Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2013 12:03:44 GMT -5
For the last half an hour, Trey Parker had been living in an alternate dimension. A sort of parallel universe where seconds took days and minutes spanned lifetimes. Where everything seems to grind to a nail pulling halt and every twitch of a muscle, every breath taken is as deafening and explosive as a war zone. This is the kind of atmosphere that one can only have when having the most important conversation of their life with somebody, and that was exactly what had happened to Trey Parker as he sat in the Bonsoir Café wearing a turtle neck sweater and jeans, eating soup with famous Code Red Wrestling owner Talon Wilkinson.
Trey Parker doesn't get stage fright. Trey Parker doesn't get cold feet. Yet when his entire future hangs in the balance right before his very eyes, it's impossible for even someone as mentally dulled as Trey not to be on the edge of his seat with nerve and excitement. When Trey Parker finally stands up from his ornate steel frame seat, he feels years older. His bones creak as he straightens up while a feeling of weariness and relief after a hard days work washed over him like mighty waves crashing on the shores of Venice Beach. All this from a mere thirty minutes, a speck on the boundless time line of life, and despite having only been awake about two hours.
After a long pause, Talon Wilkinson spins his MacBook around to show Trey the screen displaying his all new profile page on the Code Red Wrestling website. Trey's eyes light up as bright as he realises his future is going to be, overcome with a sense of joy that not even Attack of the Crab Monsters could match. Trey is set to live his dream of being a somebody, a Code Red Wrestling wrestler and he feels amazing for it.
”Cool.” murmured Trey, nodding a calm and collected approval that masked an inner desire to turn into a drivelling fan boy that would make Sarah Snap seem not like a social putz.
”Welcome aboard Trey. I know Aubrey won't be happy about it, but I've seen your work and we can't afford to not have someone like you in our ranks.” affirmed Talon, standing up from his seat with a hand to shake for Trey.
”Thank you sir.”
Trey shook Talon's hand eagerly, wiping shaggy locks of falling brown hair out of his eyes before taking his hand back and producing a joint and a lighter from his pocket. Popping it in his mouth, he looks up at Talon and catches him staring disapprovingly at him.
”May I?” asked Trey meekly, lighter already lit in his hand. Talon sighed and shook his head.
”I'm your boss, Trey.” said Talon sternly, folding his arms like he was a disapproving father.
”Yeah. That's why I'm asking you.” nodded Trey, completely missing the point. He paused for a minute, still unsure what Talon's objection was until the proverbial lightbulb popped above his head. He took the joint from his lips and presented it along with the lighter to Talon.
”Oh! Do you want first toke?” beamed Trey enthusiastically. Talon sighed again, shielding his face in embarassment.
”No, I mean, we're a company that promotes good health of our workers. We forbid members of the roster from smoking, and have a clause in the contract that allows us to automatically terminate anyone convicted of drug offences or who fails a drug test.” states Talon matter of factly. Some of the words sail over Trey's head, but he comprehends the basic gist of it.
”Right. Okay. Well, I haven't had one in like two weeks which is how I passed mine. This is a good day for me and I like to celebrate when good things happen. May I?” pleads Trey, putting it back in his mouth.
”We do drugs tests every six months. Keep it calm, don't be stupid and don't smoke on show days. That's all I ask.” requests Talon, appeasing Trey with a reasonable compromise. What few people are in the Bonsoir Café are watching the scene unfold, with Talon growing increasingly uncomfortable at the attention.
[colorlimegreen]”Alright, cool. Thanks man.”[/color] says Trey. He goes to light up again, but remembers where he is and heads for the door.
”Want some? he asks Talon as he makes his way out.
”I'm good. Thank you. I'll be arranging your tickets soon, so you can make your debut on the next Face Off. I'm expecting good things from you Trey. I'll be in touch.” says Talon as he hands a stack of bills to the café owner before taking his laptop and heading out the back way. Trey nods and leaves the café where he's practically bowled over by an impatient Sarah Snap pouncing on him.
“Trey! Oh my God I've been so bored out here! How did it go?! Did he offer you a contract?!” she booms, pounding Trey's chest excitedly with the bottom of her clenched fists. Trey wheezes and staggers back, not wanting to fight back but not enjoying the punishment.
”Uhh... Yeah.” nods Trey, turning his side on Sarah so he can light his joint up and not get bruised ribs.
”Thank God! At least one of us got employed.” says Sarah, having been unsuccessful in her own attempts to get employed by Talon.
”Talon didn't offer you a job?” queries Trey, puzzled that Sarah's “incredible social charm” didn't get her into Talon's good graces.
”Nope!”
”What's next then? Back to Idaho, IHOP and running your website?” asks Trey, taking a second toke before passing it to Sarah. Sarah wrinkles her nose at the joint, reluctantly taking a drag of her own.
”No, silly. I'm coming with you!” she says with such confidence to back up her mile wide smile. Trey's train of thought totally derails at this unexpected announcement, so he turns to face her with uncertainty in his kush green eyes.
”... What?”
”Psht. You weren't really expecting me to just go home right?” scoffs Sarah as she blows a cloud of smoke in Trey's face, much to his chagrin.
”Well... yeah. I mean, what else are you gonna' do?” ponders Trey.
”Tour with you! Be your booking agent, manager and publicist, obviously! I'm gonna' make you a celebrity!”
”Uhhh, I don't know about that dude. I'm kinda' a solo rider, and I don't wanna be like those dudes you write about in your blog. That lifestyle is wayyyyyy too vexing for me.”
”What?” The shine from Sarah's face vanishes as her dream sifts through the gaps in her fingers and down the drain forever.
”I mean... This is my dream, my career, this is my chance and I wanna do it my way.” says Trey calmly. Sarah scrunches her face up, distraught by the news.
”Oh so that's it, is it? You're just going to drag me down here, fuck me and throw me away?!” screams Sarah, trying to grab as much attention as possible.
”Dude, we shared a bed once. We didn't even hold hands. Quit making a scene man. You're killing my buzz.” hushed Trey. Unphased by Sarah's embarrassment techniques, he turns his back to any potential audiences and takes the joint back from Sarah.
”I thought I meant more to you than that! I thought we were good friends! Even your skater pals liked me!” protested Sarah. Her assertion on her social standing with a bunch of people Trey introduced her puts a knowing smirk on his face.
”They were seventeen and thought you had rocking tits, but even they thought you were a tool-what're you doing?” Trey interrupts himself as Sarah sinks to the curb, burying her face in her knees to hide the salty tears that craved trails down her sun speckled cheeks.
”It's-... it's fine.” lied Sarah, turning her face away from Trey as he peers down to look at her.
”Don't be bugging out on me dude. You're cool and all but... I wanna do this alone and my way.” assures Trey as he takes a seat next to her. Sarah turns and stares into Trey's eyes, the glow and vitality of youth replaced by a deep emptiness.
”My parents never gave a damn about me y'know. All they did was push me aside. They said I was too 'preppy', too 'happy' to deal with. All bubble and no substance or personality. I've got no friends. My co-workers hate me at IHOP and everyone says I'm a terrible blog writer.” laments Sarah. Trey isn't one to be bugged by guilt trips, but Sarah baring her soul out to him is difficult not to respond to emotionally.
”Dude... chill out. You're my friend, I-” Trey tries to put a hand on her shoulder but Sarah shrugs him off violently, glaring at him through teary, bloodshot eyes.
”I don't need your fucking sympathy, Trey.!” she snaps before sinking her eyes to the drain beneath her knees.
”I'm sorry, dude.” apologises Trey. He takes another drag of his joint, the effects of the marijuana starting to kick in as he passes it back to Sarah.
”Y'know, I watched your old wrestling footage that you showed to Talon. It was good, it was really good. You'd go out to the ring and declare yourself the voice of a forgotten generation and everyone loved you. You said you represent the underbelly of society. People with no prospects, no hope, no future, just the kind of dudes who bum around, chill and don't want to change the world. The kind of people society rejects for not being ambitious. Well society has rejected me Trey. Nobody wants me around. Even the forgotten generation wants to forget me.” confesses Sarah with a heavy sigh, like the weight of the world is lifted from her shoulders with her expression of her anguish. She turns to Trey, blinking back more tears from her glowing indigo eye.
”Just because I don't dress in black Trey doesn't mean I'm not alone. The bright clothing I wear is the only thing that stops me wallowing in misery and self-pity. I feel like if someone is noticing me, then maybe someone will accept me and I won't be so worthless after all. Why else would I go on some crazy mission to California to meet some guy and some wrestling promoter? All I want is... I want to fit in.” says Sarah, choking back a weak sob and staring at the clear skies. A long pause drags for what feels like aeons before Trey weakly concedes.
”Alright. Jeez. You can come with me.” he says, buckling under the pressure of Sarah's emotional anguish. To his surprise, she leaps onto him and wraps her arms around the stoner youth, hugging him in a vice grip.
”Thanks Trey! Love you!” she beams, kissing him on the cheek before dusting herself off, getting to her feet and passing the joint back to Trey. Trey's change of heart having seemingly erased Sarah's tears and depression, Trey can only stare in wonderment at how crazy bipolar she is as she helps him to his feet.
”Let's go back to your place and pack your bags, then we can get high together. Deal?” she asks with a dazzling, bleach white grin. Trey nods.
”Sure, but you're paying for the weed this time.” insists Trey as Sarah leads him by hand up the street.
”Okay!”
Sarah's gone again. I'm not sure where. It doesn't really matter but at least now I can actually take a moment to hear my own thoughts. All I know is that I'm here now, backstage at Face Off, waiting for my match with Jake Raab. Now I've watched a whole bunch of late night TV at 4AM with a box of cheesy dunked nacho's in one hand and a bong in the other, with one of my friends usually on remote control duties, and while my mom always told me that I'd never learn anything in front of “the idiot box” as she called it I'm proud to say I can prove her wrong. Through countless movie marathons and hilarious European TV, I can actually say I know who Jake Raab is because I know his cousin Stefan used to be the host of some weird music show in Austria or Germany or some place like that.
The idea of the show was simple. Stefan'd have all these insane foreign pop groups on to I think promote their albums, play a couple of songs, answer questions from the audience and then after all that, at the end of the show, Stefan would make them do some stupid challenges that he'd set up and would compete personally against the band. Just weird, difficult, but funny stuff like who can race through a bouncy castle assault course the fastest wearing boxing gloves and waterproof boots or who can eat the most sushi in five minutes. Before I got my job at the gas station, me and my buddy Chucky were hooked on this show and would watch it every week. We'd get high as ass and put bets on the challenges to see who would win. I lost a lot of money thanks to that show.
In the end though, the show got stopped when Stefan quit out and decided he wanted to be a professional wrestler which is kinda' like me except I wasn't a loaded TV host. I was just a guy packing a bong and laughing at monster movies with my friends. Now I didn't know this at the time but I learnt much later on that apparently Stefan Raab was supposed to be a total doucher to work with. He'd bully his coffee boys, his producers and even the network executives for privileges and payslips and once he'd milked it for everything it was worth, he stepped out and took on a new challenge. As a wrestler, he decided it was no longer necessary to hide that egotistical side of him and decided to make a point of publicly throwing his weight around. So when they told me I was fighting his cousin, I wasn't looking forward to it.
But then Sarah came back to me and told me that Stefan is the dirty secret of his family that nobody likes to talk about. He's the outcast, or the self exiled one who thought he was too good to be associated with his family, which I can totally feel because my sister does the same. Then Sarah tells me that actually, Jake Raab is a good kid. He's an MMA fighter, but he's good people. He doesn't throw his weight around. He doesn't try to tell peopl what to do. He lives his life day by day, without causing conflict and honestly? I can dig that. If you can be chill and keep things together while the people you're supposed to be closest to want nothing to do with you, then you're a stronger man than most.
What I can't, or rather what, I couldn't understand at first was mixed martil arts. There's no showmanship in breaking some bums arm in twenty different places with a super ninja judo lock from India. There's no art. No grace and beauty to it like when I take to the top rope. But then that's when it hit me. There are difference styles of art. Being efficient, ruthless, getting things done quickly and to the point, that is an art all of it's own. So when we step into the ring, this won't just be a wrestling match, it'll be a war of art. Grace and glory against precision and ingenuity. Who will come out on top? I can't even begin to fathom, but it'll be tight to watch it unfurl before our very eyes.
All I know is that every stroke and splatter I make with the paint brush will be done with the hope that it may be great. I want to stun and impress the people at Face Off with my brand of artwork. I want to show them exactly what it is that I, the lowest tier of success can actually do. The kinda' dude who makes people say “If Trey Parker can do it, anyone can”. That's what I want. That's what I need. Win, lose or draw, that's the aim Jake Raab and I can only hope to see you from the same.
Trey Parker doesn't get stage fright. Trey Parker doesn't get cold feet. Yet when his entire future hangs in the balance right before his very eyes, it's impossible for even someone as mentally dulled as Trey not to be on the edge of his seat with nerve and excitement. When Trey Parker finally stands up from his ornate steel frame seat, he feels years older. His bones creak as he straightens up while a feeling of weariness and relief after a hard days work washed over him like mighty waves crashing on the shores of Venice Beach. All this from a mere thirty minutes, a speck on the boundless time line of life, and despite having only been awake about two hours.
After a long pause, Talon Wilkinson spins his MacBook around to show Trey the screen displaying his all new profile page on the Code Red Wrestling website. Trey's eyes light up as bright as he realises his future is going to be, overcome with a sense of joy that not even Attack of the Crab Monsters could match. Trey is set to live his dream of being a somebody, a Code Red Wrestling wrestler and he feels amazing for it.
”Cool.” murmured Trey, nodding a calm and collected approval that masked an inner desire to turn into a drivelling fan boy that would make Sarah Snap seem not like a social putz.
”Welcome aboard Trey. I know Aubrey won't be happy about it, but I've seen your work and we can't afford to not have someone like you in our ranks.” affirmed Talon, standing up from his seat with a hand to shake for Trey.
”Thank you sir.”
Trey shook Talon's hand eagerly, wiping shaggy locks of falling brown hair out of his eyes before taking his hand back and producing a joint and a lighter from his pocket. Popping it in his mouth, he looks up at Talon and catches him staring disapprovingly at him.
”May I?” asked Trey meekly, lighter already lit in his hand. Talon sighed and shook his head.
”I'm your boss, Trey.” said Talon sternly, folding his arms like he was a disapproving father.
”Yeah. That's why I'm asking you.” nodded Trey, completely missing the point. He paused for a minute, still unsure what Talon's objection was until the proverbial lightbulb popped above his head. He took the joint from his lips and presented it along with the lighter to Talon.
”Oh! Do you want first toke?” beamed Trey enthusiastically. Talon sighed again, shielding his face in embarassment.
”No, I mean, we're a company that promotes good health of our workers. We forbid members of the roster from smoking, and have a clause in the contract that allows us to automatically terminate anyone convicted of drug offences or who fails a drug test.” states Talon matter of factly. Some of the words sail over Trey's head, but he comprehends the basic gist of it.
”Right. Okay. Well, I haven't had one in like two weeks which is how I passed mine. This is a good day for me and I like to celebrate when good things happen. May I?” pleads Trey, putting it back in his mouth.
”We do drugs tests every six months. Keep it calm, don't be stupid and don't smoke on show days. That's all I ask.” requests Talon, appeasing Trey with a reasonable compromise. What few people are in the Bonsoir Café are watching the scene unfold, with Talon growing increasingly uncomfortable at the attention.
[colorlimegreen]”Alright, cool. Thanks man.”[/color] says Trey. He goes to light up again, but remembers where he is and heads for the door.
”Want some? he asks Talon as he makes his way out.
”I'm good. Thank you. I'll be arranging your tickets soon, so you can make your debut on the next Face Off. I'm expecting good things from you Trey. I'll be in touch.” says Talon as he hands a stack of bills to the café owner before taking his laptop and heading out the back way. Trey nods and leaves the café where he's practically bowled over by an impatient Sarah Snap pouncing on him.
“Trey! Oh my God I've been so bored out here! How did it go?! Did he offer you a contract?!” she booms, pounding Trey's chest excitedly with the bottom of her clenched fists. Trey wheezes and staggers back, not wanting to fight back but not enjoying the punishment.
”Uhh... Yeah.” nods Trey, turning his side on Sarah so he can light his joint up and not get bruised ribs.
”Thank God! At least one of us got employed.” says Sarah, having been unsuccessful in her own attempts to get employed by Talon.
”Talon didn't offer you a job?” queries Trey, puzzled that Sarah's “incredible social charm” didn't get her into Talon's good graces.
”Nope!”
”What's next then? Back to Idaho, IHOP and running your website?” asks Trey, taking a second toke before passing it to Sarah. Sarah wrinkles her nose at the joint, reluctantly taking a drag of her own.
”No, silly. I'm coming with you!” she says with such confidence to back up her mile wide smile. Trey's train of thought totally derails at this unexpected announcement, so he turns to face her with uncertainty in his kush green eyes.
”... What?”
”Psht. You weren't really expecting me to just go home right?” scoffs Sarah as she blows a cloud of smoke in Trey's face, much to his chagrin.
”Well... yeah. I mean, what else are you gonna' do?” ponders Trey.
”Tour with you! Be your booking agent, manager and publicist, obviously! I'm gonna' make you a celebrity!”
”Uhhh, I don't know about that dude. I'm kinda' a solo rider, and I don't wanna be like those dudes you write about in your blog. That lifestyle is wayyyyyy too vexing for me.”
”What?” The shine from Sarah's face vanishes as her dream sifts through the gaps in her fingers and down the drain forever.
”I mean... This is my dream, my career, this is my chance and I wanna do it my way.” says Trey calmly. Sarah scrunches her face up, distraught by the news.
”Oh so that's it, is it? You're just going to drag me down here, fuck me and throw me away?!” screams Sarah, trying to grab as much attention as possible.
”Dude, we shared a bed once. We didn't even hold hands. Quit making a scene man. You're killing my buzz.” hushed Trey. Unphased by Sarah's embarrassment techniques, he turns his back to any potential audiences and takes the joint back from Sarah.
”I thought I meant more to you than that! I thought we were good friends! Even your skater pals liked me!” protested Sarah. Her assertion on her social standing with a bunch of people Trey introduced her puts a knowing smirk on his face.
”They were seventeen and thought you had rocking tits, but even they thought you were a tool-what're you doing?” Trey interrupts himself as Sarah sinks to the curb, burying her face in her knees to hide the salty tears that craved trails down her sun speckled cheeks.
”It's-... it's fine.” lied Sarah, turning her face away from Trey as he peers down to look at her.
”Don't be bugging out on me dude. You're cool and all but... I wanna do this alone and my way.” assures Trey as he takes a seat next to her. Sarah turns and stares into Trey's eyes, the glow and vitality of youth replaced by a deep emptiness.
”My parents never gave a damn about me y'know. All they did was push me aside. They said I was too 'preppy', too 'happy' to deal with. All bubble and no substance or personality. I've got no friends. My co-workers hate me at IHOP and everyone says I'm a terrible blog writer.” laments Sarah. Trey isn't one to be bugged by guilt trips, but Sarah baring her soul out to him is difficult not to respond to emotionally.
”Dude... chill out. You're my friend, I-” Trey tries to put a hand on her shoulder but Sarah shrugs him off violently, glaring at him through teary, bloodshot eyes.
”I don't need your fucking sympathy, Trey.!” she snaps before sinking her eyes to the drain beneath her knees.
”I'm sorry, dude.” apologises Trey. He takes another drag of his joint, the effects of the marijuana starting to kick in as he passes it back to Sarah.
”Y'know, I watched your old wrestling footage that you showed to Talon. It was good, it was really good. You'd go out to the ring and declare yourself the voice of a forgotten generation and everyone loved you. You said you represent the underbelly of society. People with no prospects, no hope, no future, just the kind of dudes who bum around, chill and don't want to change the world. The kind of people society rejects for not being ambitious. Well society has rejected me Trey. Nobody wants me around. Even the forgotten generation wants to forget me.” confesses Sarah with a heavy sigh, like the weight of the world is lifted from her shoulders with her expression of her anguish. She turns to Trey, blinking back more tears from her glowing indigo eye.
”Just because I don't dress in black Trey doesn't mean I'm not alone. The bright clothing I wear is the only thing that stops me wallowing in misery and self-pity. I feel like if someone is noticing me, then maybe someone will accept me and I won't be so worthless after all. Why else would I go on some crazy mission to California to meet some guy and some wrestling promoter? All I want is... I want to fit in.” says Sarah, choking back a weak sob and staring at the clear skies. A long pause drags for what feels like aeons before Trey weakly concedes.
”Alright. Jeez. You can come with me.” he says, buckling under the pressure of Sarah's emotional anguish. To his surprise, she leaps onto him and wraps her arms around the stoner youth, hugging him in a vice grip.
”Thanks Trey! Love you!” she beams, kissing him on the cheek before dusting herself off, getting to her feet and passing the joint back to Trey. Trey's change of heart having seemingly erased Sarah's tears and depression, Trey can only stare in wonderment at how crazy bipolar she is as she helps him to his feet.
”Let's go back to your place and pack your bags, then we can get high together. Deal?” she asks with a dazzling, bleach white grin. Trey nods.
”Sure, but you're paying for the weed this time.” insists Trey as Sarah leads him by hand up the street.
”Okay!”
---
Sarah's gone again. I'm not sure where. It doesn't really matter but at least now I can actually take a moment to hear my own thoughts. All I know is that I'm here now, backstage at Face Off, waiting for my match with Jake Raab. Now I've watched a whole bunch of late night TV at 4AM with a box of cheesy dunked nacho's in one hand and a bong in the other, with one of my friends usually on remote control duties, and while my mom always told me that I'd never learn anything in front of “the idiot box” as she called it I'm proud to say I can prove her wrong. Through countless movie marathons and hilarious European TV, I can actually say I know who Jake Raab is because I know his cousin Stefan used to be the host of some weird music show in Austria or Germany or some place like that.
The idea of the show was simple. Stefan'd have all these insane foreign pop groups on to I think promote their albums, play a couple of songs, answer questions from the audience and then after all that, at the end of the show, Stefan would make them do some stupid challenges that he'd set up and would compete personally against the band. Just weird, difficult, but funny stuff like who can race through a bouncy castle assault course the fastest wearing boxing gloves and waterproof boots or who can eat the most sushi in five minutes. Before I got my job at the gas station, me and my buddy Chucky were hooked on this show and would watch it every week. We'd get high as ass and put bets on the challenges to see who would win. I lost a lot of money thanks to that show.
In the end though, the show got stopped when Stefan quit out and decided he wanted to be a professional wrestler which is kinda' like me except I wasn't a loaded TV host. I was just a guy packing a bong and laughing at monster movies with my friends. Now I didn't know this at the time but I learnt much later on that apparently Stefan Raab was supposed to be a total doucher to work with. He'd bully his coffee boys, his producers and even the network executives for privileges and payslips and once he'd milked it for everything it was worth, he stepped out and took on a new challenge. As a wrestler, he decided it was no longer necessary to hide that egotistical side of him and decided to make a point of publicly throwing his weight around. So when they told me I was fighting his cousin, I wasn't looking forward to it.
But then Sarah came back to me and told me that Stefan is the dirty secret of his family that nobody likes to talk about. He's the outcast, or the self exiled one who thought he was too good to be associated with his family, which I can totally feel because my sister does the same. Then Sarah tells me that actually, Jake Raab is a good kid. He's an MMA fighter, but he's good people. He doesn't throw his weight around. He doesn't try to tell peopl what to do. He lives his life day by day, without causing conflict and honestly? I can dig that. If you can be chill and keep things together while the people you're supposed to be closest to want nothing to do with you, then you're a stronger man than most.
What I can't, or rather what, I couldn't understand at first was mixed martil arts. There's no showmanship in breaking some bums arm in twenty different places with a super ninja judo lock from India. There's no art. No grace and beauty to it like when I take to the top rope. But then that's when it hit me. There are difference styles of art. Being efficient, ruthless, getting things done quickly and to the point, that is an art all of it's own. So when we step into the ring, this won't just be a wrestling match, it'll be a war of art. Grace and glory against precision and ingenuity. Who will come out on top? I can't even begin to fathom, but it'll be tight to watch it unfurl before our very eyes.
All I know is that every stroke and splatter I make with the paint brush will be done with the hope that it may be great. I want to stun and impress the people at Face Off with my brand of artwork. I want to show them exactly what it is that I, the lowest tier of success can actually do. The kinda' dude who makes people say “If Trey Parker can do it, anyone can”. That's what I want. That's what I need. Win, lose or draw, that's the aim Jake Raab and I can only hope to see you from the same.