This morning began like any other. I rose early, fed the dogs, made a pot of coffee, and ran down to the corner to grab a paper. I read "Mutts," fried some eggs, and then headed over to the guest bedroom to kick Ric Flair awake. "Up and at 'em, champ," I muttered, my voice thick with yolk. "I circled a few Want Ads, in case you felt like... you know, looking for work?" It was then that I realized my authoritarian bullshit was echoing across an empty room. The Costco Mats were vacant. Ric Flair was gone. All he left behind was a hastily scrawled note.
"Gone to South Carolina to bust some heads. Back soon. Save me some eggs. -'Naitch'"
Well, that's good, I thought. Maybe he landed a gig with Christian Pro Wrestling. I might actually see that back rent, after all.
It was then that the lovely Valerie emerged from her laboratory. "The Facebuster 6000 just ran its morning search of the interwebs for salacious wrestling gossip! Something's terribly wrong!"
"What is it, dear, is Brooke Hogan icing out her grill again?"
"No, it's..."
"Randy Orton tried to buy a gun again?"
"No, it's..."
"They finally turned BDV into the BGV?!"
"No... it's Ric. He's suing a car dealership for infringing on his intellectual property."
"Damn it, I told Ric that his LeSabre technically belongs to the bank. We've got to get him back here."
After another ten minutes of our half-assed Burns/Allen routine, it became clear that The Nature Boy was actually upset over the dealership's commercials, which feature some joker named "Captain Freedom" shouting "Whooooeee"(?) a lot and declaring that if other car dealerships want to "be the man, they have to beat the man." Or, presumably, the prices. Or the quality of the vehicles. Or... something.
Anyway, it smells like copyright infringement to me. I hope Flair gets every last cent out of those no good hucksters. Hurry back with my cut, Naitch. There's a burrito for you in the fridge.
1 comment:
On the one hand, I most sincerely want to see (a) you get reimbursed for your troubles (and use of your Costco camping mats) by the "Dirtiest Player in the Game" and (b) Flair get awarded a most generous reimbursement by a jury of his peers (i.e. Tully Blanchard as jury foreman) for his pain, suffering, and timely payment of back taxes to the IRS and alimony to his gold digging ex ho- bag and birth mother to some of Charlotte North Carolina's least talented citizens, Beth flair.
On the other hand, I see this case getting settled out of court for a mere pittance, perhaps even for nothing more than a recompense of goods and services, namely the defendant agreeing to set the "Nature Boy" up on a date with Jimmy Garvin's valet "Precious" as restitution. Let's all pray to Jebus that Ronnie Garvin doesn't sneakily take Precious' place on the date and give Flair the whooping of a lifetime...again.
Bottom line...kiss your rent and egg disbursement goodbye, Apollo.
At least you've still got your health...and camping mats.
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