Post by "The Geriatric One" on Jul 9, 2010 20:27:19 GMT -6
(Waylon Hawthorne and his grandson Rory are sitting in a hotel room. Waylon takes out a cd and puts it in the CD player.)
RORY: What are you doing Grandpa.
HAWTHORNE: Research.
(The sounds of Teen Throb's poppy boy band Watch Out begins to play. Hawthorne cringes at the cheesy sounds.)
RORY: Why are you researching Watch Out?
HAWTHORNE: Because I'm facing that sissy, effeminate, hip swiveling, crotch thrusting, pansy on Saturday.
RORY: How is listening to their music going to help you in your match.
HAWTHORNE: A singer's lyrics are the window to his soul.
(Hawthorne pauses and listens to the lyrics.)
TEEN THROB: Hey Girl,
Oh baby,
baby, baby,
Yeah girl,
Ohhh yeah!
HAWTHORNE: Maybe the next song will give me some more insight than this one.
(Hawthorne skips to the next song.)
TEEN THROB: Hey baby,
Oh girl,
girly, girly,
yeah baby,
Ohhh yeah!
RORY: Isn't that the same song?
HAWTHORNE: No, the first one was called Hey Girl, and this one's called Hey Baby.
RORY: So what do these songs tell you about Teen Throb?
HAWTHORNE: They tell me that he's as creative as a tree stump.
RORY: Yes, well Watch Out has never been known for their brilliant lyrics. The main attraction in their music are there flawless harmonies and catchy beats.
HAWTHORNE: Excuse me.
RORY: Come on grandpa, these songs are kind of catchy. They make you want to get up and dance.
(Rory gets up and starts dancing to Watch Out's Hey Baby. Hawthorne gets up and smacks him upside the head.)
RORY: Owww, what was that for.
HAWTHORNE: You're dancing around like a little girl.
RORY: I'll have you know that boys can dance too. We no longer live in a stereotypical society.
HAWTHORNE: Yeah, sure boys can dance, if they want the world to think they'r queers.
RORY: Grandpa! You're narrow minded ways are beginning to bother me. Just because a man can dance, that doesn't make him gay.
HAWTHORNE: If he's dancing the waltz with a woman, than yes you're right. If he's dancing to this poppy pre-teen bait music, that's a different story.
RORY: It's not the 50's anymor Grandpa, music has evolved.
HAWTHORNE: That's it. Now I have to man you up again.
RORY: Please no, I don't want to get caught up in another bar fight.
HAWTHORNE: That's not what I'm talking about. I'm going to introduce you to real music, sung by a real man's man. A great Canadian legend. GORDON LIGHTFOOT.
(Hawthorne walks into a recording studio where Gordon Lightfoot is recording the 8 millionth version of 'If you could read my mind'.)
RORY: Is that Kris Kristopherson?
HAWTHORNE: No you idiot. That is THE Gordon Lightfoot. The man was a pioneer in Canadian music. He's a patriot, and a man's man.
(Hawthorne walks into the room Lightfoot is recording. Lightfoot gets off his stool and looks shocked.)
LIGHTFOOT: How did you get past security?
HAWTHORNE: I have a hall pass.
(Two security guards are shown bound and gagged.)
LIGHTFOOT: I'm sorry, but you're going to have to leave.
HAWTHORNE: I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's an emergency. My nephew Rory here needs to learn about music. I just found out that he likes to dance to the sounds of Watch Out.
LIGHTFOOT: Good Lord! This is an emergency indeed.
HAWTHORNE: Yes, worse than that, I think he may be turning into a gay. I figured a good Canadian patriot like you could set him straight on what music and manliness are all about.
RORY: Grandpa! Your politically incorrect ways only serve to continue the opression of an already opressed facet of society.
HAWTHORNE: You see what I mean Gordo?
LIGHTFOOT: First of all, don't call me Gordo. Secondly, I agree with the boy. In this country we have equality for all races and choices of lifestyle. That's what makes me proud to be a Canadian.
HAWTHORNE: What?
LIGHTFOOT: In this country we don't discriminate against our fellow man. We look not on the color of a man's skin, or on the romantic company which he chooses to keep. We look on a man's character, and judge him thereby.
HAWTHORNE: So, those homo commies have gotten to you too.
LIGHTFOOT: These are the fundamental truths of Canadian life.
RORY: Amen Mr. Lightfoot. You tell him.
HAWTHORNE: I'll teach you to besmirch the great country of Canada in such ways.
(Hawthorne tackles Lightfoot down to the ground. He smashes his head several times against the floor until he is unconcious. Rory pulls Hawthorne off and checks on Lightfoot.)
RORY: I think you killed Gordon Lightfoot.
HAWTHORNE: No, he's still breathing.
(Meanwhile the security guards have managed to get themselves untied and have called the police. Hawthorne here's sirens approaching.)
HAWTHORNE: It's the bulls. Cheese it!
RORY: Huh?
HAWTHORNE: That means RUN!
(Hawthorne and Rory run off. They arrive back at the hotel and rest on their beds.)
HAWTHORNE: I think the whole world has gone crazy. Wrestling has become barbaric, immigrants are getting college diplomas, and now even the great Gordon Lightfoot has jumped on the rainbow wagon. No wonder a sissy like Teen Throb has been able to succeed in this business. Back in my day a guy like him wouldn't be able to walk down the street without getting tarred and feathered, and now he makes millions of dollars and gets opportunities at the Extreme Combat title. It's high time for me to put a stop to this new trend. These girly men who spend hours in front of the mirror spiking their frosted tips must be stopped. It's time for the manly men to rise again. John Wayne and Clint Eastwood would roll in their graves if they could see what the world has become.
RORY: Clint Eastwood isn't dead.
HAWTHORNE: Really, tip of the hat to the miracles of modern medicine. If Clint is still alive, then that gives me hope. As I look at you, my weak little Grandson, I fear for the future of this world. As I look at Teen Throb, I fear for the future of wrestling. If he is the picture of the future champions in this business, then this business is truly doomed. My only hope in saving this business is to stop this metro fun boy from getting his shot at Extreme Combat glory, and bring some old school class to the extreme combat division. I'm gonna give that sissy a lickin' that will keep on tickin, and send him back home to North Dakota crying for his mommy. Are you listening to me boy?
(Hawthorne looks over at Rory who presses play on the CD player and starts dancing to Watch Out's Babe You Know You Want Me'.)
HAWTHORNE: I wish I had a gun.
(Hawthorne takes out his hearing aid and goes to sleep.)
RORY: What are you doing Grandpa.
HAWTHORNE: Research.
(The sounds of Teen Throb's poppy boy band Watch Out begins to play. Hawthorne cringes at the cheesy sounds.)
RORY: Why are you researching Watch Out?
HAWTHORNE: Because I'm facing that sissy, effeminate, hip swiveling, crotch thrusting, pansy on Saturday.
RORY: How is listening to their music going to help you in your match.
HAWTHORNE: A singer's lyrics are the window to his soul.
(Hawthorne pauses and listens to the lyrics.)
TEEN THROB: Hey Girl,
Oh baby,
baby, baby,
Yeah girl,
Ohhh yeah!
HAWTHORNE: Maybe the next song will give me some more insight than this one.
(Hawthorne skips to the next song.)
TEEN THROB: Hey baby,
Oh girl,
girly, girly,
yeah baby,
Ohhh yeah!
RORY: Isn't that the same song?
HAWTHORNE: No, the first one was called Hey Girl, and this one's called Hey Baby.
RORY: So what do these songs tell you about Teen Throb?
HAWTHORNE: They tell me that he's as creative as a tree stump.
RORY: Yes, well Watch Out has never been known for their brilliant lyrics. The main attraction in their music are there flawless harmonies and catchy beats.
HAWTHORNE: Excuse me.
RORY: Come on grandpa, these songs are kind of catchy. They make you want to get up and dance.
(Rory gets up and starts dancing to Watch Out's Hey Baby. Hawthorne gets up and smacks him upside the head.)
RORY: Owww, what was that for.
HAWTHORNE: You're dancing around like a little girl.
RORY: I'll have you know that boys can dance too. We no longer live in a stereotypical society.
HAWTHORNE: Yeah, sure boys can dance, if they want the world to think they'r queers.
RORY: Grandpa! You're narrow minded ways are beginning to bother me. Just because a man can dance, that doesn't make him gay.
HAWTHORNE: If he's dancing the waltz with a woman, than yes you're right. If he's dancing to this poppy pre-teen bait music, that's a different story.
RORY: It's not the 50's anymor Grandpa, music has evolved.
HAWTHORNE: That's it. Now I have to man you up again.
RORY: Please no, I don't want to get caught up in another bar fight.
HAWTHORNE: That's not what I'm talking about. I'm going to introduce you to real music, sung by a real man's man. A great Canadian legend. GORDON LIGHTFOOT.
(Hawthorne walks into a recording studio where Gordon Lightfoot is recording the 8 millionth version of 'If you could read my mind'.)
RORY: Is that Kris Kristopherson?
HAWTHORNE: No you idiot. That is THE Gordon Lightfoot. The man was a pioneer in Canadian music. He's a patriot, and a man's man.
(Hawthorne walks into the room Lightfoot is recording. Lightfoot gets off his stool and looks shocked.)
LIGHTFOOT: How did you get past security?
HAWTHORNE: I have a hall pass.
(Two security guards are shown bound and gagged.)
LIGHTFOOT: I'm sorry, but you're going to have to leave.
HAWTHORNE: I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's an emergency. My nephew Rory here needs to learn about music. I just found out that he likes to dance to the sounds of Watch Out.
LIGHTFOOT: Good Lord! This is an emergency indeed.
HAWTHORNE: Yes, worse than that, I think he may be turning into a gay. I figured a good Canadian patriot like you could set him straight on what music and manliness are all about.
RORY: Grandpa! Your politically incorrect ways only serve to continue the opression of an already opressed facet of society.
HAWTHORNE: You see what I mean Gordo?
LIGHTFOOT: First of all, don't call me Gordo. Secondly, I agree with the boy. In this country we have equality for all races and choices of lifestyle. That's what makes me proud to be a Canadian.
HAWTHORNE: What?
LIGHTFOOT: In this country we don't discriminate against our fellow man. We look not on the color of a man's skin, or on the romantic company which he chooses to keep. We look on a man's character, and judge him thereby.
HAWTHORNE: So, those homo commies have gotten to you too.
LIGHTFOOT: These are the fundamental truths of Canadian life.
RORY: Amen Mr. Lightfoot. You tell him.
HAWTHORNE: I'll teach you to besmirch the great country of Canada in such ways.
(Hawthorne tackles Lightfoot down to the ground. He smashes his head several times against the floor until he is unconcious. Rory pulls Hawthorne off and checks on Lightfoot.)
RORY: I think you killed Gordon Lightfoot.
HAWTHORNE: No, he's still breathing.
(Meanwhile the security guards have managed to get themselves untied and have called the police. Hawthorne here's sirens approaching.)
HAWTHORNE: It's the bulls. Cheese it!
RORY: Huh?
HAWTHORNE: That means RUN!
(Hawthorne and Rory run off. They arrive back at the hotel and rest on their beds.)
HAWTHORNE: I think the whole world has gone crazy. Wrestling has become barbaric, immigrants are getting college diplomas, and now even the great Gordon Lightfoot has jumped on the rainbow wagon. No wonder a sissy like Teen Throb has been able to succeed in this business. Back in my day a guy like him wouldn't be able to walk down the street without getting tarred and feathered, and now he makes millions of dollars and gets opportunities at the Extreme Combat title. It's high time for me to put a stop to this new trend. These girly men who spend hours in front of the mirror spiking their frosted tips must be stopped. It's time for the manly men to rise again. John Wayne and Clint Eastwood would roll in their graves if they could see what the world has become.
RORY: Clint Eastwood isn't dead.
HAWTHORNE: Really, tip of the hat to the miracles of modern medicine. If Clint is still alive, then that gives me hope. As I look at you, my weak little Grandson, I fear for the future of this world. As I look at Teen Throb, I fear for the future of wrestling. If he is the picture of the future champions in this business, then this business is truly doomed. My only hope in saving this business is to stop this metro fun boy from getting his shot at Extreme Combat glory, and bring some old school class to the extreme combat division. I'm gonna give that sissy a lickin' that will keep on tickin, and send him back home to North Dakota crying for his mommy. Are you listening to me boy?
(Hawthorne looks over at Rory who presses play on the CD player and starts dancing to Watch Out's Babe You Know You Want Me'.)
HAWTHORNE: I wish I had a gun.
(Hawthorne takes out his hearing aid and goes to sleep.)
