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- When : Fri. , 03.08.08 , 2:22pm / Where : The Hoff Homestead, Parts Unknown, Oklahoma... - [Static encompasses the screen's four sides. But not only the VISION of static is felt, but the harsh, crunchy sound of it... oozing from the monitor like water dripping from an icicle as it melts away as Mistress Winter takes her bow... and in her 'stead arrives King Spring. Just as the weather would indicate, seasons are passing... time is swiftly moving forward... away from the bitter taste of the past... and into the sweet, sweet nectar of tomorrow. But just as the static fills the void left by the last commercial, this very static passes as well. The screen's canvas has slowly become an ever changing landscape, painting a vivid picture of the outside world... its seperation from the past... and the calling of an ever-approaching future. And as this bed of static dissapears from our sight, it is soon replaced by the direct view of the heavens above during an early afternoon sky...] [The blazing sun looms above like a lantern, and is at the moment in the very center of the screen, surrounded by wispy clouds... every once in a while joined by a bird soaring overhead, returning from its seasonal journey. As moments pass, the camera's focus slowly drifts downward, away from the sun's glare, and toward the sight of a vehicle pulling into the Hoff couple's driveway. The vehicle is a brown and grey Ford Pinto, which is as rusty and dirty as the Ford truck it pulls in behind. Tiny rocks are sent flying from the gravel driveway as the wheels of the car run along the ground... before the tires slow to a halt. A foot from within the car kicks the driver's side door swinging open, before two, stained sneakers step out from the interior, and place themselves upon the surface of the driveway. A hand is seen reaching into a carton of cigerettes... pulling one out and lifting it upward... before placing the cig in the mouth of the driver, who's face is still partially hidden behind the door of the Pinto.] [The driver pulls a lighter from his right pocket, and flicks it a bit, bringing forth the small flame to light his awaiting cancer stick. As the stick is lit, the man shoves the lighter back into his pocket, before taking a long, deep drag. After a handful of seconds go by, he releases a few puffs... in between a few coughs. The man continues to drag... puff... and cough, until the stick wittles down to half its original length. The man drops the cigerette to the ground, and brings his right foot down upon it, rubbing it out with his the toe of his sneaker. As the cigerette is stamped to bits, the man rises from the vehicle... revealing himself to be built slenderly, almost bony. He is dressed from head to toe in 'Giants' merchandise, from his Giants jersey, to his Giants track pants, to the purple and black Giants cap resting upon his head. Long, raven black hair flows down from underneath the cap, and a bushy, black moustache lines the top of the his lip. The man scratches his ass, letting out a loud burp...] - When : Same day , 03.08.08 , 2:34pm / Where : The Hoff Homestead... -
*knock, knock* [A knock arrives at the Hoff couple's front door. Jack rests comfortably in front of the tv, munching away on a corndog and a bag of Tastyritos ; Darlene is working on a sudoku puzzle book. Neither of them is feeling up to the task of removing themselves from the couch.] Jack Hoff: Darlene! Go see who's at the stinkin' door, would ya? Darlene: Dammit Jack, why don't YOU get yer fat, lazy ass up and go get the damn thing, huh? I got it last... uh... some time. Jack Hoff: When? Darlene: I dunno... last week? Jack Hoff: Oh come ON, ya fat pig, I think we both know I got it last week! Darlene: Well... I damn sure got it the week before! So shut your big, fat, greasy, pizza covered pie hole and go see who the fuck it is, ya dick! [Jack polishes off the 'dog, before releasing a gargantuan belch from the very dephs of his gut. He looks at Darlene, with frustration in his demeanor.] Jack Hoff: DAMMIT, WOMAN! I will not, and I repeat, NOT get off MY lazy ass just so you don't have to get off YOUR lazy ass!!! My ass is MUCH more lazy than yours... YA COW! Darlene: Oh, how original Jack. You've only called me a cow twenty-four times in the past hour! Come up with some new material for once, why don't ya?! Jack Hoff: Ooo, well EXCUUUSE me! I didn't know we were scorin' on originality points ovah hee-yah!!! Why don't you take ya gatdam lil' melee mouth, sumbitchin' Screw-dokie puzzles, shine each and every one ah them damn things up all nice and spiffy like, do a few, cheat on a few, and leave some ah them things blank, turn them suckas sideways, and stick 'em straight up... ya do-the-dew, jabronie, cabrone, baloney AS- *knock, knock* Darlene: GODDAM IT JACK, ANSWER THE DAMN DOOR!!! Jack Hoff: WHY SHOULD I?! YOU ANSWER IT!!! Darlene: YOU! Jack Hoff: YOU! Darlene: YOU! Jack Hoff: Y- [OH MOTHERFUCKIN' CHRIST!!!] Darlene & Jack: ... [You two have got to be two of the laziest fucking people I've ever had the displeasure of narrating! Neither one of you want to get your fat asses off the damn couch? FINE. How about this - The door's open. Not locked anymore. End of argument. Whoever's out there, please come inside this godforsaken trailer, because for the life of me, I cannot possibly imagine ANYONE worse than these two. Whoever it is has GOT to be a step up...] *door opens* Darlene: Oh dear lord, no... Jack Hoff: COUSIN ROTCH! How the hell are ya, man! Cousin Rotch: Heyyy, heheh, cousin Hoff, I just came down ovah hee-yah, all the way from the neigh-bah hood, just tah see yer ass in the big time! [... Ok, somebody clue me in here. Who in the HELL is this guy? Seriously, he almost looks like a thin version of you, Jack. That is... if you had a long, healthy head of hair...] *Cousin Rotch removes the Giants cap, revealing a big bald spot on the top of his crown* [... Oh. Shoulda figured... Crap, as if ONE of you bastards wasn't enough! Now there's two of you! I'm surrounded by jack offs!!!] Cousin Rotch: Actually - Jack Hoff: His name isn't 'Jack Hoff', knucklehead! There can be only one Jack Hoff. :-P But, he's damn close! Cousin Rotch: Name's Rotch... Mike Rotch. [...] Mike Rotch: Get ovah hee-yah, ya big lug you! [Mike heads over to Jack to wrap his arms around the much larger of the two cousins, and as he does, Jack locks on a noogie. They both chuckle.] Jack Hoff: Heheh, Rotch and Hoff, back togeth-ah at last! Mike Rotch: Just like old times, cus'!!! Darlene: Ok, visit's over, get back in your goddam Pinto Bean and get the FUCK outta here! [I sense tension... Something happen between you and Mike?] Darlene: Aw, a few years back, Mike backed his fuckin' car over my weenie dog, Herculese. [... You named a daschund 'Herculese'? Kinda... ironic, eh?] Darlene: I ain't no iron! I'm smarter than that jackass cousin ah Jack's, anyway, so you best hush yer damn mouth! [... Er, anyway. So, you've hated Mike ever since he killed your dog?] Darlene: Oh, hate's such a strong word... Wish death upon? Sure. Hope that he burns in the fiery pits of hell for all eternity? Of course. But hate? ... Nah. [... Ok... well, anyway, as Darlene rants, Mike and Jack take a seat on the sofa.] Mike Rotch: So, how's the 'sport of kings' treatin ya'? Jack Hoff: Man, it's great. I've got this match with some Jamaican piece ah garbage... And once I go tah town on him and put him out tah pasture, I'll be headed to Wrestlemania! Darlene: Stardom... Jack Hoff: I'll be headed to Stardom! Mike Rotch: Sounds awesome man. ... [looks up at the cameraman] But, uh... what's he here for? Just as I pulled intah the driveway, there he was... he's been followin' me ever since... Is he some sorta stalker ah somethin'? Jack Hoff: No, no, no, man! He's here for the company! See, I have tah cut these things called 'promos'. Mike Rotch: ... What the h - e - double - hell is a 'promo'? Jack Hoff: Well, ya cut one tah win a match. Mike Rotch: ... Ya fart to win a match? Jack Hoff: Nooo! Dude, no, ya cut a PROMO tah win a match. A promo's where ya talk in front of a camera. Mike Rotch: ... Wait... so yer sayin' you win a match... a WRESTLIN' match... by talkin' in front of a camera. ... Is there somethin' I'm missin'? Jack Hoff: Well... no... I mean, it's not exactly like that. ... Hell, I dunno, it may be like that. I sure as hell know I don't win matches thanks to any form of wrestlin' skill cuz... well, I don't have it, let's face it. Yo, Writer, how DO I win matches? [Uh... I think that's better left a mystery.] Jack Hoff: No, man, c'mon now! I've got skills on the microphone, I think we can all agree to that, right? I'm a mic WIZARD, man. But that couldn't possibly win matches... could it? [HEY, LOOK, REFRIDGERATOR!] Jack Hoff: Where! ... Hey, we're in the damn livin' room ya sorry sumbitch! [:-P] Mike Rotch: Jack, I wanna cut one ah dem... promo things. I bet I could, ya know, 'entertain'. I was voted 'Most Likely to Become a Performer' in my class. Of course, I think they may have meant a street performer, as I was ALSO voted 'Most Likely to End Up Homeless by the Age of 21'... Darlene: Oh hell, you couldn't perform your way out of a paper sack, ya skinny ass prick! Mike Rotch: Jack, can you bitch slap her for me? Darlene: What, ya can't fight yer own damn battles, ya pussy?! I may be a woman, but damn if I ain't got a bigger sack than your bitch ass! Mike Rotch: BRING IT, SIST-AH! [Mike and Darlene spring up from the couch. Jack rises to his feet and holds them both at bay, as they both try to get at eachother... Darlene with straight fists, Mike with... what look to be the weakest slaps I've ever seen...] Jack Hoff: Alright, alright, knock it off yooz guys! Dammit, you're both my family, and I ain't gonna have yuz tearin' eachother tah shreds. [Or, more likely, having your wife make your cousin look like an even worse fighter than you...] Jack Hoff: WRITER! You stay outta this... Now, Darlene, you sit back down, and Mike, you come wit' me, I got an idea... Darlene: I hope it involves kickin' that buttrash of a cousin you got outta this trailer, and slappin' a padlock on the friggin' door! Mike: OH, THAT'S IT, YOU - *static*
the following announcement has been rented by the hWo... [As the envelope of static is removed from the screen, the colors which were once normal, are now restricted to a pair ; purple and green, the hWo's team colors. The camera-view is set upon the exact same place which we previously departed from ; the Hoff couple's living room, and its centerpiece, the tattered sofa. Darlene is sitting upon the middle cushion, seemingly unaware of the oncoming promo... Music plays in the background, joined by phrases such as 'We are in Control!', '2 Sweeeet!', and 'Get your hotdogs here! Get your red, hot hotdogs!'. Darlene yells for the stereo to be turned down, but just as she raises her voice, the tune is raised in volume, with the phrase 'The Hoff... is in... the HOUSE!!!'] [As this phrase escapes the stereo speakers, Darlene screams at the top of her lungs - ] Darlene: KEEP THAT SHIT DOWN, I'M TRYIN' TAH WATCH 'WHEEL'!!! [With her voice hoarse, Darlene picks up the remote and cranks the television volume up, but even so, it can't compare with the sound of the hWo's theme song. The hWo wins in the audio war, and Darlene is forced to manually get up and turn off the stereo... which is located all the way on the other side of the trailer, in the "master" bedroom. Darlene tosses the remote onto the couch, and heads first into the KitcheDiniBathroom, before making her way into the bedroom, where the colors revert back to normal. When Darlene reaches the bedroom, she is met with a peculiar sight ; a cardboard box has been stacked atop the bed, with Jack standind behind this, using it as a podium... his cousin Mike at his side. Jack is now dressed in a purple, leather vest... and short, purple tights, with the letters "hWo" written across the front in green lettering. In his mouth is a toothpick, which he pulls from his mouth and flicks in the camera's direction, with a cocky grin. Mike Rotch is clad in a pair of green leather pants, with purple tassles dangling loosely off both sides... as well as a green tanktop, with the same letters, "hWo", written across in purple lettering.] Jack Hoff: Hey yo... Rico. [... Rico?] Jack Hoff: Did the Fat Mang stutter? Rico... joo want a war? Essa... cabrone... holmes... We'll GIVE joo a war! [Don't tell me, lemme guess... Scotch Hall? Cuz you sound drunk off your ass...] Jack Hoff: Rico, the name is Bing O. Hall, mang... and as always, the Fat Mang is standing next to the one and only... Big Horny. Mike Rotch: Big Horny... is in... the... HOOOUUUSE!!! ... Or trailer. ... Big Horny's in the trailer... screw it. Jack Hoff: Soon, we're gonna bring in a third man... actually, make that... a third WOMAN. [... Wouldn't that be ONE woman, and two men? Unless you fellas are hiding something... ?] Darlene: What in the HELL have you assholes done to the bedroom?! Why is there cheese-wiz sprayed everywhere?!?! [Jack reaches under the upside-down cardboard box, and pulls out a can of cheese-wiz. He shakes it up thoroughly, before spraying the letters 'hWo' over the screen of the couples' television set. God, this is ludicrous...] Jack Hoff: Does THAT answer your question, chica? Darlene: ... NO. Now clean this shit up before I kick BOTH of you out! And that includes you, Jack! Jack Hoff: Oh come on! I was gonna make you the third member... Barelygood Helga! Darlene: Hell no! I ain't gettin' wrapped up in one ah yer stupid ass promo's! Not again. Not after I dressed up like 'Kung-fu Betty' in that parody of Duff. After I went for that spinning heel kick, I almost cracked my back in seven places! And besides, you know I can't do Hogan. I may be gettin' up there in age, but I sure as hell ain't poppin' no 'roids, and my skin ain't orange! Jack Hoff: You're right about that... Mike Rotch: You're so pale ya look like a damn... frozen turkey or somethin'. Jack Hoff: Heheh. Darlene: Oh yeah, VERY funny, ya couple ah fuckwits... You guys are a laugh a minute, ya know that? Too bad my watch stopped! Jack Hoff: ... Mike Rotch: Huh? Darlene: Oh, just shut up and clean up this mess before I have you both arrested for disturbing the peace! Mike Rotch: I'll give you a piece... a piece of my MIND... bitch. [Darlene leaves Mike and Jack in the room, covered from wall to wall in cheese.] Mike Rotch: Welp... been nice visitin'. See ya. Jack Hoff: What! Dammit Mike, you did as much of this crap as I did! You atleast deserve to clean up half this shit! [But he was gone.] Jack Hoff: WHAT?! NO HE WASN'T... DAMMIT! He was just here! Writer, stop fuckin' me around! [Hey, you wanted me back so damn much. I'm just showing you my gratitude. :-) ] Jack Hoff: ... You are SO dead... but not until after I give Drew Jockstrap a piece ah my mind. Camera - ZOOM! [Jack clears the box from the bed, and sits down, stretching one foot up onto the sheet... with his other planted firmly on the floor. Jack massages his foot... before taking a tiny sniff. He coughs, and wheezes.] Jack Hoff: Wow, yup, I definitely have athlete's foot. [Eww! When did smelling your feet become the usual method of testing for athlete's feet?! God, you're deranged...] Jack Hoff: Aw shaddap... [looks into the camera, with a determined glare] So, my feet are rank. But I'll tell ya one thing...whether seperate or united, my feet don't stink anywhere near as bad as the stench of defeat drifting in from the Drew Jockstrap front. ... Do you smell that? [You're feet?] Jack Hoff: NO, NOT MY FEET!!! Dammit... I'm talking about the smell... of the END! The end for Jockstrap... the end of his hopes of becoming the first Rising Star Champion... the end of his dreams of using the Hoff as a stepping stone, like so many before him have prepared themselves for... They prepared to walk all over the Hoff... to make him into an "example"... and why? Because of a little weight problem. Because the Hoff likes to eat a few extra meals in between meals. Because every day, the Hoff expands, and gains a few more measly pounds. But baby, the Truth is, the Hoff is only expanding because, while his girth enlarges? So does his repertoire! The Hoff is constantly improving in the ring! The Hoff is constantly adding new skills and techniques to his already vast and superior moveset! And Drew, ya Jamaican Augmentation, you! When you meet the Hoff in THAT very ring... you better be prepared. Because this Monday? The Hoff unleashes a brand new move... a move so deadly, it can only be called - Jack Hoff: THE F-UNDIE!!! [Jack grins, and pulls his foot from the bed. Sitting on the edge, Jack scratches his back, before scratching his head... He ponders.] Jack Hoff: Drew... I gotta wonder. I mean, you've heard the rumors... you've felt the hype... you've SEEN me perform. You know... Just as the millions... [...] Jack Hoff: - AND MILLIONS... of the Hoff-a-Holics know, that the Hoff is the real deal, sex appeal, kiss the girls and make 'em SQUEAL son-of-a-BITCH that has all the answers to every last question you could possibly inquire! And the question that is on everyone's mind, the question that's eatin' away at the pit over everyone's stomach, the question that's burning the wires IS... are ya feelin' irie? Cuz MON... The Hoff doesn't seem tah think so. See, as far as the Hoff is concerned, you've already displayed that you've heard it, you've felt it, you've seen it, you've... *sniff, sniff* SMELLED it... and by gawd soon? You're gonna taste it! Drew... Jamaican INFLATION... Spectacle, this Monday, in two days, at the Richmond Coliseum? When the Hoff drops the most electrifyin' fing-ah... when he opens up a couple cans ah whoop that ass... and when he brings the millions and millions to their feet... buddy boy, it will begin... and end, just - like - *snaps fingers* THAT. Because I have the will, I have the skill, and I have the gatdam determination, tah bring even the tallest mountain of a man to his knees... all I gotta do... is Believe. [Jack stands from the bed, walks toward the door, opens it, and is about to exit... when he stops. He turns his head, and looks into the camera.] Jack Hoff: Here Comes the Pain. [Hoff smiles, and raises an eyebrow... before parting through the open door... closing it behind him...] [... showing a large star drawn on the door with cheese-wiz... with these words sprayed in the middle ; ] - rise to the occasion - |
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Ya know why? Because THAT'S... How I Rick
Roll !!! Promo Title: "Family
Plan..." Current Win / Draw / Loss Ratio: 3 / 0 / 2 |