Dear
Mr. Hooligan:
You have been cordially invited to
join a Wrassle rest and relaxation retreat at
the
country manor of Mr. Hermann Boddy. He
is an avid fan of wrassling and as such,
he has made
notice of your exploits in the TWF and hopes that you will accept his
invitation
to join him and his other favourite wrasslers there.
Enclosed, you will find your first
class plane tickets and flight itinerary, should
you
accept the invitation.
* * *
* *
Hank
folds the invitation closed and looks into the envelope. Sure enough, there they were...first class
round trip airplane tickets and all the information to go with them. Departure and arrival times, terminals to board
from...the works.
A grin
crosses Hank's face as he puts the invitation back into the envelope, but as he
looks up, the grin fades. Rude Girl is
sitting there on the couch and there was only arrangments made for him.
This
was going to be ugly.
Hank: Kate, luv...there's a bit o' somethin' that's come up...
Rude
Girl: Oh, is this whot that envelope was
'bout?
Hank: Yup, seems that I got me a supah-richy fan and 'e's offahed
up an invite to go out ta 'is manor fer a bit o' the R'N'R.
RG: PUNK-F'N-RAWK! So
when are we leavin'? Man, I gots ta
pack me bags, maybe buy meself a new outfit or two, oh, and I got ta make sure
that someone's gonna be there to feed the iguana and-
Hank
reaches out and grabs her by the shoulders, looking her in the eyes.
RG: Oh....I see....there's always a catch now, ain't there?
Hank: Yeah, luv, there is...see, 'e only made plans fer me.
RG: Now if that ain't a bit o' no-fair! That wanks that yew won't be able to go to that
thing, sounded like it might 'ave been a bit o' fun.
Hank: Whot?!?
RG: Well, yew 'eard me...see, if I can't go, then yew can't
go...plain as day!
Hank: 'ave yew fallen and bumped yur 'ead, ya daft bird? I was thinkin' 'bout turnin' it down, but
since ya went and got all, " 'e'll do whot I say, 'cos I gots 'im all
P-Whipped" then to 'ell wif yew!
I'm bleedin' goin'!
RG: Loike 'ell yew are!
Whot are yew gonna go in, eh?
The clothes on yur back? 'Cos I
gots the keys ta the flat, and as long as yew're all talkin' loike yur gonna
go, then yew ain't gettin' in!
Hank: Fine then, act like a silly jealous sow, I'm not just
goin'...I'm already gone!
And
Hank slams the door behind him.
Luckily, he had his wallet with him, and was able to spend the night at
the High Tide Village. He had spent
enough nights there when he first arrived in the States to ply his trade at the
TWF, in fact, the rooms there had felt more like home to him than the new
apartment he and Rude Girl had gotten since she came over from England to be
his valet. But all of that was niether
here nor there, as Hank hailed a cab to go to the airport...
* * *
* *
Traveller
Travis: ...and that was when the corporate
VP told me that he was going to bust my balls down to the mail room, but then I
showed him the pics of the Christmas party, and now, I'm head of my own
regional division...ain't that about a hoot?
Yup,
Hank's on the plane next to THAT guy.
However, he has so far controlled his urge to bash the guy's face
in...so far, but then again, it's easy when the voice isn't the skreeching
cockney nagging that he normally endures...but his patience is beginning to
grow thin for he's been at this ever since the plane began taxiing towards the
runway at MIA.
Travis:
...and this turd in shipping has the gall, the gall to tell
me, me the regional ****ing director to-
Hank: Oh shut tha 'ell up, ya sot!
Travis: Well, close enough, but you get-
Hank: No, wankah...I'm tellin' ya ta SHUT...THA...'ELL...UP!
Travis: We-we-well...I NEVER..
Hank: Not wifout payin' prolly, ya limp ****ed closet poof!
Travis
looks like he's about to say something, but Hank reaches out and grabs his
lower jaw, squeezing in on his cheeks, effectivly cutting off Travis' next
comment before it even gets out of his mouth.
Hank: Know this, ya simperin' worthless salaryman, if I 'ear
anothah peep outta yew, I'll knock ya out so fast that yew'll miss the shot by
blinkin', got it?
And
Hank forces Travis to nod, then lets him go, and the rest of the flight was
blissfully uneventful.
* * *
* *
Hank
disembarks the plane and a guy in one of those chauffer outfits is holding up a
sign that reads "
'ank 'ooligan"
Hank: Oh, that's funny...no really!
Chauffer
Shane: Mr. Hooligan?
Hank: Yeah, I'm 'ank, and 'oo's idear of a joke is that sign?
Shane: It's the sign that Mr. Boddy gave me when I left the estate
to come get you...I thought about trying to put the H's in, but I didn't have a
sharpie.
Hank: Remind me ta kill tha tossah before this little shindig is
ovah.
Shane: Sure thing!
The
two head off to the limo and make small talk while driving to the mansion of
one Mr. Hermann Boddy. As they pull
onto the private drive leading up to the place, Hank's jaw drops. The place is huge...in the style of a
British country manor, but larger...much larger, and built upon 50 acres of
sprawling green lawn and mildly rolling hills.
It's been the first thing since coming to the States that has made him
yearn for home.
They
pull up to the front of the mansion and come to a stop. Shane hops out and gets the car door for
Hank.
Hank: Thanks, Shane..You're a bit of all right!
Shane: Why, thank you, Hank....oh, and Hank...
Hank: Yeah?
Shane: Don't forget to kill Mr. Boddy before the shindig is over!
The
two chuckle at the now running gag, but the butler-looking guy at the door
didn't seem to be too pleased. Ahhh,
screw 'em if they take a joke....