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Post by Admin on Aug 9, 2018 13:26:27 GMT -6
 Tyke Index
vs
"The Adorkable Angel" Azurine VebbinsRoleplay Limit: 2 Roleplay Deadline: Thursday, August 16, 2018 @ 2AM Central Time |
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Post by azurinevebbins on Aug 14, 2018 3:23:16 GMT -6
Title of Promotional Material: Bowlin’ Over Trollin’
Date of Recording: August 13th, 2018
Location: Bowlero Woodland Hills, California
[“Da Damsel in Dat Dress” Azurine Vebbins approaches Lane 13 in a Snow White-colored VERO MODA Freja Sleeveless Mini Dress. She slips off her trademark blue Hell&Heel Clear Stiletto Court Shoes for footwear better suited for a bowling alley. “The Adorkable Angel” then proceeds to lace up her bowling shoes prior to grabbing a 9-pound ball. Her opponent may suggest his are heavier, but those used as athletic equipment are the only ones Vebbins hands have touched. Of course, such rhetoric could also be used to dissuade Wavy Cornett’s advances as well. Recording via the sponsored Camerasphere VRD App on her Phoneme Whippersnapper, Miss Vebbins aims, releases, and attempts to knock down ten obstinate pins. “Start the Commotion” by The Wiseguys plays in the background and adds a psychedelic freneticism to the proceeding promotional material.]
Azurine Vebbins: Good afternoon, folk! Gettin’ myself psyched up some-din’ proper for my first-ever dance wid semi-serious rasslin’ royalty. Gettin’ in tip-top Pippa shape for da professed “Kin’ of Coke Mountain” Tyke Index. Originally planned on celebratin’ by accidentally havin’ my step-sister Bonnie douse me wid a 2-Litre bottle of Coca-Cola. Just dat. Myself lookin’ like a blank crossword kind of puzzled. However, din’s change, don’t dey? Bonnie got nabbed by a rival’s henchwomen from a different company I work for. Also, I decided to harness a sense of focus via bowlin’ a few frames. Given our erratic footwork, dat last ability could provide me a slight edge, y’know? As of dis recordin’, which is on a Monday, August Dir-teen (13) for reasons of posterity...Index is a current, reignin’, and defendin’ Heavyweight Champion of da World somewhere. However, by da time we start twirlin’ and his world spirals on a slanted axis...only belt ’round his waist should be da one holdin’ his slacks up. And I fully expect dem pants to stay up, sunshine. Know you’ve probably floated slash flirted da idea inside your head and/or Twitter, but “Da Damsel in Dat Dress” is a spoken for dame. Know you could be caught in a “snowstorm” of dubious design right now, but I’m certain it’s less blindin’ dan Wavy Cornett’s lust-filled vision. I might be curious and got da notion, but wid his wife I very much do not want to “Start Da Commotion.” Combine dat and some late eighties/early nineties sitcom sax...you have Index’s entrance deme. Da Wiseguys are playin’ overhead. Reason I brought it up. Still, even wid her, Tammara Cornett, viewin’ behind him I need to focus on da technical tête à tête dat will occur dis Dursday.
[Azurine’s ball connects with the center pin twice her opening portion of monologue. Both times all ten pins scatter like repelled roaches.]
Azurine Vebbins: Makin’ da ascent to defeat you will be a most dauntin’ climb, Tyke. Den again, I’ve scaled similar peaks before. Not goin’ to name names, but someone you were “Reasonably Jealous” of? I was, too. However, my jealousy came from not bein’ able to connect wid my Pearly Gatekeeper again. You, conversely, implied infidelity. Dat was da final snortin’ straw. She left a sym-pad-et-ic heel, you sly sire. Linin’ up for anoder strike. Attemptin’ to shoot what is known in bowlin’ circles as a “turkey.” Gobble gobble. All dat jazz. Not goin’ to get intimidated or nervous by a wee lad. Rad-er, I plan to promenade out of Magness Arena as dis company’s most beloved babyface. Endearin’ly entertainin’ to a Rampart Range fault. Perhaps dat’s why Mister and Missus Mack paired us up. Dey want to know who da chanters gravitate toward, right?
[Vebbins busts out some crafty capoeira while lining up her next shot mentally. Along with using the standard fight stance known as Ginga, Azurine also employs kicks one would recognize Eddy Gordo from Tekken utilizing. These kicks include Armada and Queixada. She even does a maneuver called “Parada de Maos (Bananeira)” which demonstrates her handstand control. This latter movement is performed after rolling her bowling ball down the lane. She grazes the center pin slightly to the left. However, the other nine pins fall down in sequential order. “The Adorkable Angel” does manage to blush when she notices three X’s next to her name.]
Azurine Vebbins: It’s yours truly. Has to be. Loudest dree words mentioned by our payin’ public? Shush My Tush. Granted, you want to do so figuratively and I have suspicions Wavy notions to do so physically. All da same, it resonates wid da denizens of Denver. Plus, it resonates wid various viewers who legally broadcast our stream of consciousness. Deyr’s also da statistical evidence when chanters sport eider my cookin’ apron, softball jersey, or for da decidedly devoted...wearin’ dem to-ged-er. It’s a bold statement, fashion-wise. Yet, when I circle back to da word “gravitate,” I imagine you ponderin’ ’bout grapplin’ galactic, don’t you, Tyke? Your cerebellum must be speedin’ ’cross da cosmos ever since discoverin’ your “Good Time” will be spent tryin’ to turn “Da Universal Superstar” Anaquin Adams into a human satellite, huh? Meanwhile, much like my head bein’ in da clouds...mine is very much up in da air. Dat bein’ uttered, if you plan on me goin’ down dis week, Index, you had better snapmare out of it. I’m too upbeat, in dire need of an up-swin’, and y’know what much like my country music heroine Reba McEntire…”I’m Gonna Take Dat Mountain.”
[“Da Damsel in Dat Dress” slips back into her Court Shoes while the motivational melody infectiously inspires the other patrons. Apparently, some random fan chose that particular song ("I'm Gonna Take That Mountain" by Reba McEntire) on the jukebox so it would begin as Vebbins walked up to the shoe counter. As McEntire reaches the chorus, Azurine pantomimes having a lasso and shimmies right out the entrance/exit door.]
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2018 16:11:06 GMT -6
Reader Warning: Graphic and colorful language/imagery used throughout. All views in this are in character and not that of the handler. Chapter One:
Closures and Openings
Scene:
14/8/2018 02:34am
Rental Car with Harvey Goodfellows
I’d barely left Michigan for the last ever HcW show and already my phone hadn’t stopped, there were texts, messages of texts and even some phone calls. General consensus was that Tyke Index had went out on a limb and perhaps bitten off more than he could chew, more than I could chew. Hey, that’s fine. So let’s get it out there, last night I lost a world championship, one that I ate slept and very much breathed.
Shit happens.
I’m not happy about it and I’m not even remotely relieved about it, I had heard most the dirtsheets claim that Haitch Cee Dubya had become a chalice around my neck,
heck some even claiming I had long outgrown the place and you know what? Maybe in my heart of hearts I knew I had but I was loyal and that loyalty? That loyalty got
me nowhere and as I entered the rental car with Harvey he would nail my feelings in the opening sentence:
“Tyke at the end of the day you simply became a vehicle for success, a vehicle that had long since needed topped up with gas but nobody was putting out, nobody was
chipping in anymore. Eventually you became a spent resource and I promise you that as long as I am your business adviser that will never ever happen again.”
I was angry, frustrated and felt like I was hung out to dry oh and I done a few lines less than an hour ago, they were just sinking deep inside me, aaaaaaaaaah. That’s the way things had become in HcW the past few months and not a single soul cared from the boys in the back to the so called marks and fanboys paying entry concessions to come and see us. Hell, at one point I even got lost in the dance and by that time it was all too late.
Weeks would pass, mountains of coke would dilate and minds would melt. Suddenly I was in unfamiliar territory with unfamiliar faces, I am sure at one point there was
even someone disgusted with my character. Well hell, the sociopathic coke head offended someone. Harvey even laughed out loud at that last sentence as I repeated it
over and over on the long drive from Michigan to Colorado, I’m sure at some point as we passed through Nebraska I even spotted two cows milking each other and
chatting in their own universal tongue.
“Moo moo moo moo moo” one said to the other and the other said back “moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo”
Harvey slapped me hard across the face, I had been chatting to a milkshake machine in Wendys for five minutes apparently repeatedly referring to it as:
“Mr Moo Moo guardian of the milkshakes”.
Fuck, thaaaaat shit was good. It was the first mountain I had touched in months but hell Lance and I had robbed the hospitals dry of green
and the last hit I had before that was at some slum party on the outskirts of Detroit and that night ended up in a shoot-out but hey let’s not get into that one, point
being I deserved this.
As we became ten miles short of the Magness Arena Harvey said he had still not heard from the representatives of Robi Jean Mitchell who had threatened a sexual
harassment lawsuit, let’s be honest we never were going to hear anything back from that one, she was full of shit just like her little cronies who couldn’t wait to get the
fuck outta town the moment they seen this dawg arrive.
This week had been way too much to take but the beautiful devils dandruff decimated up my nostrils would make it disappear for an hour or two, maybe three? I didn’t
know anymore, all I was aware of was stop signs and cows speaking figuratively out of fast food machines. Skylines were evaporating along the horizon as we drove
faster and harder to the destination baby and suddenly I no longer felt attached to everything which was hurting me, HcW closing down was an afterthought and the
unfortunate unlawful events of Mile High the past few weeks became merely untimely distractions.
“So you’ve got Vebbins this week, wanna see what she been saying Tyke?”
I glanced at Harvey’s cell phone lay in front of me, her lips were moving way too fast and the words jarring out of her mouth all sounded disjointed but man this woman
was a walking talking Iambic pentameter head fuck, she was crazy I think she might even have been running for president at some point, her lingo was down with the
kids. What was I watching? Maaaan, she was on fire, syllabic presence pouring on the floor like nobodies business as she mocked the English language like some sort of Urban dictionary outtake.
My eyes were flipping and flopping trying to overhaul the verbatim crashing in front of my eyes like verbal atomic bombs, she was dropping that shit for real and one thing is for sure I wanted to feel it shower over me, like feel it real good.
We got out the car at the arena and entered through the side door, I always wondered why Harvey never parked directly outside, especially when I had popped
something.
Harvey told me to go right through the hall way, take a left and enter our dressing room – he also told me not to speak a word to anyone and that it might be for the
best if I drink a few bottles of the water left on rider.
“I dunno Harvey, seems like a lot of instructions”
Harvey looked at me angrily, he already felt like I hadn’t taken the title loss seriously enough and here I was a day later out my face and making distinct facial
mannerisms at milkshake machines that I thought were cows.
Harvey took a while getting to the dressing room, I think he might have made some friends in the hall way. I popped my head out the door and could see him talking to
Anaquin Adams, apparently this chick wanted a good time with me. All week she’d been twitting, twerking and tweeting about wanting to rub my face off the mat with
her thighs. Yet here Harvey was talking to her, if it wasn’t such a beautiful sight watching them interact I would probably have felt betrayed.
I shut the door and sat back on the sofa in our room, I could see sweat dripping from my fore head onto my hands, I had taken a bad turn and as I stared at the
fluorescent lights above my eyes I could feel the cells in my brain melt like plastic disintegrating under intense heating, suddenly my hands looked like flip flops which
were floating through the air at the speed of light, I was swimming back and forth.
“Tyke, what the fuck are you doing!?”
Harvey pulled me off the sofa and slapped me across the face for the second time today; he slapped me so fucking hard I felt a bit of drizzle leak out the front of my
lower lip and dissolve onto the linoleum below me like leaking trash bag juice.
I was swimming though and boy did I look damn fabulous sprawled upon this couch like a fucking sea lion.
“Tyke, why are you attempting to breast stroke on the couch. Haven’t you gotten yourself in enough trouble this week? For the love of god, you are a monstrosity. If
Robert Mack walks in here you’re done for, or is that what you want? To lose it all and why? Because…”
Chapter Two
So There I Am In…
Scene: Saint Joseph Hospital, Denver Colorado
Date: 14/08/2018I woke up in another room, this time it was surrounded by humans wearing blue overalls that looked like terrorist jumpsuits I could see these huge time machines that
had monitors and all sorts of big fruity numbers on them and the worst part there were lights, very bright lights and all of them were shining tiny little molecules in my
eyes…
Fuck, call me paranoid but these people were trying to kill me!
“Mr. Index, please refrain from moving. Do you know what happened?”
I glanced around the room, so okay, I might have freaked out and it turns out these people in the big blue terrorist jumpsuits are actually nurses. There were more
nurses here than Shieldmaidens on Twitter though and I wasn’t feeling comfortable in the slightest when I considered that mathematical equation to its fullest extent.
“Mr Index, we have found extremely high traces of cocaine in your system, life threatening in fact. Have you ever suffered from any mental health symptoms such as
suicide thoughts, paranoia or anxiety?”
It’s two in the afternoon and this guy was trying to get me to recite an Oscar winning biography, chance to be a fine thing my friend, get me out of here and get me out
here quick.
I tried to sit up and move my feet but my entire body felt like it had been left in the freezer overnight, I was numb and feeling despairingly like a spare part in an
overcooked Sunday roast, this sucked.
Harvey would point out three times later that evening that overdosing was nothing to be proud of and he was ashamed of my actions, when I told him that it made me
dance better he just didn’t look interested. Coming to think of it none of those men or women in the blue jumpsuits looked interested either, nobody looked interested
anymore...
Apart from maybe Azzy, Azzy seemed like she wanted to dance, she knew how important it was that we found our shoes on the journey down to Nuuuuu Orleeeeeeeens. As hours passed numbness would pass, fuzziness would sharpen and my mind would reinvent itself just like it always had, just like it always will.
As I left the big clumpy awkward time machines and those jumpsuits behind in that huge grey depressing building I thought to myself briefly how fun all this could be if
I left "it" behind, but the problem was I had no idea what “it” was. If “it” was the problem then I had a serious issue resolving it, yet maybe I never wanted to truly solve the problem, maybe “it” was buried deep within my identity like a location chip on a pet. Coming to think of it leaving “it” behind doesn’t sound much fun at all, it was anti fun and anti-revolution and dammit this Thursday I had to start a revolution.
Azurine, can we start this revolution together?
Promise that if I lead you will follow?
Cause in a revolution that is super important right?
Harvey told me that I should get some rest and that we would talk in the morning but I had so much to say right now, I was dying to talk, dying to invigorate conversation like never before.
There was nothing but space and opportunity between us but like the blue jumpsuits in that building, nobody cared, nobody dared to dream, seems like my entire life had been spent dreaming…
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Aug 15, 2018 7:49:42 GMT -6
Chapter One:
Rude Awakening
Scene: Sheraton Denver, Downtown Colorado Hotel
15/8/2018 / / 11am
I could feel a drip of water land on my forehead; Harvey was standing over me with a water bottle pointing at his watch
“Right Tyke, time to start working out”
It was bright outside, the sun shining into our hotel room like a beaming strobe light pouncing off each and every one of my pores with a sophisticated gleam. I reached under my pillow to grab my cell phone to realize I’d been out longer than first thought, get it straight when ya overcoming an overdose just a couple of days earlier you can sleep for the entire universe and then some.
Harvey had skipping ropes and a sports bottle, I hated when he done this shit, I knew he had some sort of disgusting whey powder or some disgusting shake passed off as ‘chocolate flavour’ in there, that nutrient shit was funky and not in the James Brown sorta way either. I had never been one for the traditional style of conditioning anyway, I think that much is a given considering the amount of shit I’ve thrown in my body over the years. I grabbed the bottle out of Harveys hands, took off the lid and gave that garbage a sniff.
Woaaaheeeee it was somehow even more gross and disgusting than ever remembering it being.
“Harvey, you know how much I hate this shit. Can’t I just go the usual 10k and drink extra h2o today?”
Harvey glanced at me like I was out of my mind, maybe I was.
“Tyke, two days ago you overdosed in a motel room – tomorrow night you go against an athlete who damn near took down the Shieldmaidens single handed and in a
few week time you go against…”
I had a curious flashback of Harvey chatting to Anaquin in the hall way, this time I seen their encounter in a different light, why was he chatting to her? Was I about to become the latest curious case of Montreal at Good Time?
“Anaquin Adams, the same Anaquin Adams I caught you chatting to in the hall the other day. Anything you want to spit Harvey?”
Harvey laughed almost dismissively of my concerns.
“Yes Tyke, you are correct. I was chatting to Anaquin Adams, I was chatting to Anaquin Adams about a lot of things – like where she bought her hair extensions, where
she likes to dine in New York and well…none of those things! Why do you think I was chatting to Anaquin? I was doing what I always do and acting on your best
interests. Tyke, when I was chatting to Anaquin yesterday I made sure that you Tyke Index would receive the highest share of the purse and on top of all that I wanted
to make sure she had taken a drug test before the match, because her arms are unreal, almost God like and not natural in the slightest…”
I cut in…
“You demanded she do what!? Take a drug test?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND HARVEY! Have you no idea how stupid that shit is, of course she’ll take a drug test and
then what is she going to do? Call me Mystic Meg but here is what will happen Anaquin takes the drug test we find out she has been on anabolic steroids and a plethora
of hormone growths and then what goes down. Anaquin demands that I take a drug test and yeah, how is that going to work out for us?”
Harvey ran his palms against his deeply receding hairline frantically realizing that he had made a huge cock up here…
“It’s okay Tyke, I’ll call Anaquin up and tell her not to bother. Hell, Tyke, even on your worst day you can take her. What was I thinking? I will fix this Tyke I promise…”
Harvey picked his keys up off the lamp side table and was about to dash out of the room, in all my years I had never seen Harvey so stressed.
“Harvey, where you taking the skipping ropes!?”
Harvey looked at the skipping ropes in his arm with a dishevel manner before dropping them on the floor and leaving the hotel room with a resounding bang.
While Harvey was away ‘fixing things’ or whatever the hell was actually doing, I had some time to think and think clearly for once. So often I had done the majority of
my thinking after a hit but this was different. Suddenly I felt surges of brain power, cells that I never even knew existed began to light up – connections and waves were heating up and causing a reaction that there were scientific explanations for but none of those really mattered to me at the present moment.
As I stretched my arms out and held my position for a few minutes, I would then tilt over to the left side of my body hoisting my hips and legs into a tucked in position.
I had undertaken yoga around a year ago and it was something I never really told anyone about, in all honesty, it was probably the least glamorous part of my day yet
the thing with it was, is that it was hand on heart genuinely the only time when I never felt like I never needed to take drugs anymore.
I slapped the soothing sounds of Regina Spektor “the Call” on and continued to stretch, god I felt like I was dreaming again…
Chapter Two
Soothing Eyes
Scene: Magness Arena, Denver Colorado
15 / 8/ 2018 // 2.20pm“I’ll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye.
Just because everything is changing, doesn’t mean that everything hasn’t been this way before.
All you can do is try to know who your friends are as you head off to the war
Pick a star on the dark horizon” I was listening to Regina do her thing again in my ears as I was walking around the Magness Arena, I probably shouldn’t listen to a song half as much as I do, but damn it soothes the soul. My whole world was in the process of change and I’m not quite sure how I felt about it all. Mile High was now for all intent and purposes my main place of work, HcW was now in the rear view mirror and as I drove further down this hypothetical road I knew that things would never be the same again.
I could see road and ring crew setting things up for Throwdown tomorrow night, Robert Mack was waltzing around furiously going over some notes for the commentary
team, word has it he wasn’t impressed with how Wavy Crockett continually appeared to break kayfabe and address the Shieldmaidens last week, seems it’s all still a bit
tetchier than he was letting on.
As I walked around ring side, I noticed a lot of objects that Azurine would probably decimate me with tomorrow night. I would smile and wince, this time tomorrow I
would be crawling and prancing around the room attempting to perfect my waltz for a Good Time later this month.
I could see Skrabz at the very back of the arena in what seemed a meeting with his Toll Gang members, they had big business tomorrow, so I suppose it is probably a
very important meeting, right? His body language certainly gave the impression that he was trying emphasize a certain point. Perhaps he was talking about his
favourite craft beer or more like he was discussing where he got his bananas and grocers from in the area? I couldn’t hang off anymore, I HAD to pop my head in the
chat, before I could though Skrabz put his hand up to my face.
How rude, looks like my invitation to the meeting must have been lost in the post. As I turned and walked the other way I could hear either Tox or Shox mutter
something about me being a creep.
It got me wondering as I sat down in Wavy Crocketts seat ring side, did people think I was merely a creep? By interpretation what even is a creep? I always thought a
creep was someone who smelled their own poop or picked their nose and flicked it into their mouths?
Being a creep was not the needing and wanting of a dance, being a creep is not wanting to get to know everyone in an incredibly close manner. All I wanted was to be
kept warm at all times, what was creepy about that? Damn, people were so precious and sensitive these days. What’s wrong with needing a cosy lasting embrace? Life
is all about intuition is it not?
Then suddenly I realized that the reason I was no longer a good guy is because people perceive drug abuse as naughty, the guys and girls in the back perceived me as
a piece of shit; worse yet a piece of shit that they wished they never met, that’s not very nice is it?
Yet it was this perception and interpretation which caused Azurine Vebbins and Tyke Index to be so different, the contrast couldn’t be wider and those galaxies that she constantly referred to would never be so unaligned.
I got the impression that Azurine looked at tomorrow night as a dance off, that she would drink some coca cola and have a ‘good time’ and she was right, she would
have a good time. Azurine would have a good time tomorrow if her interpretation of that ‘good time’ was getting her head smashed from pillar to post, Azurine would
for sure have a good time if that perception included reaching the top of coke mountain to never return.
Feels like I know you all so well Azurine, you really are adorkable, let’s teach other more about intuition and we can see if those galaxies ever do come closer because
I’ve got to be honest I’m not convinced you really want to have a ‘good time’ tomorrow.
By all means, though, I’m open to persuasion and you can consider your reservation to the top of coke mountain accepted 
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Post by azurinevebbins on Aug 16, 2018 0:58:49 GMT -6
National Relaxation Day Is Any-Din’ But
[Our scene opens inside a Bojangles Coliseum locker room. Based on Azurine Vebbins’ Twitter feed, one can determine which promotion booked her as Special Guest Referee. However, what’s important is that the assignment was light enough to make her day tolerable. Was National Relaxation Day and all. She begins folding and hanging up her referee jersey in an empty locker.]
Azurine Vebbins: Been fritterin’ all day ’bout compoundin’ chaos. It’s supposed to be National Relaxation Day. However, right now, I feel as dough Brick Tamland hurled a trident right at my external occipital protuberance. Da invisible object’s a trident since each prong represents someone who plans to strike me psychologically as well as physically. Dose individuals include Tyke Index tomorrow, Wavy’s wife Tammara provided she can belly up over da barricade, and my rival who competes at da local grapplin’ group here. Still unclear in my Mile High Wrestlin’ contract on wheder I can mention da specific outfit. However, dey are based in charmin’ Charlotte, Nord Carolina. Also, didn’t ask for my rival’s name given I was Special Guest Zebra for her match tonight. It’s an industry term for dose wearin’ striped jerseys. Seriously, not every-din’ revolves ’round horseplay. Pretty sure my chanters will have a day at da races wid my Fruedian slips tonight. Da dame whose shoulders were pinned down is probably steamin’ like broccoli. She should’ve focused more on her opponent and less time accostin’ me. Den again, some lasses languish learnin’ lessons. One prong pulled. Two remainin’. Feelin’ calmer. Brea-din’ better. Adrenaline slowly normalizin’.
[Azurine balls up her fist and pantomimes pulling out a prong from the back of her head. Vebbins clearly listened to Gorilla Monsoon’s commentary to understand what that one medical term is.]
Azurine Vebbins: Da middle prong is wedged in deep. Seems perfect for Tammara. She’s convinced Cornett and I are dirty dancin’. It’s da fur-dest din’ from reality. Could even say...borderin’ on absurdity? It’s not even Shakespearean. Dis lady speakin’ plainly in front of you comes correct while protestin’. Still, “Da Damsel in Dat Dress” can sym-pad-ize.
My situation developed under a different delusion. Biggest contrast? Wavy’s mod-er didn’t try gettin’ you and him divorced. My mod-er did dat wid my first spouse. Told her to vacate our home, find someone else, and have no-din’ more to do wid me. Spent days, weeks, monds scrubbin’ my halo ’til da spouse’s name was no longer legible. Still very soo-din’ to scrub my halo. Choosin’ not to demonstrate right now ’cause I lack da right cleanin’ supplies, my mind’s on someone else, and ruminatin’ ’bout dem causes ribald reactions. Shame I’m too far flung from Philly currently. Could really enjoy a good spoonin’ wid my gorgeous girlfriend.
Yet, as you tweeted me earlier today, you aren’t listenin’. Strugglin’ to find more similarities between us oder dan bein’ obsessive and compulsive housewives. Confident if inspected side-by-side our livin’ rooms would appear way too immaculate to be disorderly. Still, I’m pullin’ out your prong from my memory banks since you are not an immediate concern.
[“The Adorkable Angel” pulls a second “prong” away from the back of her head.]
Azurine Vebbins: Tyke, much like my place at da metaphorical top of Coke Mountain...da final prong is reserved for you. More dan Wavy’s wife or da oder dame you weighed heaviest on my mind dis week.
A. I’m your first assigned dance partner since losin’ your championship. You’re aimin’ to bask spotlight usin’ a bold statement. What better exclamation can you muster dan plantin’ my glazed gaze into da canvas like gladioli? It’s an August flower dat brin’s notions of remembrance, calm, and infatuation. I remember when Index roused da rabble upon his arrival. We resonate a calmin’ atmosphere when occupyin’ da same location. Dat last feelin’ of infatuation, dough, is where da proverbial slope of Coke Mountain proves slippery. Might explain da vibes slash signals you’re subliminally sendin’.
2. Proxemics more dan recreational drug use may have created a culture of creepiness. Interpersonal Communication teaches deyr are four spaces in which people communicate: Public, Social, Personal, and Intimate. It’s entirely plausible Tox as well as Shox were not Swiss Army Knife keen on you crowdin’ in deyr personal space. Chanters who side wid da Shieldmaidens may have also bawked at your bawdy remarks to [Redact Jilt]. Your amorous advances could be perceived as an invasion of intimate space. Statin’ dis as an objective observer in hindsight.
C. Dat’s not entirely accurate and I’m actin’ a bit like an unreliable narrator here. Trude is, one time...my first wife fought for me. Legit shoot...fought to prevent me from spendin’ a night wid some load-some lo-dario. Even dough she won, our marriage was never da same after dat. She felt everyone viewed her as a joke. Her career eventually recovered. Need to have a clear conscience when grapplin’ you. Know you’re not dat kind of guy, but for a few mere moments...I had flashbacks. Treat me professionally and let’s compete in a cordial manner, please?
Ford and finally, we’re goin’ to have a “Good Time,” Tyke, ’cause we will be entertainin’ our collective chanters. Dis dance is da highlight of my wrestlin’ week. Let’s make fireworks, let’s make memories, and let’s give dem some-din’ to talk ’bout.
[Our scene ends with Vebbins skipping away smirking.]
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