Post by sambash on Feb 16, 2022 17:18:28 GMT
Through the fog of a heavy rainstorm we see a production assistant standing beside an IIW van on a gravel road. "Man...where the fuck are we at?" he nervously mutters as the camera pans to show a ripped, faded vinyl banner that that reads "Victory Lane Mobile Home Park." Common sense would tell you that no one lives here due to the appalling living conditions and abandoned appearance of the homes. However, signs of life are evident all around them. Dudes sitting on a covered porch working on outdated electronic equipment; a drunk man stumbles while attempting to light a grill in the rain, and so on.
The cameraman says, "there it is...lot 57...shit." He steadies the camera and we see a muddy front yard with a patch of wild grass here and there. Garbage bags are scattered and some have been ripped open by scavenging animals. The roof of the trailer has caved in and a blue tarp is untethered, flapping in the wind. There isn't a vehicle in the driveway. As they approach the weathered front porch, they look through the storm door and see the interior of this home is soaked with rain. There is a couch, a couple of folding metal chairs, a broken coffee table, and most interestingly, a yellow two-man tent has been pitched in the middle of the living room.
The camera man raps on the storm door as he's yelling, "Bash, Sam Bash, are you here? Is anyone here? Hello?!" Someone starts moving around in the tent and we hear glass bottles clinking.
Sam Bash: Who is out there.
IIW Cameraman: Sir, we are from the IIW and we are here to interview you.
Bash slowly unzips the tent door and peers out. He's much older than we remember, his long hair (bald on top) is matted and streaked with grey, his glasses are greasy and fogged up from the rain, his beard is unkempt.
Sam Bash: Well, open the god damn door and come in...unless you like standin' in the fuckin' rain.
The cameraman and production assistant open the storm door as Bash is still watching from the tent. The two men aren't sure where to sit and Bash has offered no instructions. The production assistant plops down onto couch and immediately darts back up when he realizes it has basically transformed from a functional piece of furniture to a sponge.
IIW Cameraman: Where should we sit, sir?
Bash completely unzips the tent door and motions for the two men to enter. They quickly realize that space will be limited due to the fact that Sam Bash is 6'3" and approximately 330 pounds. In addition to his size, the tent is littered with beer bottles, empty frozen food containers, and random pieces of mail. As the camera man and production assistant cram into the tent, they wretch at the smell. It's seems to be an odd mixture of gasoline, sour cream and onion chips, urine, and wet socks. They also notice that the tent isn't waterproof as huge beads of water drip onto their heads and equipment every few seconds. Once situated in the constrained, claustrophobic tent, the cameraman lifts his camera to see that the only option is an uncomfortable and unprofessional zoomed in shot of Bash's face. The shot is made even more bizarre because of Bash's fogged glasses that partially obscure his intense and bloodshot eyes.
IIW Cameraman: Sir, please tell us what brought you to the IIW.
"Hope you're comfortable," Bash says sarcastically as he absentmindedly picks his nose and examines the runny red/yellow/black contents on the end of his finger. He continues:
Bash: I been workin' shit jobs ever since I retired from the ring in 2011. I get fired from every damn job I had and I can't make ends meet by haulin' around mattresses all day. $9 dollars an hour when a god damn box of cereal costs $6? I ain't ashamed to say that I steal shit all the time, I don't care. The only way I've ever been able to earn a decent living was in the ring. Man, my body is wrecked, but I'll still be able to fuck anybody up after I bump a couple of rails, or smoke some candy in the locker room...guarantee that shit.
IIW Cameraman: So you're saying that you're basically being forced to come out of retirement?
Bash: Bingo. I'm not climbing back into the ring at 59 years old just for the hell of it.
Production Assistant: Aren't you afraid of getting injured by younger competitors?
Bash: Look around dipshit...does it look like I have anything to lose? You two want a beer?
Bash reaches into a tent pocket and grabs a hot Miller High Life for himself. He pops it open and empties it after a few gulps. He then gingerly grabs a dented, already opened Coors Light can and hands it to the production assistant.
Bash: Yeah, go ahead and drink it.
The production assistant brings the can close to his face and it's obvious that the beer can is full of urine. The smell makes him wretch again. As he brings the can to his lips, he notices a grey pubic hair on the rim.
Production assistant: I don't think I'm thirsty.
Bash's eyes immediately become large and he open palm smashes the beer can into the production assistant's face crushing the can and spilling piss all over the tent! The cameraman starts shifting around trying to exit and Bash kicks him in the ass and he rolls out onto the wet carpet in the trailer. The production assistant is stunned with piss and blood all over his face when Bash grabs him by the collar and drags him out of the tent, out of the trailer and into the front yard. We now see Bash placing the assistant's arm behind his back. He winds up a huge punch and nails him with a heart punch!!! The assistant flies through the air and lands on top of a trash bag and starts shaking uncontrollably. The cameraman is screaming "oh shit, oh fuck!!" as he dials 911. Bash, no stranger to the authorities, knows the exact tone of the numbers 9-1-1 when dialed on a phone and he sprints off into the woods leaving a chaotic, brutal scene in his wake.