| A night on the town; Roebuck/Huber RP vs. Xtreme Fuxion | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 25 2010, 08:51 AM (119 Views) | |
| markusgrav | Nov 25 2010, 08:51 AM Post #1 |
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sVo Rookie
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No. No, no, no, no, no. I can’t believe Adam dragged me here. Let me regale you with exactly how I came to be standing in a room with Hollywood’s bottom of the barrel. I was just reveling in my recent conquest of Angela DeSappio, this one hot chick from my old neighborhood in Philly who didn’t believe in any particular deity, but when I got inside her, she was quickly finding religion. While icing myself, I prepared to have a thrilling afternoon of napping and firing off knuckle children when the phone rang. I tried to ignore it, as is the norm in my apartment. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to people, it’s just that what they have to say bores me to no end. If someone called me up and said, Derek, let’s talk about you,' that would be a start. But I digress. The phone was ringing and I was ignoring. And I would’ve been able to fully ignore, but the caller apparently had urgent news. I picked up and heard the familiar, snide, almost condescending voice of Adam Roebuck. ‘Big D! What’s hoppin?' 'Umm…nothing.' 'Cool, cool.' Between Adam and myself, we probably lead the league in awkward silences. I was gonna chalk this one up to the fact that he was going to ask me to do something I had no interest in doing. 'So whatcha up to?' 'Isn’t that, like, the same question as your grasping, youthful ‘what’s hopping?’' It’s in my very nature to pick fights. The reason the doctor slapped me when I was born wasn’t because he needed to see if I was breathing; I told him he looked like a superdouche. Ignoring me, Adam continued on, wondering 'what are you up to tonight?' On the spot, I was pressed to think of a lie. 'I was just gonna chill at home, maybe watch a classic tape of these Xtreme Fusion fucktards. My superior performing wang needs a rest, so I-' 'BO-RING! Dude, we need to get you out and exposed if you’re gonna be my wingman! We’re in Vegas, baby! All Hollywood’s gonna wanna know about our hijinks, shenanigans, and general chicanery. We’ll be like that one kid who’s dry humping Kim Kardashian and can’t open doors… except you know, I actually COULD hump Kim Kardashian and glass doors are my bitch.' In retrospect, I should’ve started an argument about it being his turn to be the wingman for once, but I guess I was blinded by delusions of grandeur. 'Whoa, really? Us, like the Bieb?!” How foolish I was. Adam was one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met. Clearly, he knew how to plant the seeds for bringing me out. This was one night where he couldn’t afford to have me be a recluse. 'Yeah, well I was thinking that you were more like that Bieber kid, ya know, the whole ‘women are magnetized to your dick’ thing, but we can talk about it.' And thus, within an hour, I was meeting Adam outside a club. I looked over at him. I hadn’t thought about his fashion sense, but it was unreasonably good. It was scary. He was like me, a fat piece of shit. But somewhere in that checkbook of his, there had to be a stylist getting paid off. I put it on my list of things to ask him about when I got the chance. 'Listen, you’re gonna have to be on your best behavior. I’m VIP here, they know me.' I just nodded and we passed through the door with nary a glance from the very large, very black bouncers. Friends of ours, actually, before we got our start in Sin City PRO a few years ago. Adam was basically a regular here, so getting past the velvet rope wasn't a problem. There were some people lined up outside the red ropes and it gave me great pleasure to watch their faces as us A-Listers passed right on through. Inside the club was an orgy of sounds, lights, and gaudy 80’s music. In other words, it was the single greatest thing I have ever seen in my life. Adam led me through the crowded, romping dance floor. Again, we passed two large bouncers. This time, both were wearing shades and only one was black; the other looked white. Or really, really, really chocolate milk, I guess. I felt a duty to give him a minority nod, which he didn’t return. Through this next door was none of the hyper, effervescent spirit that flooded the dance floor. It was subdued, with some moronic hip-hop slithering all over the place. I was surprised that Adam seemed more at home here, what with his being a rock fan and all. Then again, I could understand the feeling of wanting not to be a famous face in the midst of adoring plebes. Adam gave out liberal amounts of daps to the ten or so other men in the room. I think I’d seen a couple of them in crappy music videos before, but I couldn’t really tell. Adam sat down and I followed behind, inspecting everything about this mystical place known simply as the VIP. Everything was covered in what appeared to be a velvety felt material; it felt too cheap to be as authentic as it looked. It hit me that I was glad the lights were turned so low because of the degree of certainty I had about the exchange of body fluids in this locale. A not-so-innocent looking young girl made her way over towards us. She winked at me as she passed by to go sit on Adam’s lap. At this point, I was merely looking on awestruck as she began to massage his…well, let’s just say that what she was doing is analogous to the majority of the programming on Cinemax. Around two-thirty am. Or eleven-thirty if you’re awesome and have satellite like me. DirecTV, bitches. About this time, another girl glided over to me. She was like an Amazonian princess, almost six-foot two or so in her lifts. Her small, rounded breasts were covered only by the gossamer white-patterned bra that crawled around her back, with no straps to cover her smooth, loping shoulders. I was completely awestruck and with every step she took towards me, I noticed yet another inkling of her perfection. I mean, I’ve fucked some beautiful girls, but she was breath-taking. 'Nice, eh,' Adam questioned as my dream woman sat down next to me on our little felt ledge. 'Pretty…good.' That was all I could muster up as I tried to maintain composure. I didn’t remember being this flustered by a girl since…ever. I hadn’t been an awkward kid in high school who had trouble around the pretty girls. But this was new. I didn’t have a response as I wandered into the basins of her calm and murky brown eyes. 'My name’s Natasha.' Okay, I wasn’t sure if I bought that from an entirely bronzed (Filipino? Puerto Rican? More importantly, why did I care?), but for once in my life, I wasn’t going to be a cynical asshole and doubt what I had been told straight-faced. Sure, people lie as a habit, but God hadn’t given her a dishonest bone in her body. 'You’re friends with Adam?' 'Yeah, I’m Derek.' I tried to get some help from Adam in the introduction department to tout my supreme manliness and shit, but his mouth, nay his entire face, was busy with its introductions to his chick’s bombs. 'I’m the cute one who’s always saving this guy’s fat ass!' She was gonna be wowed by my- 'Mnomt troom,' Adamtried to mouth. However, he was still in between the two breasts that, if translated into battery sizes rather then bra sizes, were been big enough to run an RV. 'Not true,' he coughed out as he leaned back. My friend the motor-boater almost went back to his oral aerobics, but then a flash went off somewhere. Adam shot up out of his seat, somehow ignoring the bona fide 'I’m hot, I’ll fuck you in six different positions, and I don’t need your number afterwards' in his lap. If his face was captured on film and it wasn’t the right spotlight, he’d choke a bitch. He’s done it. Ask Rick Smith how our first photo-op for sVo went. What’s that, you’ve never heard of him? There’s a reason for that. ‘Adam, for the love of God, sit down. I’m worried that you’re going to do something rash. Natasha’s worried. Your little sex freak over there is worried, aren’t you?' I tried to utilize the sex freak to my advantage, telling her to look into Adam’s eyes, but he pushed her aside, shrieking across the VIP. 'Who did that? Who’s taking pictures? Get them the fuck out!' And cue up the Roebuck freak-out. I tried to reason with him again, praying that I could get seven minutes, a bedroom (or particularly empty corner of VIP, fuck if I care), and Natasha. ‘Bucky, you don’t want to do this. It was probably one of those weird alt rockers with a disposable camera.' 'Dude, it’s paparazzi. They’re trying to get up in my shit. We gotta go.' 'NO! We are NOT fucking leaving.' I was pushing back, but refraining from my usual verbal mockery because I desperately wanted to stay. My desire for Natasha was purely animalistic, carnal at its core. But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t real. 'Hey listen, Derek, you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to have people constantly trying to ruin your life!' 'There’s one person trying to ruin mine right now and I’m pretty close to calling his bluff on just being a huge pussy who’s afraid of having some uggo picture posted on TMZ.' The situation was quickly degenerating. I knew that this was all futile, so I took a last couple mental photographs of Natasha. At least in my mind (and my hand), she’ll be fucking me tonight. 'We’re leaving.' I didn’t even have anything to say and just to add insult to injury, another flash went off as Adam turned to leave. I muttered about how no one cared if he got caught with a boob in his mouth, but he doesn’t hear me because he was muttering about how somebody was going to die a very painful, painful death for not getting him the REALLY good section of the VIP bar. In the car, Adam alleviated some of the pain. 'You know… I do have a plan B. I heard about a party that Ryan Reynolds is throwing. It’s supposedly hot shit.' I didn’t say anything because I was pissed off that I wasn’t going to get my brains fucked out. That was a devastating thought in itself. 'I know you’re pissed off, but I don’t wanna have to take off more shows because we’re at DefCon five with image management.' 'Fine, but I’m getting belligerently drunk and if I hit you, I’m not taking any responsibility for it.' 'Fair enough.' That was all that was said for the rest of the car ride. Some soft rock station provided the ambience. We got to the hotel where the event was being held and, after taking one look at Adam, the concierge referred us to 'Mr. Reynolds’ event.' How he did it, I didn’t know. Ever since he came into possession of money, he was a changed man, in some ways for the better. After an elevator ride, we stepped into a dimly lit room (although compared to the strip club, it was positively radiant in there). In every direction, as far as the eye could see, were the Carrot Tops and Gilbert Gottfrieds of the world. These were not real movie stars, nor were they even the friends of real movie stars. No, these were friends of friends; these were people who had played community theater for years, until someone they knew got famous, and then they popped in and out of shitty sitcoms. And that’s where I am right now. Well, right now I’m next to the bar, where an attractive, but conservatively dressed woman is standing. I can’t help but compare her to my Natasha; even wearing white, just like Natasha. But her white is a puffy, rolling white dress shirt, with green lapels. She has a Southern drawl; clearly, she wants to be among the beautiful people and there are prices to be paid for that aspiration. 'What can I get you to drink, sugar?' Someone’s coached her well on how to bed celebrities. It’s a pretty little voice; just a little too pretty to be real. No one’s this chipper when serving a bunch of douchebag has-beens and never-wills. 'The hardest thing you have, times four.' Like I said, BELLIGERENTLY DRUNK. She serves up four shots of who-the-fuck-cares. I shoot it down and feel my chest clamp up on me. Wincing, I turn away from the open bar and the fake Southern belle. A while ago, Adam ditched me. He thought he saw Dane Cook in the crowd and wanted to tell him that he’d beat the shit out of him like one of his comedy acts: long and not original, but it would do the trick. So he’s off doing his sycophantic thing and I haven’t even seen Ryan Reynolds yet. Drinking is dangerous, but it’s also very fun. So why not go back for another four? So I do. And the girl looks prettier now, but I still won’t forget Natasha. I haven’t seen Reynolds yet, still. I stumble and hit who I think is Daniel Tosh in the face. Or maybe not, but I’m drunk and it looks like him. I try to shake off the inebriation for a second, but it’s very hard to know whether you’re slightly out of your mind when you keep seeing lesser Baldwin brothers and Frank McBride in one big room. Lucid or no, that’s a pretty ridiculous room. 'Hey, hey you!' See, I’m starting to talk before I think. Tobin Bell is walking by me (for you lesser lifeforms, that’s the bad guy from Saw). 'Dude…yawr…Toby Bell!' I giggle as he stops to look at me. I mean, c’mon, you think this dude doesn’t know who I am? 'To-beeeeeeee!' 'Well, hello. You must be Mr. Roebuck’s friend.' And I knew at that moment Adam wasn’t all bad; he knows Tobin Bell! 'Yaaaaaaap. Derek. Derek Huber. Man, I gotta hear you do the voice from Saw. I just gotta!' I’m a drunk piece of shit right now. It’s awesome. 'Well, I don’t know if that’s-' 'DO IT, JIGSAW!' ‘Derek Huber…I’d like to play a little game.' His voice is completely without edge, but at the same time brutal. 'You are-' 'Man, you’re not doin’ it right! It’s much lower then that…and all sloooooooow…like thiiiiiiiis.' 'Well, in the movie we used a voice modulator because Jigsaw needs to conceal his identity.' 'Haha, hell yeah he does. He’s a bad mammer jammer! Not like those Xtreme Fusion guys we’ve got. I don’t know why the fuck a guy’s calling himself Limp. There's some really bad joke about Viagra I won't touch. And why a guy’s named after a form of movie that’ll be fazed out by Blu-Ray next year! I…. Uh-oh…' And then all of a sudden I realize that my head’s been killing me. And the room is spinning ever so slowly...just don’t pass out on Tobin Bell’s shoes…just don’t pass out on…Tobin…Bell’s… … … And when I woke up the next morning, I didn’t pass out on Tobin Bell’s shoes… …I kinda threw up on them instead. Edited by markusgrav, Nov 25 2010, 08:51 AM.
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2:32 PM Jul 11