The Induction Cooking Method, Part I: The Roast's the Thing.

Part One: The Roast's the Thing

Setting: The Drunken Dragon; interior. A stage has been erected at the back of the barroom and lit from half a dozen angles. The word "RELENTLESS" is splashed in big red letters across the slate-blue backdrop, superimposed over the image of a skull and crossed lightning bolts.


The center of the stage is dominated by a plain wooden podium. To one side, the guest of honor --Andre Holmes -- is seated upon a garish gold-and-crimson throne with dragon head armrests and claw-and-ball feet. Arrayed on either side of the stage, perching on barstools, are the other Guardians: Bonnie Blue, the Polar Phantasm, Nightmare, Alex Richards, and Nikola Tesla.


From behind the curtain steps a heavyset man in a black tuxedo jacket and a blood red button-down shirt, a top hat, a wig, and his face cartoonishly painted to resemble a ghoul:






He carries a long, slender 1970's style microphone and walks toward the podium to scattered applause.


Svengoolie: Good evening, ladies and germs -- I'm your host of this roast, the ghost with the most.... parking tickets -- Second City's very own Svengoolie, coming to you straight outta Chinatown. We're broadcasting live -- not a great idea, considering this crowd -- from the Drunken Dragon, where food poisioning and alcohol poisoning are always a two-for-one special! Seriously... don't eat the crab.


Tonight... is a very special night for the United Championship Infinite's dominant supergroup -- no, not ABBA -- The Guardians, as they welcome their newest member... a man who needs no introduction, because you're all going to be too drunk to remember this later anyway; a man whose wrath -- and penis -- know no bounds. You call him "Relentless"; I call him "sir".... he is.... ANDRE HOLMES!!!


The packed house explodes with cheers and applause as Holmes grins and waves at them from his seat on the stage. Among the crowd, as the camera pans around the audience, are a few recognizeable faces. Vince Vaughn leans against the bar with exaggerated casualness; Jenny McCarthy shares a table with a woman who looks remarkably like a younger Tina Turner; John Cusack has a booth all to himself; and Paul Rudd occupies a spot in the middle of the crowd, his gaze fixed firmly on the stage. Specifically, on one Alex Richards.


Svengoolie: Our first roaster tonight comes to us from seven hundred in the future, where they apparently still haven't managed to get rid of trailer parks. This girl who leapt through time is one-half of your UCI World Tag Team Champions... BONNIE BLUE!!! Genetic diversity be damned; send in the clone!


He steps back as Bonnie takes the podium, to a wild ovation from the crowd, and gives them a radiant smile as she waits for the noise to abate.


Bonnie Blue: Thank you, ladies and gentlemen... and Paul Rudd.


The camera pans across to Rudd, who makes a finger gun and gives her a wink as he pretends to "shoot" at her.


Bonnie Blue: Ehhh... no. Even a blind girl can see Alex Richards is the better man -- no offense, Becky. Ok, moving on. Andre Holmes. You know, I may be the only woman left he hasn't tried to sleep with -- and thank Shiva for that, because he also hasn't met a lady he can't knock up. Dude's got so many pending paternity suits, Maury Povich is gonna devote an entire hour to Andre Holmes.


Moderate laughter from the audience. Holmes, meanwhile, lets a thin bolt of electricity play around his fingertips, looking at Bonnie in mock-menace.


Bonnie Blue: Ok, Darth Holmes... you chill your Sith lightnin'. I ain't done. Talk about your anger issues. Andre ain't just got issues -- he got a whole subscription! The guy is so pissed off, the only letters of the alphabet he knows are F and U. Andre Holmes is so mean, even Simon Cowell is afraid to talk shit about him. He's madder'n a rattlesnake tryin' to bite a fencepost. Y'all know who else has anger issues? This guy...


On cue, an enormous high-def screen flickers to life with a recap of the Updegraff Industries Invitational Tournament. Bonnie Blue kneels as she tries to get to her feet. Wentworth Updegraff approaches to shake her hand, appearing to congratulate her on a match well-fought... right before he smashes her over the head with the briefcase in his hand! The audience boos loudly.


Bonnie Blue: I know, right? We tease our boy Dre over here, but he ain't never really done nothin' to nobody who didn't bring it on themselves. But Wentworth... man, I can't even follow his logic. First, he develops this bizarre fixation with Jay Omega for reasons nobody can satisfactorily explain. Then, when Jay's gotta go outta town for a bit, he decides to take his frustrations out on me. Because...um...


The Daughter of Time twirls one finger beside her head, in the universal sign for insanity.


Bonnie Blue: Dude's crazy switch is permanently flipped to "on." Like, he's just one Chelsea smile away from tryin' to kill the Batman.


But here's where the logic breaks down even further -- I done already beat your ass once before, Wentworth. You remember that shiner I gave ya, sugar? 'Course ya do. That's the excuse ya gave everyone for attackin' me immediately after I ate a Yakuza kick from David Sanchez. Yeah... takes a real brave man to assault a half-concussed woman, don't it, Updegraff? There's your "Standard of Sophistication"...


Maybe "sophistication" is just another word for "giant ego." Wentworth's got plenty of that to go around -- most of it unwarranted. I mean, his ego's so big, it should count as a tag partner. In fact, Updegraff is such a narcissist, every time he bangs a supermodel, he closes his eyes and pretends he's jackin' off.


Bonnie gives the audience a shameless grin.


Bonnie Blue: An' how 'bout that brother of his? Hunter... Motherfucker's so inbred, he might as well be a sandwich. His birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory. If Hunter Updegraff had another brain, it'd be lonely.


Shit, if I was related to that, I'd sue my parents for mental cruelty. But that's beside the point.


The point is this, Updegraff -- an' listen close, 'cause I'm only gonna say it once. You come after me an' my friends, an' you're gonna be the one payin' the heavy price -- but this ain't one even your ass can afford. You pushed me, Wentworth, an' when push comes to shove -- I'm shovin' back. I am gonna hurt you in ways that defy imaginin'. That black eye I gave you last time will be a pleasant memory in comparison. I'm gonna make you eat so much canvas, you'll shit enough sailcloth to square-rig a tallship. I'm gonna put my boot so far up your ass, you could unlace it with your tongue. I am gonna humiliate you in that ring an' take that Intercontinental belt you just now won... an' bring it home to the Guardians where it belongs.


You're slime, Wentworth Updegraff, Junior. Everyone knows it. An' when I raise that belt high over my head Sunday night -- when I wipe the last traces of you off my boot -- you're gonna realize it, too. See ya there...


Slightly confused at the change of tone, it takes the audience a moment before they realize she's said her piece. They cheer the promise of Bonnie's victory as she returns to her seat. Svengoolie takes the podium once more.


Svengoolie: All right! That was... um... intense! Now a few words from tonight's first musical guest -- a man who redefined the word "bland" in the mid-90's -- the great Hootie himself.... DARIUS RUCKER!!!


Darius Rucker: Hey, y'all. I just wanted to say, I'm a huge fan of what UCI has been doing since they opened their doors -- and especially a fan of this man right here, Mr. Andre Holmes! There is no greater honor than helping the Guardians induct this silly-looking beard and the man who's face it grew on. So here's a little throwback to those halcyon days before anyone knew what a colossal asshole Andre Holmes would turn out to be... Just kidding, man. Please don't kill a Hootie.







It's middle school all over again as the members of the audience start to pair off and awkwardly slow dance in time to the music. By the time the song has ended, Svengoolie is in the crowd, where he finds a bespectacled young man Guardians fans would recognize as Jack Hampshire. The host thrusts the mic in Hampshire's surprised face.


Svengoolie: Tell me about your experiences with Andre Holmes.


Jack Hampshire: Erm... well... To be perfectly honest, when I first met Andre Holmes, I thought he was kind of a dick. I mean, a real gobshite, y'know...


Svengoolie: But.... now....?


Jack Hampshire: Now? What do you mean?


Svengoolie: It's a roast. You joke about what a dick he is, then you go on to say...


Jack Hampshire: Joke? Nah, mate, no jokes. Andre's a twat. But Bonnie likes him, so I guess he's all right. For a twat.


Svengoolie: Well, there you have it, folks! Next -- Alex Richards takes the podium. But first, stay tuned for this word from our sponsors...


The roast logo appears on the screen for several seconds before it fades out, to be replaced by a commercial.





The Jack of Shadows leaned against the balcony railing, his eyes dancing over the faces in the crowd without really seeing any of them. He'd traded in his musty old trench coat for a fingertip-length suit jacket over a white Oxford shirt and a new pair of jeans that squeezed him in ...interesting places. Other senses picked up her presence, strong and vibrant in the dull psychic drone around him, and sent a thrill of anticipation up his spine as Bonnie Blue joined him, a smoldering blunt in one hand.


"Party's down there," she commented casually as she passed him the blunt.


"So it is," he agreed, accepting it and taking a long, slow drag.


Pursing her lips, she studied him thoughtfully. He wasn't usually so quiet. "Something wrong, Jack?"


He thought about playing it cool -- after all, it certainly wasn't any of his business -- but rejected that idea. If nothing else, he liked this girl, and would rather not see her get into something over her head. Even so, he hesitated; took another hit off the blunt before answering.


"You're... awfully friendly with Johnny Rabid these days," Jack said pointedly.


Bonnie waved off the concern. "We both work for the same comp'ny, Jack. I'm a risin' star -- already a Tag Champion, fixin' to be Intercontinental Champion -- is it any wonder that powerful men court my attention?"


"Your attention, is it?" Hampshire arched a brow. "Don't think that's what 'e's after."


"Oh, please," she replied, rolling her eyes. "That is the last thing on his mind. Or mine. Trust me."


"Not what I meant, love. Didn't you say he tried to kill you once?"


Bonnie hit the blunt again and passed it back to him. "If that was the endgame, I reckon he'd be a lot more subtle about it. Anyway, maybe he's actually not the same Johnny Rabid we left behind at ...that other place."


"Yeah, or maybe he's playing you," Jack commented.


"I didn't say I trusted the guy, Jack," she told him, a little annoyed. "He reached out. He seems to be makin' an effort. Least I can do is give him the benefit of the doubt."


In his mind, the shadows whispered, advising him to keep his mouth shut. Jack Hampshire ignored them.


"Listen, love... this world, or the other, that man is bad news. I don't want -- "


Bonnie raised a hand to cut him off. "What ya don't want is to say somethin' you're gonna regret, so choose your next words real careful... Mister Hampshire."


He fell silent, then, and took another hit from the blunt before responding.


"I meant to say that you are a brilliant, talented, and gorgeous young woman who knows what she's doing and can take care of herself," he said quickly. "But I still don't like it."


"Duly noted," Bonnie said coolly, and walked away.


His eyes followed her as she threaded her way through the crowd, pausing now and again to talk to someone or other. Good job, Hampshire! he scolded himself. Made a right bloody hash of that, didn't you? Real smooth, mate...





The dawn of Sunday morning found Bonnie Blue already hard at work in the basement gym beneath St. Therese's Chinese Catholic Church. Upstairs, she could hear the sounds of construction: the whirr of a bandsaw, the steady bang-bang-bang of a hammer, and the occasional vehement outburst from Armand de la Fontaine in a characteristic mixture of English and French. Finishing up a set of push-ups, Bonnie stood and stretched her arms out, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension, before she moved to the WaveMaster. The usual red target had been replaced by an artificial male head and torso, with features so bland, they seemed to morph into Wentworth's without any real effort on her part.


Spoiled, entitled, trust-fund-sucking leech...


Her knee crashed into the dummy's jaw as she leapt, rocking the base back violently. She caught it on the rebound with a back elbow and smiled with satisfaction as she pictured Wentworth stumbling away, clutching at his jaw.


Maybe I'll knock a couple of them teeth loose. If a black eye pissed him off, imagine how salty he'll get when I mess up that expensive dental work.


Imagine how the crowd will cheer!


The young blonde wrapped an arm around the dummy's neck, and brought it to the floor with a bulldog. Sitting astride its chest, she rained down a series of punches, then climbed off and let it right itself again. Gleaming gold caught Bonnie's eye, and she picked up her ever-present tag strap. She stalked the dummy, belt cocked back, preparing to strike -- and in her mind, she saw again the fear in his eyes when she had gotten into the ring with him last week, chair in hand. She saw again how he cowered before her; felt again an almost overwhelming urge to give in, to unload her fury and aggression in a single blow and avenge the humiliation she'd suffered at his hands.


No. I'm better than that.


Reluctantly, she lowered the belt and set it aside.


Sanchez was wrong. I got this far without taking shortcuts. I can make it all the way to the top on my own merits.


Bonnie set back to work on the dummy again, taking it slow this time, careful to execute each technique with precision and grace.


I promised myself I wouldn't fall prey to the same mistakes as my father; that I wouldn't compromise myself for a taste of gold. Now, here I stand on the very cusp of being a double champion -- only the second double champion in UCI, and the first woman to achieve the honor -- and the temptation is nearly undeniable. Nearly.


I will not taint my victory by lowering my standards.


Last week, me an' Polar proved ourselves against BeachKrew -- proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that we deserved them tag titles.


But this week -- this week is my time to shine. An' when I take that Intercontinental strap from Wentworth Updegraff -- when I wipe that cocky smirk off his weasely little face -- the whole roster's gonna have to take notice. 'Cause Bonnie Blue ain't gonna stop here. Won't be long now before I get my shot at the biggest prize in the business... an' I'll do it all my way.



=========================


THE INDUCTION COOKING METHOD
Series conceived by Bonnie Blue and the Polar Phantasm
Series directed by the Polar Phantasm
Episode I: The Roast's the Thing...
Episode written by: Bonnie Blue
'The Guardians' created by Bonnie Blue, Jay Omega and the Polar Phantasm
(Come home soon, Spaceman.)




[(c) United Championship Infinite 2016. All rights reserved.]