Partying All Night

[Streets Wilson]

(Lights are flashing, music is blaring, and the whole street is alive this weekend. A large house in Nashville, Tennessee is surrounded by parked cars. The locals know of this house, as the house of Rick “The Dick” Stevens. There is a 10 foot tall plastic colored pumpkin in the front lawn, with Halloween decorations on the windows. Old friend, owner of the house, and former tag team partner of Streets Wilson, Rick “The Dick” Stevens can be seen inside the house holding a glass of wine while mingling with the common folk.)

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: Yes, you know bob; I think we all know why they call him “The Iguana”

(He laughs in the most condescending manner imaginable, bob laughing along with him)

(Rick “The Dick” Stevens takes a sip of his wine)

(Streets Wilson walks up)

Streets Wilson (as he walks by towards the kitchen area): Maybe it’s because he’s as ugly as a reptile

(Rick continues his conversation with “Bob”)

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: I heard Tony burnt his ass on the stove at last night’s party.

(Another man walking by accidentally bumps into Rick and spills wine all over him.)

Rick “The Dick” Stevens (as he transforms into Chris Tucker): What the shit man! This is pure silk motha fucka!

Man: Oh I’m sorry Rick I didn’t mean-

(Rick “The Dick” Stevens slaps the man across the face. Spit can be seen flying out of the mouth of the man while his face smushes up against the camera, he slowly slumps to the ground in a confused daze. The man struggles to stand up while holding his face.)

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: You come into my house, you spill MY wine

(Rick “The Dick” Stevens jams his foot directly into the chest of the man as he flies backwards and smashes through a table, sending wine glasses and hors d'oeuvres flying everywhere.)

(Streets Wilson can be seen in the background)

Streets Wilson: HEY RICK! Is this NON-fat yogurt?

Rick: Yeah.

(Rick looks back over to Bob)

Rick: I don’t understand what his fascination is with non-fat yogurt…

(Streets Wilson can be seen in the backround eating the non-fat yogurt, when suddenly, he looks up with a disgusted look on his face)

(Wilson can now be seen spitting non-fat yogurt all over a passing elderly woman)

Streets Wilson: AAHHHH, THIS NON-FAT YOGURT IS RANCID!!!!!!!!!!!

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: Streets WHAT THE HELL! That was BOB BARKERS MOTHER!

Streets Wilson: Isn’t Bob Barker like 96 years old?

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: Oh, never mind, that’s just some old woman.

(Rick “The Dick” Stevens turns toward the elderly woman rolling around the floor trying to get the rancid yogurt out of her hair)

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: Hey! How did you get into my party! This is Halloween you dirty son of a bitch! Sneaking into peoples parties is this how you celebrate holidays!?!

(Just then, an elderly man walks into the room)

Elderly man: Rick!

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: DAD!

Dad: What the hell have you done to your mother this time!

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: ….who?

(Rick puts his hand on his face)

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: Oh God. Streets Wilson, I want you to meet my mother. I just met her two weeks ago, as you know I was in a foster home half my life.

Dad: This is the second incident this week. At least it’s not as bad as last time when you knocked her into the meat grinder down at the plant.

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: Alright Dad, I gotta go work, you know how it is.

Dad: What exactly is it that you do?

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: Well, uh, I’m “The Dick”. And that’s my partner, Streets Wilson.

Dad: You’re “The Dick”? And that’s your partner, Streets Wilson?

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: Yeah.

Dad: I gotta get the hell outta here…

(As Rick’s dad finishes his sentence, the windows shatter dramatically in slow motion and people in business suits come diving through with video cameras in hand.)

(Streets Wilson looks up from his plate of apple pie)

Streets Wilson: … Not again.

Rick “The Dick” Stevens: GET DOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWN!

(Rick dives into the air and pulls his father into the ground, shattering his eye-glasses)

Ricks Dad (as he jumps off the ground angrily): What in tarnation?

(Rick’s dad storms into the other room.)

(Streets Wilson and Rick seem to be rather calm about the whole situation)

Streets Wilson: Well since you’re already here, I guess you want to talk to me about my upcoming match.

(The camera men nod)

Streets Wilson (looking back to Rick temporarily): See, it’s like everyone NEEDS a piece of Streets Wilson. Well, where do I start, let’s see, as you know I’m in an Extreme Title match against Iggy “The Piranha”

Camera man: Um, sir I believe that’s Iggy “The Iguana”

Streets Wilson: Like I said, Iggy’s “in the sauna”…

(Wilson slowly begins to frown)

Streets Wilson: Just listen “IGGY”, this is what I’m gonna do to you

(Streets jumps nearly 6 feet into the air)

Streets Wilson: THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO YOUR FACE WHEN YOU CROSS ME

(Streets comes down with all his might slamming his foot directly through the wooden floorboards and causing him to wrench his ankle rather violently)

Streets Wilson: AAAAAAAAAAA! …

(He clutches his most likely shattered ankle, ripping out of the floorboards)

Streets Wilson: ….You see….

Streets Wilson: UGH, I think my leg may be broken.

(He looks down at it)

Streets Wilson: No….it’s not….

(He quickly adjusts his fedora and looks directly into the camera again)

Streets Wilson: I’m the real deal here, I don’t have to act like the man, I just straight up am. You can’t handle my moves.

(Streets grabs a passing man by the neck, and proceeds to do what can only be described in wrestling terms as a reverse chokeslam.. Wilson lifts the man up by his neck over his head, making eye contact with him before ripping downwards on his throat and falling backwards causing him to rocket straight to the ground at breakneck speed)

(The random party patron is on the ground is seizing violently. Two crying children watch on as they stare up at the monster of a human being that Iggy “The Iguana” will have come face to face with at the PPV)

Streets Wilson: (With a completely serious face): How do you like that “manure” (meaning to say maneuver)

(Streets Wilson turns back to the camera)

Camera man: Let me get a better angle

(One camera man jumps back out the shattered windows, getting his leg clipped on a shard of broken glass still in the window)

Camera man: DAA daAA SHIT!

(Suddenly, a man with a remarkable resemblance to Arnold Schwarzenegger happens by the window)

Arnold Schwarzenegger (in an odd foreign accent): You must apply da pressure

(Streets Wilson quickly appears and begins hurrying to close the blinds on that particular scene. When Arnold is blocked off, he resumes his business)

Streets Wilson (picking up where he left off): So, while I’ve been out doing productive things such as beating woman, and more recently rediscovering my roots, This Iggy lowlife has been doing what? Exactly my point, who knows: probably out sucking on worms for no apparent reason. Or maybe he went down to Wal-mart and was digging through the discount DVD bin, at least it would be more productive than taunting some random gorilla. Is that what a champion is supposed to be, some lowlife who tortures innocent creatures: I don’t know, the point is I’ve been busy being the man, knocking people out in preparation for when I have to knock YOU out Iggy. It’s no surprise to any of my fans that I would be booked in the manner of match I have been for this PPV.

(In the background, the outline of Arnold Shwartzanegger can be seen flexing with one hand, and applying pressure to another’s man’s leg with another)

(Streets Wilson looks back for a second catching a glimpse of the unusual occurrence. He does a double take, but quickly regains focus)

Streets Wilson: It’s no secret… I’m from the east, where the streets run red, from the bloodshed. So a so called “tree house of horror” match is something I actually look forward to. At one point I was known for matches like this.

(he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tin full of pre rolled joints, he casualty takes one out and lights it up, happily inhaling the smoke before remembering he was in the middle of cutting a scathing promo)

Streets Wilson (in a muffled voice as he is holding his hit in) : You know what pisses me off so much about you beating me Iggy?

Streets Wilson (he exhales and his voice returns back to normal): Is the fact that I KNOW I’M BETTER THAN YOU. Time and time again you “defeated” me… This is a phenomenon I simply can’t explain. There is no logical reason why a pathetic loser like you could even survive in the wrestling world let alone defeat the greatest wrestler who ever lived… Streets Wilson. But I think recently I may have discovered the problem. You’re a random pathetic drunk… That’s how you keep winning.

(He has a look of sheer disgust on his face as he imagines Iggy stumbling down to the ring in a stupid daze.)

Streets Wilson: You’re so drunk and smelly by the time you get to the ring that no matter how many times I beat your ass you just keep coming, much to the dismay of my sense of smell. You know, when someone is so drunk no matter how hard you hit them they just don’t even care. Well, this time Iggy, I don’t even care that your some pathetic, disgusting representation of what not to become in life, I won’t hold back anymore, I’m through. You may have everyone else fooled Iggy, but I KNOW what you REALLY are. You really are a just what you appear to be, a pathetic drunk loser. I used to think it was some sort of trick or something, that really it was all just an act, and when I stepped into the ring with you, then you’d show me the real Iggy. When I came face to face with you in our last match, I quickly discovered it isn’t an act at all. And that’s why I held back, I was in a confused state. I was in a moral dilemma, how would it look if a finely tuned athlete such as myself, beat some drunkard to death in the middle of the ring? Well, I’m done with these thoughts now. I will treat you just as anyone else, and I will beat you to the ground, I will beat you worse than you have ever been beaten in your life, inside and out of the ring. Their will be no thoughts of “no, don’t do it, he’s drunk.” No more thoughts like “no, if you hit him like that he may receive permanent brain damage”. I’m through pretending that you beat me by any means of your own. You defeated me because in reality, I let you do it. I didn’t want you to hurt you Iggy. Why? I did it because I’ve known people like you before Iggy. I’ve had to subdue drunks before many times when they got out of control, when I did this, I of course didn’t actually try to beat them up, just hurt them enough so they would go home and sleep it off. I would sit awake at night sometimes after and hope I didn’t hit them too hard. I would hope I didn’t accidentally “really” hit them and then I would hope that if I did, they wouldn’t die in their sleep of severe brain trauma. What am I getting at here Iggy? I’m getting at the fact that you’re more common than air.

(He looks around at the invisible live giving substance)

Streets Wilson: You’re predictable, you give off a foul stench, and you’re just downright stupid. Even the lowest forms of life would look down upon you Iggy. What do you contribute to this world other than comic relief to anyone fortunate enough to see your sad antics? I actually used to feel sorry for you, wandering around continuously drinking tequila somehow thinking you matter. Do you even realize what a joke you even are? Everyone is laughing at you… yes “AT YOU” Iggy, not with you. Quite frankly I don’t even know how you got hired. The owner must have had a bad cold or something not to be able to smell the stench of alcohol and feces that is perpetually coming from your direction. I’m sick of standing here pretending you’re even someone to give a rat’s ass about Iggy. I’m sick of you thinking you actually beat me. You didn’t beat me Iggy, trust me. All you did was prolong the inevitable. I TOLD YOU, didn’t I? I told you I wouldn’t go away. I told you the Streets never sleep. But now you’re going to have to realize that I was telling the truth the hard way. Slowly, now your realizing there IS no escape. You can drink all night, find a nice little alleyway, shit your pants and fall asleep like you always do, because this time, I don’t care how pathetic you are, I will beat you in the face until your body shuts down. I WILL KILL YOU if I have to. I see your game Iggy, and its just about time for it to end. I want that title, and now I’m taking it. The people deserve MUCH better than you Iggy. The people deserve Streets Wilson. They deserve a god, what they currently have is a peasant. Don’t get me wrong Iggy, we all love to get fucked up once in a while. Believe me when I say I’ve partied so hard some nights that we were smoking 40’s and drinking blunts by the time it was over…

(A look of confusion quickly comes across Wilson’s face, but he brushes it off)

(Streets Wilson grabs a glass of wine from a passing tray)

Streets Wilson: I am going to tear you apart Iggy

(He takes a small sip)

Streets Wilson (as he casually takes another mini sip): I’m going to rip out your eyes and feed them to you... There is NOTHING you can do to stop me this time Iggy. What will happen when I CHOOSE to end your career Iggy? You will feel the full wrath of the streets this time. All the techniques I have learned in 10 years of martial arts training will be utilized. But not just the ones you’ve already seen me use. Its clear that the “hard” styles simply aren’t cutting it lately. I will look to the most respected and feared “soft” styles to get rid of you. I will use your own energy against you. Should you attempt to punch me in the face, I will not block the punch with force, but rather grab your oncoming fist and pull forward working with your own momentum, thus causing you to fly forward at a breakneck pace. That, in a nutshell is what a “soft” style is. I will combine all my knowledge for this one final battle Iggy. You’ll be nothing but a brainless mass of useless flesh by the time this match is over if I so CHOOSE it. I will strike the vital points in succession with the phoenix eye fist, I will grab your weasely little throat and lock in the Shaolin Nerve Hold, and I will not let go until I see the blood pouring from your newly ruptured trachea.

(He removes his sunglasses to reveal his eyes. They burn with a fury)

Streets Wilson: Why? Because I can… Because you made me do it. It didn’t really have to come to this Iggy. But F*ck it, it HAS come to this. And I’m glad it has come to this. I’m now going to ENJOY tearing the flesh from your body. You don’t deserve that belt, and I’m going to make sure that justice is done. There’s going to be all sorts of demonic structures and contraptions involved in this match, well so be it. I’ll take you by the face and drag you, smash you and slam you through every single one of them. You can’t handle being champion Iggy. You’re too common. You quite obviously don’t even understand the severity of the situation you have gotten yourself into. That’s why I had to hit you in the mouth with a crowbar. So you would understand. You “seem” to have gotten the gist of the message, seeing as you saw fit to smash me through a table… Ooh… do you have any idea how many tables I have gone through in my day? It’s like padding for your fall really… But rest assured, it still pissed me off. I’m still going to have to rub your face in broken glass or some shit just to even the score. I’ll admit Iggy, you know how to brawl. But you don’t know how to fight. Not like I do. Your to busy bragging about your non-existent style of “drunken tequila worm”. Maybe I should just embarrass you beyond belief by coming to the ring drunk and beating your ass to all corners of the ring using a REAL drunken style: Shaolin Drunken Fist. Of course, I am not an expert in this style like the others, so I won’t actually use it. I just chose to bring it up to highlight the humor in the fact that you “think” you learned how to fight or “wrestle” but in reality your grandfather or whatever was probably as pathetic a human being as you. One night he fell over and smashed his own face through the kitchen table, and you thought he was trying to teach you “drunken tequila worm” style. I guess you learned it well.

(He laughs to himself)

(He tosses the now empty wine glass off screen; a loud shattering noise can be heard)

Streets Wilson: I can’t help but think this is somehow my fault though… I mean, it has to be. How could I allow this to happen? How did I let you beat me even once? Whatever the reason may be, this time I can get my revenge. In this match, I can bloody you far beyond anything you even DREAMED of doing to me. I’m sick of you now Iggy, week in and week out your all I can think about. Running around with MY belt. I am the lord of all ass kicking, and you know now your time has now come to an end. Your trapped Iggy. I WILL destroy you and even your name will be a distant memory. When Streets Wilson ascends the throne, all recollection of “IGGY” will disappear as I proceed to rule with an iron fist.

(The assortment of partygoers has now gotten over the fact that the building had been broken into for no apparent reason other than to get an interview with the one and only Streets Wilson.)

Streets Wilson: The masses flock to Streets Wilson and look to him in times of need. They know Streets Wilson is the absolute BEST EVER. And they know when the time comes, the whole world will have to stand and watch as the so called “champion” Iggy “The Iguana” is forcefully removed from his throne by the rightful king: Streets Wilson. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a little appointment.

(Streets Wilson abruptly ends the interview by walking out the front door. The cameraman goes to the window showing a view of Streets Wilson, as he appears to be getting into a limo with famous actors Gene Wilder and Christopher Lloyd)

(Inside the house Rick “The Dick” Stevens can be seen peering out the window, he looks towards the camera man slightly surprised)

(The camera man can be heard)

Camera man: Was that Streets getting into a car with Gene Wilder and Chistopher Lloyd?

Rick Stevens: Yeah… Lloyd was born is Stamford and Gene Wilder is known to live around that area, they’ll be out partying all night, they usually stumble in around 4 in the morning. Gene Wilder is Streets connect…

(The scene fades as Rick Stevens stands in front of the camera with a completely serious look on his face)