Post by Danielle Basch on Oct 27, 2017 0:55:48 GMT -5
Basch Residence
Carlsbad, CA
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
Danni LeBlanc stands at the counter in the rec room of the home she shares with her fiancé, Donovan Basch. Donovan stands beside her, examining a can of Bud Ice as he holds it in his hand, a disgusted sneer plastered on his face.
Donovan: I still can’t for the life of me wonder why you insisted I pick up a can of this... swill. I thought Stella Artois was your beer of choice?
Danni cracks open the can, holding it up to her nose to give it a quick sniff. She cringes, but is quick to shake off her revulsion.
Danni: It is, but I figure that since I’m facing someone that refers to himself as “the Filth,” I might as well get into that mindset. And what better way to do that than to drink cheap beer?
Donovan furrows his brow as he ponders the question. When the realization finally hits him, he raises a single finger in a “ah-ha!” gesture.
Donovan: OH! Now, I understand what you’re talking about. In that case, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.
A quick kiss on the lips, and Donovan leaves the room. Once he’s gone, Danni takes a small sip from the can, but gags as soon as the beverage hits her tongue.
Danni: Ugh.... Definitely not drinking any more of this shit!
She pours the rest of the beer down the drain, then sets the can aside as she looks into the camera.
Danni: Awww, what’s the matter, Chrissy-Poo? You seem a little... upset about something. So naturally, I’m curious. Why is it that you’re so mad at the world that you can’t go five seconds... if even that long... without dropping an f-bomb? I mean, I’m all for peppering the vocabulary with a few sentence-enhancers of my own, but DAMN! I’d almost assume that your mother must’ve put Limp Bizkit’s “Hot Dog” on loop while she was pregnant with you, if not for the fact that you’re way too fucking old for that to be the case.
She shakes the beer can lightly. A few drops remain inside as the remaining dregs plink against the can’s inner wall.
Danni: And I stand by what I said during our oh-so-pleasant exchange on Twitter the other day. You are almost exactly like Gray Malone... Old, pathetic, a total washout that really needs to learn when his time is up. Though I have to say that there’s one major difference between you. At least Gray Malone can truly be called a has-been. After all, he actually has a few championships tacked to his résumé, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you. No... you can never be called a has-been; you’re a never-was.
At Unscripted, you are the one thing standing between me and my shot at the South Bay Championship. And normally, I would never look beyond my current opponent, but for you, it’s different. Most people would call their last match before a major title shot a speed bump, but the way I see it, you’re more of a stepping stone; no more than just another road marker on the map of my journey to championship gold.
It won’t be much longer, Chris. Just a couple more days until you just become another speck of dust in my rear view mirror, and maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you keep some of your teeth, so that you won’t talk with too much of a lisp when people ask you what the sole of my boot tastes like.
She turns the can upside down, shaking it until the last drop of beer finally falls from the can’s mouth.
Danni: Or, your luck could wind up like the contents of this beer can... all run out.
Danni sets the can down on the counter, and with a single slam of her fist, she crushes it. Raising her fist, she gazes at the imprint left by the top rim of the can as a wicked smile forms on her face. As the scene fades out, the last thing we can see is Danni turning around toward the refrigerator.
Danni: Damn! What the hell did they brew that shit with? Sewer water? Gotta find something to wash that nasty taste out of my mouth....
