Good Barbecue Takes A Lot Of Time And Hard Work
Sept 27, 2021 17:01:27 GMT -5
Chelsea Skye likes this
Post by Ross Hanson on Sept 27, 2021 17:01:27 GMT -5
“Hey everybody. Skyeson here.” Ross Hanson enters the frame, carrying a bag of wood chips. As he walks through his yard, he is accompanied by Chelsea Skye and Mini-Human; the latter of which is wearing a chef hat and an apron. “We’re here to talk about the culinary arts.”
“Babe, shouldn’t we be getting ready for DC?”
“Never travel on an empty stomach, dear.” Ross Hanson opens the hood to a wrecked and rusted out Dodge Neon, permanently parked in the grass. “And when you’re slow cooking a pork butt, make sure to put the fat side up. Everything tastes better when it’s cooked in its own fat, kind of like how us beating Overbaker is more important after he’s got everyone convinced he can chokeslam Jesus.”
“He couldn’t?”
Ross pours in the wood chips, as smoke and a couple of flames pour out at him. “Not if Jesus didn’t feel like bumping for his big dumb ass. Mini-Human! Baste!”
Mini-Human produces a Super Soaker, aiming it towards the fire pit. He cocks the faux shotgun slide, pumping the pneumatic systems within the squirt gun into active.
“Baby, step back. This is gonna get hot.”
“Why? What are you…”
Mini-Human releases the stream of fluid from his squirt rifle. The flames erupt several feet above the car’s roof.
Ross chuckles, opening a Cherry Ale. “It’s Crown Royal Apple.”
“You’re putting whiskey on barbecue?”
“Mini-Human! Cease fire!” Mini-Human lowers the Super Soaker, blowing across the barrel. "Thank you, son. Good shot." Ross reaches over, using a stick to slam the hood shut. Flames shoot out of the sides of the car’s empty engine compartment.
“First off, you want me to eat pulled pork that was cooked inside a Dodge Neon.” Chelsea’s eyes are almost in a state of perpetual rolling, and Ross just nonchalantly looks at his feat of urban engineering. “Second off, you’re having your son shoot whiskey at it.”
“Applewood infused whiskey, honey.”
“What does any of this have to do with wrestling in a handicap match?”
Ross just shrugs. “I don’t know. I just know I’m hungry and I want a piece of the Overbaker.”
“Well, we’re both going to get a slice tomorrow night…”
“Wonder if Sue Chef will bag us up some of his dignity to take home in a doggie bag?”
Chelsea just stares at Ross' home-made barbecue smoker. "How have you not gotten a ticket from the city for this?"
Ross grabs a large set of tongs, clicking them together. "They have other stuff to worry about. Just like how Kylie and Cecilia have a lot on their plate, like finding a new GM to replace Thomas Snow. So sometimes stuff falls through the cracks."
"Dad! Is it ready yet?"
"Not yet, son. It won’t be ready until the Legacy Supershow tomorrow night. Good barbecue takes a lot of time and hard work, just like being a champion does." Ross hands his son a hot dog bun (he is using the front driver's seat of the car for storage.) "But since you're a former Futures Champion and you already knew that, do you want ketchup and mustard on your hot dog?"
"Yes please!" Ross pulls a perfectly cooked hot dog from the defrost vent, as smoke comes through the sides. As it is placed into the bun, Mini-Human smiles and leaves his Super Soaker full of Crown Royal Apple leaned up against the rear driver's door. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome, son."
As the youngest Revo1 Futures Champion ever scampers away with his hot dogs, Chelsea approaches Ross as he picks up the Super Soaker. "And here I thought you were kidding about wanting to learn how to cook!"
"There's one for you too, I knew you would appreciate it if I set you up for a good weiner joke." Ross quips before turning the Super Soaker rifle into his own mouth, squirting a hearty shot of its contents down his esophagus.
“Well, you know how I like a good sausage.” Chelsea says nonchalantly as she starts playing with her hair. “Just watch those videos I made in Vegas for proof of that! Well, while Mini-Human isn’t around at least!”
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't realized what is going on by now..." says Ross as he joins Chelsea, "...let us go ahead and clue you in. We're in on the joke. If it looks like we don't take a whole lot of this seriously...well, it's because we don't. The only time we need to be serious about things is when the bell rings. And until that bell rings, all of this is just a big tall guy trying to psyche us out while we don't give a shit. As this lovely lady here told everyone earlier...we bring two skill sets to the equation. Overbaker only brings one, and that's his cooking skills."
"Are you saying that Overbaker can't wrestle?"
Ross nods with an evil grin. "Oh yeah. I'm saying he can't wrestle….with us. While I hold him down in an inescapable predicament, Chelsea will fly through the air faster than he can try to catch her."
"Kinda like yin and yang, or a 69."
"Kinda.”
"You can't do a 69 with three people...at least I don't think so…"
"I'm trying to do some esoteric bullshit here, baby!"
"Never heard of that position before."
"It's the one where I pick Overbaker's overconfident ass up off the mat, you jump off the ropes and hit him so hard that the next time he tries to microwave a Hot Pocket he puts in his PIN number."
Chelsea nods approvingly with crossed arms. "Now that's a position I want to try with you, Ross."
"Don't worry, gorgeous…" Ross puts an arm around Chelsea, pointing at the camera with his other hand. "Tomorrow night, in our nation's capital where our government fucks us every day...we're gonna get the chance to do some fucking of our own."
"That's right!" Chelsea uncrosses her arms. "We don't just play around in the bedroom. We put in work. And well...we've learned a few new moves!"
"Oh yeah! You thought this was just gonna be another random pairing?" Ross starts to get a bit excited. "You thought this was just a stunt to get people to donate to Tara Fenix's Charity Cruise? Think the fuck again, my friends! Skyeson isn't just a running gag of social commentary of how dumb everyone else is about their relationships! No! Behind all of this goofy ass bullshit we pull, there is a tag team of legitimate contenders with drive and hunger for success! Behind this big ass pan of pulled pork I'm going to bring to the Legacy Supershow for everyone to try, there is going to be an ass kicking the size of one of Babe The Blue Ox's testicles and it is tailor made for Overbaker's oversized overalls!”
Ross and Chelsea stop to stare at each other briefly. “Say that shit three times fast.”
“I wasn’t planning on trying.”
“But we will be planning on trying tomorrow night…” Skyeson turn to face the camera again. “And we won’t just be trying. We’ll be succeeding. We’ll be establishing the narrative that will set the tone for Revolution1 Wrestling’s tag team division. You see...a lot of people seem to have forgotten that tag team wrestling is a thing in this company. I don’t know how, seeing as how many people here claim to be such good friends with one another. Chelsea and I believe in and trust each other so much, we’re willing to put our careers in each others’ hands. Clearly, the vast majority of you don’t seem to have anybody you can trust that much.”
“Left Hand, anyone?” Chelsea winks.
“Nice one.” Ross and Chelsea high-five. “I mean, it’s that or people are just so selfish, they don’t want to share their spotlight with somebody else. That could be it, too. But it doesn’t matter why there isn’t much of a tag team wrestling culture around here. There’s going to be now. Everyone who was waiting with their thumb up their ass for a tag team to show up, wait no more. Pull that sucker out, wash it off, and get it ready for the fight of its life...because if it’s attached to you, and you find yourself across the ring from Skyeson, it will be begging to go back where it came from!”
“It doesn’t start with Overbaker. It started last week at Rememberance. It started the second we hit that ring as a team.”
“And it doesn’t end with Overbaker getting his just desserts. It ends with us getting the Revolution1 Tag Team Championships. Our tall friend here is just the appetizer. He’s a big god damn appetizer, but he’s still just the first course. Overbaker, your timer went ding the second Skyeson walked out to that ring and by the time our feet touched the canvas, we were already former champions. For all that I did in the MMA cage, I did all that shit on my own. I didn’t have my son, and I didn’t have Chelsea. Last year, I was just beating the shit out of people because I was bored and didn’t want to get a real job. Now?”
Ross gestures towards Chelsea, and a still off-camera Mini-Human. “Now I’m here for them. Now there is no me anymore. It’s us. It’s Skyeson. It’s the tag titles. And it’s you, Overbaker, getting burnt to a crisp.”
On ‘crisp’, flames shoot from the hood of the car turned barbecue smoker, and the hood is shot clean off. A loud percussive bang sends Ross and Chelsea face-first, covering their heads, and the cameraman backs up very quickly.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD!”
“DAMNIT! I FORGOT TO TAKE THE FUEL PUMP OFF!”
“MINI-HUMAN! GET DOWN!”
The camera pans over to Mini-Human, sipping on a Capri-Sun while not flinching a millimeter as the smoldering car hood crashes to the grass only a couple of feet away. He looks back at the hood, then over at the camera, then back at the hood.
“Well…shit.”
The video ends. Please do not forward it to CPS.
“Babe, shouldn’t we be getting ready for DC?”
“Never travel on an empty stomach, dear.” Ross Hanson opens the hood to a wrecked and rusted out Dodge Neon, permanently parked in the grass. “And when you’re slow cooking a pork butt, make sure to put the fat side up. Everything tastes better when it’s cooked in its own fat, kind of like how us beating Overbaker is more important after he’s got everyone convinced he can chokeslam Jesus.”
“He couldn’t?”
Ross pours in the wood chips, as smoke and a couple of flames pour out at him. “Not if Jesus didn’t feel like bumping for his big dumb ass. Mini-Human! Baste!”
Mini-Human produces a Super Soaker, aiming it towards the fire pit. He cocks the faux shotgun slide, pumping the pneumatic systems within the squirt gun into active.
“Baby, step back. This is gonna get hot.”
“Why? What are you…”
Mini-Human releases the stream of fluid from his squirt rifle. The flames erupt several feet above the car’s roof.
Ross chuckles, opening a Cherry Ale. “It’s Crown Royal Apple.”
“You’re putting whiskey on barbecue?”
“Mini-Human! Cease fire!” Mini-Human lowers the Super Soaker, blowing across the barrel. "Thank you, son. Good shot." Ross reaches over, using a stick to slam the hood shut. Flames shoot out of the sides of the car’s empty engine compartment.
“First off, you want me to eat pulled pork that was cooked inside a Dodge Neon.” Chelsea’s eyes are almost in a state of perpetual rolling, and Ross just nonchalantly looks at his feat of urban engineering. “Second off, you’re having your son shoot whiskey at it.”
“Applewood infused whiskey, honey.”
“What does any of this have to do with wrestling in a handicap match?”
Ross just shrugs. “I don’t know. I just know I’m hungry and I want a piece of the Overbaker.”
“Well, we’re both going to get a slice tomorrow night…”
“Wonder if Sue Chef will bag us up some of his dignity to take home in a doggie bag?”
Chelsea just stares at Ross' home-made barbecue smoker. "How have you not gotten a ticket from the city for this?"
Ross grabs a large set of tongs, clicking them together. "They have other stuff to worry about. Just like how Kylie and Cecilia have a lot on their plate, like finding a new GM to replace Thomas Snow. So sometimes stuff falls through the cracks."
"Dad! Is it ready yet?"
"Not yet, son. It won’t be ready until the Legacy Supershow tomorrow night. Good barbecue takes a lot of time and hard work, just like being a champion does." Ross hands his son a hot dog bun (he is using the front driver's seat of the car for storage.) "But since you're a former Futures Champion and you already knew that, do you want ketchup and mustard on your hot dog?"
"Yes please!" Ross pulls a perfectly cooked hot dog from the defrost vent, as smoke comes through the sides. As it is placed into the bun, Mini-Human smiles and leaves his Super Soaker full of Crown Royal Apple leaned up against the rear driver's door. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome, son."
As the youngest Revo1 Futures Champion ever scampers away with his hot dogs, Chelsea approaches Ross as he picks up the Super Soaker. "And here I thought you were kidding about wanting to learn how to cook!"
"There's one for you too, I knew you would appreciate it if I set you up for a good weiner joke." Ross quips before turning the Super Soaker rifle into his own mouth, squirting a hearty shot of its contents down his esophagus.
“Well, you know how I like a good sausage.” Chelsea says nonchalantly as she starts playing with her hair. “Just watch those videos I made in Vegas for proof of that! Well, while Mini-Human isn’t around at least!”
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't realized what is going on by now..." says Ross as he joins Chelsea, "...let us go ahead and clue you in. We're in on the joke. If it looks like we don't take a whole lot of this seriously...well, it's because we don't. The only time we need to be serious about things is when the bell rings. And until that bell rings, all of this is just a big tall guy trying to psyche us out while we don't give a shit. As this lovely lady here told everyone earlier...we bring two skill sets to the equation. Overbaker only brings one, and that's his cooking skills."
"Are you saying that Overbaker can't wrestle?"
Ross nods with an evil grin. "Oh yeah. I'm saying he can't wrestle….with us. While I hold him down in an inescapable predicament, Chelsea will fly through the air faster than he can try to catch her."
"Kinda like yin and yang, or a 69."
"Kinda.”
"You can't do a 69 with three people...at least I don't think so…"
"I'm trying to do some esoteric bullshit here, baby!"
"Never heard of that position before."
"It's the one where I pick Overbaker's overconfident ass up off the mat, you jump off the ropes and hit him so hard that the next time he tries to microwave a Hot Pocket he puts in his PIN number."
Chelsea nods approvingly with crossed arms. "Now that's a position I want to try with you, Ross."
"Don't worry, gorgeous…" Ross puts an arm around Chelsea, pointing at the camera with his other hand. "Tomorrow night, in our nation's capital where our government fucks us every day...we're gonna get the chance to do some fucking of our own."
"That's right!" Chelsea uncrosses her arms. "We don't just play around in the bedroom. We put in work. And well...we've learned a few new moves!"
"Oh yeah! You thought this was just gonna be another random pairing?" Ross starts to get a bit excited. "You thought this was just a stunt to get people to donate to Tara Fenix's Charity Cruise? Think the fuck again, my friends! Skyeson isn't just a running gag of social commentary of how dumb everyone else is about their relationships! No! Behind all of this goofy ass bullshit we pull, there is a tag team of legitimate contenders with drive and hunger for success! Behind this big ass pan of pulled pork I'm going to bring to the Legacy Supershow for everyone to try, there is going to be an ass kicking the size of one of Babe The Blue Ox's testicles and it is tailor made for Overbaker's oversized overalls!”
Ross and Chelsea stop to stare at each other briefly. “Say that shit three times fast.”
“I wasn’t planning on trying.”
“But we will be planning on trying tomorrow night…” Skyeson turn to face the camera again. “And we won’t just be trying. We’ll be succeeding. We’ll be establishing the narrative that will set the tone for Revolution1 Wrestling’s tag team division. You see...a lot of people seem to have forgotten that tag team wrestling is a thing in this company. I don’t know how, seeing as how many people here claim to be such good friends with one another. Chelsea and I believe in and trust each other so much, we’re willing to put our careers in each others’ hands. Clearly, the vast majority of you don’t seem to have anybody you can trust that much.”
“Left Hand, anyone?” Chelsea winks.
“Nice one.” Ross and Chelsea high-five. “I mean, it’s that or people are just so selfish, they don’t want to share their spotlight with somebody else. That could be it, too. But it doesn’t matter why there isn’t much of a tag team wrestling culture around here. There’s going to be now. Everyone who was waiting with their thumb up their ass for a tag team to show up, wait no more. Pull that sucker out, wash it off, and get it ready for the fight of its life...because if it’s attached to you, and you find yourself across the ring from Skyeson, it will be begging to go back where it came from!”
“It doesn’t start with Overbaker. It started last week at Rememberance. It started the second we hit that ring as a team.”
“And it doesn’t end with Overbaker getting his just desserts. It ends with us getting the Revolution1 Tag Team Championships. Our tall friend here is just the appetizer. He’s a big god damn appetizer, but he’s still just the first course. Overbaker, your timer went ding the second Skyeson walked out to that ring and by the time our feet touched the canvas, we were already former champions. For all that I did in the MMA cage, I did all that shit on my own. I didn’t have my son, and I didn’t have Chelsea. Last year, I was just beating the shit out of people because I was bored and didn’t want to get a real job. Now?”
Ross gestures towards Chelsea, and a still off-camera Mini-Human. “Now I’m here for them. Now there is no me anymore. It’s us. It’s Skyeson. It’s the tag titles. And it’s you, Overbaker, getting burnt to a crisp.”
On ‘crisp’, flames shoot from the hood of the car turned barbecue smoker, and the hood is shot clean off. A loud percussive bang sends Ross and Chelsea face-first, covering their heads, and the cameraman backs up very quickly.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD!”
“DAMNIT! I FORGOT TO TAKE THE FUEL PUMP OFF!”
“MINI-HUMAN! GET DOWN!”
The camera pans over to Mini-Human, sipping on a Capri-Sun while not flinching a millimeter as the smoldering car hood crashes to the grass only a couple of feet away. He looks back at the hood, then over at the camera, then back at the hood.
“Well…shit.”
The video ends. Please do not forward it to CPS.
