Post by FDJ on Nov 22, 2018 14:53:23 GMT -5
Once again Frank Dylan James can be found at the New York Grill sitting atop the Park Hyatt Tokyo. The view from the window behind Frank is a stunning sight, the entirety of Mount Fuji sprawling across the landscape as big as life and twice as rocky. Frank sighs listlessly at the sight, missing his own mountain back home in West Virginia.
The Appalachian Nightmare turns back around to the table at hand. He sits at the head, with his fondest friend and Japanese hetero homeboy Balloon Yamazaki directly to his right. Surrounding them, filling up the room and footing the bill for all of this are several different sponsors. We’ve met them before, all mostly affable young businessmen with a love for wrestling and more yen than they know what to do with.
Gone are the steaks and other usual items the NY Grill is famous for, replaced today by a giant spread of traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Christ knows what it took just to get some of this stuff imported to Japan but Frank was insistent, and as one half of the Tag Team Champions he felt sufficiently entitled to asking for and then demanding every bit of it. From the giant fried turkey to the pile of dressing and giblet gravy, mashed potatoes and glazed carrots, green bean casserole and cranberry sauce, a spiral-cut ham and a pot of lima beans, all the way down to the sweet potato casserole and the pecan pie…
Frank would have drooled if he weren’t double-fisting it, a giant turkey leg in each catcher’s mitt sized paw. He takes a giant bite out of both before addressing the table.
“I won’t you boys to know how thankful I am for this here dinner!” He drags one of the drumsticks through a pile of potatoes and gravy before jamming it right back into his mouth, where he then continues speaking as he chews. “It jus’ wouldn’t be the same to have to eat some’a that rolled up seaweed bullshit you ijit’s like so much on Thanksgivin’!”
Balloon recites Frank’s general meanings to the sponsors, they all smile and egg the big burly bastard from West Virginia on to continue his speech.
“An’ I won’t you fellers to know, that when me an’ mah boy YAKAZULU here take on that fat shit Moo-She-Guitar-Hero sum’bitch an’ whoever they tricked inta bein’ his partner tomorrow night that I’m dedicatin’ that match to the lot of ya! HAW! HAW!”
Frank jumps to his feet, his chair flying backward.
“Now I know me a thang’re two about that Mush-Mouth bastard, we done fought an’ scrapped a few times before back home, but I here he done got bigger an’ better since then, an’ I figger I better just make sure an knock his fat ass down a couple notches, keep ‘im from gettin’ the big head, naw’mean?”
Balloon translates, sponsors smile and nod. Frank takes a drink from the gravy dish.
“Good! HOO! HOO!”
The Mighty Mastodon of the Mountain washes that down with a full can of Coors Lite. He swishes the beer for a moment before spitting it out to the side where someone will have to clean up later.
“An’ when that shit’s all said an’ done with I’mma go home fer a few days, catch up on some sleep’n an hooer’n an’ whatever else it is that we do out in them mountains, maybe I’mma find somebody ta rassle back home, an’ then I’mma come back and defend my WHORL’ TAG TAHTELS with that big Shin-Jee-Ro baysterd against whoever’s dumb enough to come a’challengin’ for ‘em!”
Frank surveys the scene, overjoyed that he’s been able to bring Thanksgiving to these heathens around him with their tempura and their spring rolls and their hot beer. Balloon quickly retrieves Frank’s chair for him, and the big man sits back down to it, getting elbow-deep into some cornbread dressing as the shot fades away.
The Appalachian Nightmare turns back around to the table at hand. He sits at the head, with his fondest friend and Japanese hetero homeboy Balloon Yamazaki directly to his right. Surrounding them, filling up the room and footing the bill for all of this are several different sponsors. We’ve met them before, all mostly affable young businessmen with a love for wrestling and more yen than they know what to do with.
Gone are the steaks and other usual items the NY Grill is famous for, replaced today by a giant spread of traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Christ knows what it took just to get some of this stuff imported to Japan but Frank was insistent, and as one half of the Tag Team Champions he felt sufficiently entitled to asking for and then demanding every bit of it. From the giant fried turkey to the pile of dressing and giblet gravy, mashed potatoes and glazed carrots, green bean casserole and cranberry sauce, a spiral-cut ham and a pot of lima beans, all the way down to the sweet potato casserole and the pecan pie…
Frank would have drooled if he weren’t double-fisting it, a giant turkey leg in each catcher’s mitt sized paw. He takes a giant bite out of both before addressing the table.
“I won’t you boys to know how thankful I am for this here dinner!” He drags one of the drumsticks through a pile of potatoes and gravy before jamming it right back into his mouth, where he then continues speaking as he chews. “It jus’ wouldn’t be the same to have to eat some’a that rolled up seaweed bullshit you ijit’s like so much on Thanksgivin’!”
Balloon recites Frank’s general meanings to the sponsors, they all smile and egg the big burly bastard from West Virginia on to continue his speech.
“An’ I won’t you fellers to know, that when me an’ mah boy YAKAZULU here take on that fat shit Moo-She-Guitar-Hero sum’bitch an’ whoever they tricked inta bein’ his partner tomorrow night that I’m dedicatin’ that match to the lot of ya! HAW! HAW!”
Frank jumps to his feet, his chair flying backward.
“Now I know me a thang’re two about that Mush-Mouth bastard, we done fought an’ scrapped a few times before back home, but I here he done got bigger an’ better since then, an’ I figger I better just make sure an knock his fat ass down a couple notches, keep ‘im from gettin’ the big head, naw’mean?”
Balloon translates, sponsors smile and nod. Frank takes a drink from the gravy dish.
“Good! HOO! HOO!”
The Mighty Mastodon of the Mountain washes that down with a full can of Coors Lite. He swishes the beer for a moment before spitting it out to the side where someone will have to clean up later.
“An’ when that shit’s all said an’ done with I’mma go home fer a few days, catch up on some sleep’n an hooer’n an’ whatever else it is that we do out in them mountains, maybe I’mma find somebody ta rassle back home, an’ then I’mma come back and defend my WHORL’ TAG TAHTELS with that big Shin-Jee-Ro baysterd against whoever’s dumb enough to come a’challengin’ for ‘em!”
Frank surveys the scene, overjoyed that he’s been able to bring Thanksgiving to these heathens around him with their tempura and their spring rolls and their hot beer. Balloon quickly retrieves Frank’s chair for him, and the big man sits back down to it, getting elbow-deep into some cornbread dressing as the shot fades away.