richie takes a huge bite and immediately gags the whole thing back up. The Hippo fights for a minute before he too spits his bite out unceremoniously. Both huff and puff while draining themselves with bottled water. Shots then fade for a quick commercial break. A tall, scrawny guy wearing sunglasses indoors points to all four with a count of five, four, etc. giving both Diderot a second count to catch up. Their producer then points to Val and her beefy co-captain.
“Hey guys, welcome back,” Val says with a big smile. “Welcome to part two of this today's video, where we’re going to let Southern-fried go to wrestling fantasy camp and live out his dreams of being a world champion wrestler.”
“Also, we gonna get serous on the grill with Xmas-themed brats.”
“But let’s give a hand for our guests, Harry and Richie Diderot.”
Everyone on set gives the recovering brothers a forced round of applause. The producer then motions to cut. Val and the big dude go backstage. Meanwhile, they engage with makeup and costume persons asking to reapply their tones. Richie soaks it all in like prima donna, except for Harry, who refuses to change his look for the next scene. After a few minutes of rinsing their throats after that disastrous challenge, Val returns with a new layer of makeup. Someone fixes the table mic to the sound of assistants dragging a gym mat across the room.
Harry leans over, “What’s all this? I thought we gonna plug Overload.”
“This is our big draw,” Val says. “Having your pic for the screenshot will be the ultimate clickbate.”
“Ain you feel, like, fake or something?”
“It’s all a production, Harry. Just like your shows.”
“Oh you don know the half of it,” he says. “Zombie McMorris had his intestines tore out his damn gut. All y’all got pressures like that?”
“We have our moments,” she says with a smile.
The producer motions for everyone to get on the five point countdown. Harry almost asks her another question before the cameras focus on her.
“Harry Diderot, you are the world champion—”
“Television… but I gots a world title shot coming up in a few weeks.”
“But today, he faces his greatest challenge yet,” she says with a hand towards a sliding curtain. “Introducing now… weighing in at 298 lbs. and all the leftovers in the green room fridge… the Bama Bruiser!”
Richie almost rolls out of his seat as the same big dude wobbles out in a white singlet, designed by a fake KFC logo, thick elbow and kneepads, plus a matching red luchador mask. Her partner then makes a Hulk Hogan stretch and pose to “Chicken Fried” by the Zac Brown Band – ten seconds of it at least, before turning into a royalty free country song. The Bama Bruiser then steps in front of Harry Diderot with a bow-legged stance.
“Let me tell you what, brother, I’mma take you down like Donkey clown. Gonna shake n’ bake til you crispier than the Colonel’s Original.”
Harry wakes up, and without warning, squishes noses with the much smaller Youtuber.
“Aight boy, had ya chnce to run,” he says with a soft push. “Now we gonna find out who got the guns and who be on the run. Best get over dat barrel for’ I get angry.”
The sudden intensity has the once cocky bruiser backing up.
“What now?” Harry says. “We thought you was in for da gold? What now, son?”
He gives chase as both find themselves on the gym mat. Suddenly, they cut to ready cameras and set a scene that will be safe for both competitors. Someone has them sign off on HR forms and agree to bar any litigation from the results of the match. This woman also reviews insurance policies with Southern-Fried before either can tangle up in their squared circle. All this paperwork has the big fella shaking in his boots – even though Harry keeps assuring safety. Eventually, they agree to do a Hogan-style bodyslam as a quick and instant finish to the Bama Bruiser. A young woman from the crew also shows up dressed like a Footlocker employee with a coach’s whistle dangling from her neck. Another five count gets them set with the Bruiser taking a Greco-Roman stance to Harry’s looser approach.
“You ready for dis?” he says.
“Please don’t kill me, man,” the Bruiser says before looking to Val. “If I die, let them know I was a lover before a fighter. And feed my dogs, they gonna be hungry without their poppa.”
Everyone off screen loses their shit while the two prepare to lock up. A point from the director signals a loud whistle from their makeshift referee. Harry goes straight into a side lock, then works his opponent down into a suplex clutch. The Hippo manages to deadlift the chubby streamer and transition into a soft yet theatric bodyslam. Despite Diderot’s efforts to keep things soft for this Sam fool, gravity drew the air from the big dude. A hasty pin ends with a fast count and immediate cut from the camera. Harry helps the poor dude sit up. He eventually catches his breath after holding hands over his head for a while. The producer then calls for a 10 min. break.
Funny Interview Becomes a Shoot
“Hey guys, welcome back!” Val says to the camera, “now, let’s get to know out stars of today’s show.”
Harry nods to forced claps. His brother has no idea how to take this sort of attention, looking both excited and petrified at the same time. Southern-fried, still in his luchador outfit but with an ice pack on his lower back, begins with a slew of industry questions.
“All right, brother, you got me good,” he says rubbing his tailbone. “That stuff hurts.”
“Sorry mane, tried to give the ole' feather touch.”
“Maybe too much English on that one," he says. "But hey, dude, we'd be missing out if we didn’t talk about your last match.”
“Ya seen dat one?”
"Guys, it was balls to the walls awesome!"
Southern-fried points to a screen replaying a bit from the Civil War Match: Corey Bull and Harry exchange huge moves, a chokeslam then pop-up powerbomb to down the 7 footer. Fast-forward to Diderot on the top rope and the video stops right before the jump.
“Brother, like, what’s going through y’all head here?”
“I gotta finish this,” Harry says. “Did a move only used twice in my life, that being the second time. Corey Bull could get his big ass up anytime. So I said ‘uh uh nig—”
“A killer instinct?”
“Yeah, grl, had to prove to dat giant I was big dawg of dat yard.”
Back to their laptop, where Harry miraculously executes a 630 degree senton splash, defying every law of physics but gravity. Everyone on set gasps as the ring implodes from their seismic activity. Canvas crushes as multiple turnbuckles fall from their posts. Shell-shocked, Diderot then claims the pin.
“Brother, where the hell did that come from?”
“When ya gotta win,” he says, “any y’all do the same. Defeat ain’ an option.”
“I hear ya there,” says the big dude. “But y’all weren’t done yet.”
Everyone watches segments of the ending, where the Hippo and L Verez destroyed the set when unbreakable hearts refused to give in, resulting in a three-way matchup of explosive proportions.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Survive all of this?” Val says. “I could have sworn you died - like, twice over, Harry.”
Harry and his brother laugh with shoulder punches.
“Nah, mane, Harry's all good.”
“I can see that,” she says. “But what does it eman to be the ‘big dog’ in a match?”
Harry motions for the cameras to close up on his face, getting everything in frame. He slips on his jacket then pulls dark sunglasses from an inside pocket, donning them sick shades.
“Big dawgs get the bone. Big dawgs stake their turf and don’ give an inch no matter what jumps in they yard. Yeah, we got problems and we fight an’body, but that what you get from a big dawg. Ain’ talking bout them whack Tees either – them threads for fat, racist supporters of this orange prez and Roy Moore. Big dawgs know what they got and don’ let others take what belongs to them. I also protect an’body in my yard. Until Black Mass, consider L my friend and ally. Got her back no matter what happens. Major respect for that space aged blazer. She can handle her own in the ring, and could’a beat team Bull herself. Thing is, she ain’ here to cut down half the match for me. This one all on dese shoulders.
Big dawgs don’ back down when a bigger dog show up. They fight, they bite and they take control no matter what kinda bull shit land over dat fence. In all serious, Corey Bull a big scary dude and he deserve some credit for keeping his side afloat. No hate of his partners, but I knew that big boy had the match while dem others stuck looking at they hands like ‘what happened me, mane?’ and ‘when this shitshow over? He think this going to be another place for them analytics. Got them tactics to take down “major threats” like he on the Red October or some shit. Funny thing is, he end like the Browns in the end: Try’an to solve easy problems with too many people and weak ideas. Ain’ no industry or group to replace god-honest toughness. I seen that. I done seen it day one with you, Bull, and that’s why I knew something crazy like a 630 was gonna hit. Didn’ take no satellite phots of that shit – I seen’d it and went for the money shot. Guess that title staying where it belongs, mane. Good try though. Hope that got all y’all secret dudes ready for what dem prophecies say bout the rise of Corey Bull: Or that page not open yet? Not in a million more years, eh? Another big man who ain’ gett’an that bone.”
“That’s fascinating—”
“I ain’ done yet,” Harry says. “Then we got Payaso Loco who fallen in the wrong tank. Gonna be a lotta blood on Overload, and them big fish gonna get fed. Don’ know yet if that ever gonna be yoy, Loco. I mean, you got them sweet top rope moves. You show us all what heart in ya chest. Pound that B louder, mane. Wanna hear you when that bell ring. We ain’ looking like some Rocky/Apollo shit – nah, you just another set’a eyes outside hoping to touch the belt. But, like, don’ ya get how big this thing is, mane? You drive a lambo but pound ‘em limper than a raw biscuit. I seen you for weeks now. Ya threat’an peoples cause you want to be a big dawg. What do really want, Loco? Cause picking fights ya can’ win not the way to do that. You should go for the Rising Star belt or someth’an, mane. I want ya to succeed – even if it ain’ sounding that way. Loco, I do hope you the best in these shark infested waters… cause you bout to get devoured.”
“I think that’s all we have time—”
“Let him finish,” says Southern-fried. “Got any more for us, Harry?”
“Yeah, there’s more,” Diderot says. “Cause ain’ addressed f’n Everest hanging round my grass like some dead man returned. E’ry time Zmac come to the ring, even for a week, he feeling like Lou Gehrig. He won’ admit that he gets a chub on dat shit – but ain’ no sane person rid’an on that barbwire flagpole. Z, we can compare later. For now, got bigger things in mind. Unlike you, always jumping fences like that “little Georgie” – and all y’all got one of dem kids on ya block – who jus’ lookan for trouble. He rattle fences hoping to see some teeth, then they stichan his ass from cheek to cheek cause he done clowned with the wrong pooch. Never cross a junkyard dog. They protect what theirs and don’ want others messan with they’s bone.
Z, mane, you done crossed the line. I came on this show to promote Overload and be a face for this company. Instead, they be showing these vids of you planting ya tattered ass flag in my yard? Da hell wrong you? Little Georgie just had to poke his damn finger through the link and now he bleedan. Look… I know ya game Zombie. You always playing us off an snortan all ya troubles away. Mother fucker need Jesus—”
“Seriously... that’s all time we have for this episode.”
“Come on Val,” her cohost pleads, “he’s just getting to the gravy of it.”
“Gravy n’ Grits ain’ on this track, but we still gone thick and meaty. This one’s fucking chunky. Like I said though, I respect what you do Z. You defined the TV – my title. You defined the World Title – what may soon be mine as well. An’ ya wore all dem belt like armor or somethan. Dude, that WAS badass. But now you steppan on my time and my show. I seen you at against them all from Bishop to Bonnie Blue to our gracious world champ, Preecha Kamon… #PreechanAinEasy… and we seen you spill ya damn guts in the ring. Thing is Z, I know what it takes to defend this belt too. Made my own sacrifices to get here. Survived some of the best talent active today. I even ended the endless streak of Jack Schlongson… but streak were always meant to be broken…
Speaking of which, guess this black ass got one of his own. And you can kiss e’ry dimpled crease fore I let you be the one to end it. Bring all y’all shady friends. Terrorize my friends and family with the untouchable Buddy Roman. But ya gonna find out that the big dawg may be the one with the bone, but he sure as hell ain’ alone either. And my peoples ain’ afraid of any of dat 24 hour photo, Jigsaw BS fans expect. Dey seen worse and ain’ back down either. Like some crazy white man once said, “Every now and then, ya come across someone ya shouldn’t have fucked with…” and that someone is the Hippo. I ain’ scared and we ain’ going away!”
Harry points at the screen then hulks out in the studio. Richie pulls him back as Harry gestures “What?” several times before going backstage. The Youtubers are speechless.
“That was...”
“Gosh darn awesome!”
“But… our revenue?”
“Ah, Val, we’ll fix it in post.”
Turns Out, Driving to Denver is an Uphill Drive
Harry texts from the driver seat of his old model SUV while his brother, Richie, has gone inside a rest stop. He texts his dad a pics from their last 24 hours. Knowing their old man won’t see them until tomorrow, Harry sends everything in bulk to surprise him sometime next morning. Surfing news, Facebook and Twitter – a message appears in the chatbox. An unknown contact want to talk to him. He shrugs before opening the message:
“Harry fucking Diderot, “Poppa H” or the “the Hippo” can respond to this however they want. I don’t care. You know what I want from you, boy, so stop fucking with me. I want my 15% or this will get ugly. And I don’t mean lawyers. I mean family, friends and that big-mouthed Barney who someone is gonna shoot someday. I’m just promising to do it first. So what’s it gonna be, Hippo? You got one week before this shit gets ugly.” – Francis, 9:53pm.
With Richie marching back to their whip, juggling two cokes and some Doritos in his arms, Harry quickly turns the message off. He unlocks the door and tries to act cool.
“Here’s ya Coke,” Richie says. “Wait, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Big Boy, now close ya door.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah mane, we cool.”
Richie nods before slamming the door shut. The two then head north towards Colorado.
“Hey guys, Val_Dacious here, and always with my partner in crime, Southern-Fried Gamer.”
“How’s it going, Val?”
720p video of a woman decked to the nines in Marvel merch, and apparently the host of a YouTube show, sits on a red couch with a hefty white dude with flannel, a trucker cap and bushy red beard. They have Xbox controllers between them with an open seat. Similar red chairs surround the area with a TV glowing from somewhere off screen.
“Okay guys, we’re going to be playing retro wrestling games this week!”
“Slap ya momma - better believe these ones rock!”
“But we aren’t going to do this alone,” she says. “Let’s give a warm welcome to our guests: Harry and Richie Diderot!”
Production crew claps off screen as Harry, dressed in jeans and a leopard print shirt, and Richie, sagging behind in a Nintendo themed hoodie and multi-colored camo hat, walk into shot. They take seats near the intimate loveseat, but keep at least an arm’s reach from the show’s hosts.
“Welcome, welcome!” Val says. “How was the drive?”
“Gotta hit Denver soon,” Harry says. “When I make plugs for dis shit?”
“We can plug your stuff at the end,” she says gritting her teeth. “I hear you and Richie compete a lot online – Call of Duty?”
“Nah,” Richie says, “Destiny and Forza…”
“What about 2K?”
Both shrug. A production assistant comes into frame with the newest game from a rival company and places it facing the camera. The Hippo tries to look away, but he can tell they are framing him around this game and the big bucks that went into funding the program.
“So guys,” Val says, “ready to show your stuff?”
“Grl, if we gonna throw down,” Richie says. “I’mma snuff ya out!”
“Hi everyone, we’re playing 1996 classic game World Tour. And I’m taking on Richie Diderot. So, whose your guy?”
“The Giant!”
“All right, I’m playing Kurt Henning.”
The match goes over quick with Richie getting his ass beat, bad.
“Damn grl,” Harry says, “guess you eating dem words, grits.”
“Think you can do better?”
“Gimme dat shit!”
“Hell yeah!” says the big southern boy, “get this one going!”
They play a matchup between Macho Man and Kevin Nash. The Hippo fares better, but also loses badly to this cutthroat gamer. She fives her chubby buddy on the couch before turning towards the screen.
“Hey guys,” she says, “we just had a round of World Tour!”
“Whew-ee!”
“And I took these boys to the gun show!”
Harry and Richie look confused then back to the screen. Production assistants bring out a tray with various sushi rolls, some that smell horrible from their seats.
“The fuk is that?”
“Yeah mane,” Harry says, “try’an to poison us?”
“All right, we have a number of sushi rolls here,” Val says. “First, we have old wrestlers from the UCI and the Diderot Brothers will be taking on our unstoppable duo.”
“Better get down, boys. Bout to get this one southern fried!”
“So here’s the rules,” she says. “An obscure wrestler will appear across the screen. If you know their name, your team gets one point. Two points if you can guess their finishing move.”
“Aight,” Harry says looking to his brother, “we ready…”
“We ready…”
(together) “We ready for y’all!”
Viewers see a an outline of a man in short black tights, an oily pose and shiny dollar signs over his gear. Harry and Richie have three choices A) The Underwear Taker, B) “Priceless” Peyton Daniels, C) Shane Sayne. The bothers confer then give their answer.
“Gotta be B!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah grl,” Richie says, “we want B.”
An assistant unveils the winning answer, wherein they get a chance for a two-point answer. Richie thinks it is a powerbomb. Harry cannot make up his mind over a Curb Stomp or Pele Kick. They keep arguing while a timeclock clicks down from 25 seconds.
“We need an answer, guys.”
“Shit…”
“And there’s our ad revenue,” says the chuckling dude. “Ah, fuck it.”
“Your answer?”
Harry looks to his brother then says, “A powerbomb?”
“I’m sorry, brothers, it was a… a four hundred and fifty… I guess, that's a 450 splash?”
“Fo real?” Richie says. “He some kinda of high flyah?”
The screen changes over for them for the other team. Val seems lost when a comically colorful guy pops up on their screen. Her partner laughs then shouts a name out.
“That’s Captain Zero,” he says, “I remember that sam fool anywhere.”
A buzzer goes off as Val and the farmer-looking guy bump stomachs. Then comes the million-dollar question of what the hopeless curtain jerker did as a finisher – or planned to at least.
“Ooh, can’t remember that one.”
His partner squirms in her seat. “Any ideas?”
The clock ticks down with her pudgy co-man cycles through a crap ton of moves. Val continues to fidget hoping they can get the winning answer. After almost 55 seconds, Southern-fried yells out the last thing coming to mind.
“A body splash…” he says with a shrug to Val. “How bout that?”
The brothers Diderot look worried now as the answer unveils on screen, “Up, Up and Away” a top-rope body splash. The streamers make damn fools of themselves before returning to their seats. A different assistant, some yuppie dude in a pink cardigan, brings to boats to the players. Each plate has two sets of chopsticks, cut ginger and a ramekin of soy sauce. Harry grimaces as the assistant arranges their trays. Having lost, he knows what horrors await their mouths.
“All right guys,” Val says, “Looks like Southern and I will be chowing down on these Cali rolls with avocado and cream cheese.”
“Yum!”
“What we get?”
“You guys will be eating a southeast Asia delicacy,” she says. “Unagi rolls with trout roe and stinky tofu!”
“Ah fuck no!”
Harry restrains his brother as they take up chopsticks. Cameras close up on their faces while an assistant throws each a barf bucket. Richie takes a huge bite and immediately gags the whole thing back up. The Hippo fights for a minute before he too spits his bite out unceremoniously. Both huff and puff while draining themselves with bottled water. Shots then fade for a quick commercial break. A tall, scrawny guy wearing sunglasses indoors points to all four with a count of five, four, etc. giving both Diderot a second count to catch up. Their producer then points to Val and her beefy co-captain.
“Hey guys, welcome back,” Val says with a big smile. “Welcome to part two of this today's video, where we’re going to let Southern-fried go to wrestling fantasy camp and live out his dreams of being a world champion wrestler.”
“Also, we gonna get serous on the grill with Xmas-themed brats.”
“But let’s give a hand for our guests, Harry and Richie Diderot.”
Everyone on set gives the recovering brothers a forced round of applause. The producer then motions to cut. Val and the big dude go backstage. Meanwhile, they engage with makeup and costume persons asking to reapply their tones. Richie soaks it all in like prima donna, except for Harry, who refuses to change his look for the next scene. After a few minutes of rinsing their throats after that disastrous challenge, Val returns with a new layer of makeup. Someone fixes the table mic to the sound of assistants dragging a gym mat across the room.
Harry leans over, “What’s all this? I thought we gonna plug Overload.”
“This is our big draw,” Val says. “Having your pic for the screenshot will be the ultimate clickbate.”
“Ain you feel, like, fake or something?”
“It’s all a production, Harry. Just like your shows.”
“Oh you don know the half of it,” he says. “Zombie McMorris had his intestines tore out his damn gut. All y’all got pressures like that?”
“We have our moments,” she says with a smile.
The producer motions for everyone to get on the five point countdown. Harry almost asks her another question before the cameras focus on her.
“Harry Diderot, you are the world champion—”
“Television… but I gots a world title shot coming up in a few weeks.”
“But today, he faces his greatest challenge yet,” she says with a hand towards a sliding curtain. “Introducing now… weighing in at 298 lbs. and all the leftovers in the green room fridge… the Bama Bruiser!”
Richie almost rolls out of his seat as the same big dude wobbles out in a white singlet, designed by a fake KFC logo, thick elbow and kneepads, plus a matching red luchador mask. Her partner then makes a Hulk Hogan stretch and pose to “Chicken Fried” by the Zac Brown Band – ten seconds of it at least, before turning into a royalty free country song. The Bama Bruiser then steps in front of Harry Diderot with a bow-legged stance.
“Let me tell you what, brother, I’mma take you down like Donkey clown. Gonna shake n’ bake til you crispier than the Colonel’s Original.”
Harry wakes up, and without warning, squishes noses with the much smaller Youtuber.
“Aight boy, had ya chnce to run,” he says with a soft push. “Now we gonna find out who got the guns and who be on the run. Best get over dat barrel for’ I get angry.”
The sudden intensity has the once cocky bruiser backing up.
“What now?” Harry says. “We thought you was in for da gold? What now, son?”
He gives chase as both find themselves on the gym mat. Suddenly, they cut to ready cameras and set a scene that will be safe for both competitors. Someone has them sign off on HR forms and agree to bar any litigation from the results of the match. This woman also reviews insurance policies with Southern-Fried before either can tangle up in their squared circle. All this paperwork has the big fella shaking in his boots – even though Harry keeps assuring safety. Eventually, they agree to do a Hogan-style bodyslam as a quick and instant finish to the Bama Bruiser. A young woman from the crew also shows up dressed like a Footlocker employee with a coach’s whistle dangling from her neck. Another five count gets them set with the Bruiser taking a Greco-Roman stance to Harry’s looser approach.
“You ready for dis?” he says.
“Please don’t kill me, man,” the Bruiser says before looking to Val. “If I die, let them know I was a lover before a fighter. And feed my dogs, they gonna be hungry without their poppa.”
Everyone off screen loses their shit while the two prepare to lock up. A point from the director signals a loud whistle from their makeshift referee. Harry goes straight into a side lock, then works his opponent down into a suplex clutch. The Hippo manages to deadlift the chubby streamer and transition into a soft yet theatric bodyslam. Despite Diderot’s efforts to keep things soft for this Sam fool, gravity drew the air from the big dude. A hasty pin ends with a fast count and immediate cut from the camera. Harry helps the poor dude sit up. He eventually catches his breath after holding hands over his head for a while. The producer then calls for a 10 min. break.
Funny Interview Becomes a Shoot
“Hey guys, welcome back!” Val says to the camera, “now, let’s get to know out stars of today’s show.”
Harry nods to forced claps. His brother has no idea how to take this sort of attention, looking both excited and petrified at the same time. Southern-fried, still in his luchador outfit but with an ice pack on his lower back, begins with a slew of industry questions.
“All right, brother, you got me good,” he says rubbing his tailbone. “That stuff hurts.”
“Sorry mane, tried to give the ole' feather touch.”
“Maybe too much English on that one," he says. "But hey, dude, we'd be missing out if we didn’t talk about your last match.”
“Ya seen dat one?”
"Guys, it was balls to the walls awesome!"
Southern-fried points to a screen replaying a bit from the Civil War Match: Corey Bull and Harry exchange huge moves, a chokeslam then pop-up powerbomb to down the 7 footer. Fast-forward to Diderot on the top rope and the video stops right before the jump.
“Brother, like, what’s going through y’all head here?”
“I gotta finish this,” Harry says. “Did a move only used twice in my life, that being the second time. Corey Bull could get his big ass up anytime. So I said ‘uh uh nig—”
“A killer instinct?”
“Yeah, grl, had to prove to dat giant I was big dawg of dat yard.”
Back to their laptop, where Harry miraculously executes a 630 degree senton splash, defying every law of physics but gravity. Everyone on set gasps as the ring implodes from their seismic activity. Canvas crushes as multiple turnbuckles fall from their posts. Shell-shocked, Diderot then claims the pin.
“Brother, where the hell did that come from?”
“When ya gotta win,” he says, “any y’all do the same. Defeat ain’ an option.”
“I hear ya there,” says the big dude. “But y’all weren’t done yet.”
Everyone watches segments of the ending, where the Hippo and L Verez destroyed the set when unbreakable hearts refused to give in, resulting in a three-way matchup of explosive proportions.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Survive all of this?” Val says. “I could have sworn you died - like, twice over, Harry.”
Harry and his brother laugh with shoulder punches.
“Nah, mane, Harry's all good.”
“I can see that,” she says. “But what does it eman to be the ‘big dog’ in a match?”
Harry motions for the cameras to close up on his face, getting everything in frame. He slips on his jacket then pulls dark sunglasses from an inside pocket, donning them sick shades.
“Big dawgs get the bone. Big dawgs stake their turf and don’ give an inch no matter what jumps in they yard. Yeah, we got problems and we fight an’body, but that what you get from a big dawg. Ain’ talking bout them whack Tees either – them threads for fat, racist supporters of this orange prez and Roy Moore. Big dawgs know what they got and don’ let others take what belongs to them. I also protect an’body in my yard. Until Black Mass, consider L my friend and ally. Got her back no matter what happens. Major respect for that space aged blazer. She can handle her own in the ring, and could’a beat team Bull herself. Thing is, she ain’ here to cut down half the match for me. This one all on dese shoulders.
Big dawgs don’ back down when a bigger dog show up. They fight, they bite and they take control no matter what kinda bull shit land over dat fence. In all serious, Corey Bull a big scary dude and he deserve some credit for keeping his side afloat. No hate of his partners, but I knew that big boy had the match while dem others stuck looking at they hands like ‘what happened me, mane?’ and ‘when this shitshow over? He think this going to be another place for them analytics. Got them tactics to take down “major threats” like he on the Red October or some shit. Funny thing is, he end like the Browns in the end: Try’an to solve easy problems with too many people and weak ideas. Ain’ no industry or group to replace god-honest toughness. I seen that. I done seen it day one with you, Bull, and that’s why I knew something crazy like a 630 was gonna hit. Didn’ take no satellite phots of that shit – I seen’d it and went for the money shot. Guess that title staying where it belongs, mane. Good try though. Hope that got all y’all secret dudes ready for what dem prophecies say bout the rise of Corey Bull: Or that page not open yet? Not in a million more years, eh? Another big man who ain’ gett’an that bone.”
“That’s fascinating—”
“I ain’ done yet,” Harry says. “Then we got Payaso Loco who fallen in the wrong tank. Gonna be a lotta blood on Overload, and them big fish gonna get fed. Don’ know yet if that ever gonna be yoy, Loco. I mean, you got them sweet top rope moves. You show us all what heart in ya chest. Pound that B louder, mane. Wanna hear you when that bell ring. We ain’ looking like some Rocky/Apollo shit – nah, you just another set’a eyes outside hoping to touch the belt. But, like, don’ ya get how big this thing is, mane? You drive a lambo but pound ‘em limper than a raw biscuit. I seen you for weeks now. Ya threat’an peoples cause you want to be a big dawg. What do really want, Loco? Cause picking fights ya can’ win not the way to do that. You should go for the Rising Star belt or someth’an, mane. I want ya to succeed – even if it ain’ sounding that way. Loco, I do hope you the best in these shark infested waters… cause you bout to get devoured.”
“I think that’s all we have time—”
“Let him finish,” says Southern-fried. “Got any more for us, Harry?”
“Yeah, there’s more,” Diderot says. “Cause ain’ addressed f’n Everest hanging round my grass like some dead man returned. E’ry time Zmac come to the ring, even for a week, he feeling like Lou Gehrig. He won’ admit that he gets a chub on dat shit – but ain’ no sane person rid’an on that barbwire flagpole. Z, we can compare later. For now, got bigger things in mind. Unlike you, always jumping fences like that “little Georgie” – and all y’all got one of dem kids on ya block – who jus’ lookan for trouble. He rattle fences hoping to see some teeth, then they stichan his ass from cheek to cheek cause he done clowned with the wrong pooch. Never cross a junkyard dog. They protect what theirs and don’ want others messan with they’s bone.
Z, mane, you done crossed the line. I came on this show to promote Overload and be a face for this company. Instead, they be showing these vids of you planting ya tattered ass flag in my yard? Da hell wrong you? Little Georgie just had to poke his damn finger through the link and now he bleedan. Look… I know ya game Zombie. You always playing us off an snortan all ya troubles away. Mother fucker need Jesus—”
“Seriously... that’s all time we have for this episode.”
“Come on Val,” her cohost pleads, “he’s just getting to the gravy of it.”
“Gravy n’ Grits ain’ on this track, but we still gone thick and meaty. This one’s fucking chunky. Like I said though, I respect what you do Z. You defined the TV – my title. You defined the World Title – what may soon be mine as well. An’ ya wore all dem belt like armor or somethan. Dude, that WAS badass. But now you steppan on my time and my show. I seen you at against them all from Bishop to Bonnie Blue to our gracious world champ, Preecha Kamon… #PreechanAinEasy… and we seen you spill ya damn guts in the ring. Thing is Z, I know what it takes to defend this belt too. Made my own sacrifices to get here. Survived some of the best talent active today. I even ended the endless streak of Jack Schlongson… but streak were always meant to be broken…
Speaking of which, guess this black ass got one of his own. And you can kiss e’ry dimpled crease fore I let you be the one to end it. Bring all y’all shady friends. Terrorize my friends and family with the untouchable Buddy Roman. But ya gonna find out that the big dawg may be the one with the bone, but he sure as hell ain’ alone either. And my peoples ain’ afraid of any of dat 24 hour photo, Jigsaw BS fans expect. Dey seen worse and ain’ back down either. Like some crazy white man once said, “Every now and then, ya come across someone ya shouldn’t have fucked with…” and that someone is the Hippo. I ain’ scared and we ain’ going away!”
Harry points at the screen then hulks out in the studio. Richie pulls him back as Harry gestures “What?” several times before going backstage. The Youtubers are speechless.
“That was...”
“Gosh darn awesome!”
“But… our revenue?”
“Ah, Val, we’ll fix it in post.”
Turns Out, Driving to Denver is an Uphill Drive
Harry texts from the driver seat of his old model SUV while his brother, Richie, has gone inside a rest stop. He texts his dad a pics from their last 24 hours. Knowing their old man won’t see them until tomorrow, Harry sends everything in bulk to surprise him sometime next morning. Surfing news, Facebook and Twitter – a message appears in the chatbox. An unknown contact want to talk to him. He shrugs before opening the message:
“Harry fucking Diderot, “Poppa H” or the “the Hippo” can respond to this however they want. I don’t care. You know what I want from you, boy, so stop fucking with me. I want my 15% or this will get ugly. And I don’t mean lawyers. I mean family, friends and that big-mouthed Barney who someone is gonna shoot someday. I’m just promising to do it first. So what’s it gonna be, Hippo? You got one week before this shit gets ugly.” – Francis, 9:53pm.
With Richie marching back to their whip, juggling two cokes and some Doritos in his arms, Harry quickly turns the message off. He unlocks the door and tries to act cool.
“Here’s ya Coke,” Richie says. “Wait, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Big Boy, now close ya door.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah mane, we cool.”
Richie nods before slamming the door shut. The two then head north towards Colorado.