Post by Malo on May 1, 2017 3:29:01 GMT
“I am still not seeing how this,”
Zassu looks down at himself with a shake of his head, “particular form of training could help us where the Lost Boys are concerned.”
From somewhere to his left, there’s a small shuffling noise just before Malo stumbles into the camera shot clad in a beige, short sleeved button-up shirt, desert colored camouflaged cargo shorts, hiking boots and a mask of various tans, browns and greens, all capped off with a dark slouch hat, the left side of which has been pinned up.
“Amigo,” he smiles, “you can not hope to beat the boys from Down Under without seeing what it is like to be putting the shrimps on the barbie.”
Zasshu, again, looks down at his similarly styled outfit with a sigh. Though, he notices, that Malo has made sure he is outfitted with a rather large knife that he quickly strapped to his hip knowing that if Malo thought he should be armed – who knows what was in store.
“So, let us pretend for a second,” Zasshu continues, adjusting the knife at his side, “that all of this makes sense; could you explain him?” With a wave of his arm, Zasshu motions towards the man holding the camera.
“Juan?”
“John,” the camera man corrects.
“Silly Juan, mi amigo, he is not knowing your sense of humor – your interplayings with Malo; we is always having the funny back and forths, you see,” he mentions to Zasshu a little quieter.
“Look, guy,” John says, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “it bugs me enough that you call me ‘Juan’, I don’t want you introducing me to any more of your fruity, masked friends like that too.”
The words are no more out of his mouth, then he realizes that he’d said the wrong thing. Zasshu stands a little straighter as he takes the four steps that separate the cameraman from the pair. Zasshu moves in, taking a small step around the back of John until he stands with his head right near John’s left ear.
“If my friend Malo says your name is Juan, this is your name; that is, unless you would prefer I use your Christian name to address the cards and flowers for your hospital room.”
There’s an audible gulp followed by a quick shake of his head. Zasshu continues his journey around John and makes his way back beside his parter.
“Malo,” he says, looking at the distracted luchador, “Juan was just telling me that he has grown tired of his games and will not be challenging you any longer; is that not right, Juan?”
Zasshu puts extra emphasis on the name.
“Uh,” John stutters, looking from one masked man to the other, “si – si, mi llamo es Juan.”
Malo, smiling from ear to ear, gives his parter a small poke in the ribs with his elbow, “See, amigo, he is the muy funny guy.”
Zasshu smiles, his eyes never leaving the scared cameraman. “So, again,” he continues, “what is the game plan for this training session? I still feel that you and I would be better prepared training in the ring.”
Malo nods his head, “I was thinking the same thing, amigo, that is,” he grins, “until I is thinking about where our opponents is coming from. See, to understand Los Lost Chicos, we is having to become Lost Chicos ourselves …” he pauses, “and this is seeming like more fun! Now, amigo,” he says with an almost giggle, “I is wanting you to head that way,” he says, directing with his arm outstretched, “to look for the great and terrible alligator – El Diablo de la Swamp!”
“If the guys you’re up against are from Australia,” John begins, “don’t you mean croc …” he stops as he catches Zasshu’s eyes, “never mind; my bad, carry on”
Malo acts as though he heard nothing and continues on, “I must warn you, amigo,” he says with an air of mystery, “peoples, they is saying that El Diablo de la Swamp, he is the biggest, baddest reptile in all of the world!”
“What are the odds?” Zasshu says with a small grin.
“I is knowing, right?” Malo adds.
“So, while you is going that way, Malo will be taking Juan and going in this totally different direction. If you is seeing El Diablo, just yell out real loud like and Malo, he will come and help you to be wrestling him! ¿Si?”
Zasshu looks from Malo to John and without another word turns and begins walking in the direction Malo had indicated. The pair watch as Zasshu begins to disappear behind the brush, and once out of earshot Malo grabs John and pulls him towards a nearby tree. Reaching down, Malo pulls a large dufflebag from under a large pile of debris and begins unzipping it as John films on.
“Juan, this will be the best training of Zasshu’s life! Malo, he is making the little visit,” he says with a small laugh, “to the costume shop and can you be guessing what I is finding there?”
“Oh no,” John says, already seeing where this is going, “bad idea, dude.”
“Amigo,” Malo continues, “this is a great idea. Zasshu will be wrestling an alligator today, and Malo is thinking that you would be giving him the most run for his monies!”
John nearly chokes on his tongue, “What? You want me to dress up and go try and jump him? Are you insane?”
Malo smiles, “Insane like the fox, amigo! Now, while you is getting dressed,” he says as he finishes dragging the large costume from the bag, “Malo, he will record the selfie videos for his amigos.”
There’s some hemming and hawing as John turns over the camera to Malo in return for the costume, but it isn’t long before Malo stands with the camera pointed at himself awkwardly, John in the background disrobing.
“Ladies and gentlepeoples, Malo, he is coming to you alive today from the muy beautiful Toledo, Ohio. Very much soon, mi amigo, Zasshu y Malo will be stepping our feet into the ring against Los Lost Chicos – this,” he smiles, “could prove to be the match of the evenings if Malo’s calculations are accurate.
The Chico’s,” he wags a finger on his free hand towards the camera, “while they is a very talented team, the brothers,”
“They aren’t brothers, FYI” John pipes up from behind.
“Que?”
“Brothers, they aren’t brothers – they’ve got different last names and everything.”
“But,” Malo continues, looking confused, “Malo is almost certain that they is brothers; maybe they is just having the different padres?”
John shrugs as he struggles with the zipper to the costume.
“Well, brothers or not, Malo knows from the experiences what you both is capable of; mi amigo, Chris Fenell is knowing it first hand. But this,” he says with a nod, “is what is separating you both from Malo y Zasshu. While Los Lost Chicos is fighting for …” he shrugs, “whatever vain, petty reasons you is fighting for, Bueno Club,” he grins, “we is fighting for honor.
From the first days, Malo is standing up for what wrestling should be, y Zasshu is standing by mi side as we fight the bueno fight!
Malo, he does not know if you both is having any of the ideas what you is getting into, but rest assured …” he pauses, looking over his shoulder and noticing that he’s alone. The camera lowers slightly as Malo moves around a bit looking for John.
“Juan?” he calls out, “Juan, where is you?”
There’s a rustling in the brush just beyond the camera’s field of view and Malo, wide eyed, stares intently at it. “H…h…hola?” he says, the noises growing louder. Just as Malo screws up the courage to investigate, the grass parts and a man in an ill fitting alligator costume comes bursting out from the bushes screaming in terror.
“He’s gonna kill meeeeeeeeee,” John calls out, looking over his shoulder and tripping over his feet.
“Juan?” Malo questions just as a beige blur burst forth from the undergrowth, wrapping his arms around the middle of John and tackling him to the ground. Malo, getting a hold of himself and positioning the camera so that it captures both himself as well as Zasshu, who at this point has hog tied John, smiles into the camera.
“Rest assured, chicos, you will be learning respect and honor – even if we is having to beat it into you.
Olé!”
Zassu looks down at himself with a shake of his head, “particular form of training could help us where the Lost Boys are concerned.”
From somewhere to his left, there’s a small shuffling noise just before Malo stumbles into the camera shot clad in a beige, short sleeved button-up shirt, desert colored camouflaged cargo shorts, hiking boots and a mask of various tans, browns and greens, all capped off with a dark slouch hat, the left side of which has been pinned up.
“Amigo,” he smiles, “you can not hope to beat the boys from Down Under without seeing what it is like to be putting the shrimps on the barbie.”
Zasshu, again, looks down at his similarly styled outfit with a sigh. Though, he notices, that Malo has made sure he is outfitted with a rather large knife that he quickly strapped to his hip knowing that if Malo thought he should be armed – who knows what was in store.
“So, let us pretend for a second,” Zasshu continues, adjusting the knife at his side, “that all of this makes sense; could you explain him?” With a wave of his arm, Zasshu motions towards the man holding the camera.
“Juan?”
“John,” the camera man corrects.
“Silly Juan, mi amigo, he is not knowing your sense of humor – your interplayings with Malo; we is always having the funny back and forths, you see,” he mentions to Zasshu a little quieter.
“Look, guy,” John says, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “it bugs me enough that you call me ‘Juan’, I don’t want you introducing me to any more of your fruity, masked friends like that too.”
The words are no more out of his mouth, then he realizes that he’d said the wrong thing. Zasshu stands a little straighter as he takes the four steps that separate the cameraman from the pair. Zasshu moves in, taking a small step around the back of John until he stands with his head right near John’s left ear.
“If my friend Malo says your name is Juan, this is your name; that is, unless you would prefer I use your Christian name to address the cards and flowers for your hospital room.”
There’s an audible gulp followed by a quick shake of his head. Zasshu continues his journey around John and makes his way back beside his parter.
“Malo,” he says, looking at the distracted luchador, “Juan was just telling me that he has grown tired of his games and will not be challenging you any longer; is that not right, Juan?”
Zasshu puts extra emphasis on the name.
“Uh,” John stutters, looking from one masked man to the other, “si – si, mi llamo es Juan.”
Malo, smiling from ear to ear, gives his parter a small poke in the ribs with his elbow, “See, amigo, he is the muy funny guy.”
Zasshu smiles, his eyes never leaving the scared cameraman. “So, again,” he continues, “what is the game plan for this training session? I still feel that you and I would be better prepared training in the ring.”
Malo nods his head, “I was thinking the same thing, amigo, that is,” he grins, “until I is thinking about where our opponents is coming from. See, to understand Los Lost Chicos, we is having to become Lost Chicos ourselves …” he pauses, “and this is seeming like more fun! Now, amigo,” he says with an almost giggle, “I is wanting you to head that way,” he says, directing with his arm outstretched, “to look for the great and terrible alligator – El Diablo de la Swamp!”
“If the guys you’re up against are from Australia,” John begins, “don’t you mean croc …” he stops as he catches Zasshu’s eyes, “never mind; my bad, carry on”
Malo acts as though he heard nothing and continues on, “I must warn you, amigo,” he says with an air of mystery, “peoples, they is saying that El Diablo de la Swamp, he is the biggest, baddest reptile in all of the world!”
“What are the odds?” Zasshu says with a small grin.
“I is knowing, right?” Malo adds.
“So, while you is going that way, Malo will be taking Juan and going in this totally different direction. If you is seeing El Diablo, just yell out real loud like and Malo, he will come and help you to be wrestling him! ¿Si?”
Zasshu looks from Malo to John and without another word turns and begins walking in the direction Malo had indicated. The pair watch as Zasshu begins to disappear behind the brush, and once out of earshot Malo grabs John and pulls him towards a nearby tree. Reaching down, Malo pulls a large dufflebag from under a large pile of debris and begins unzipping it as John films on.
“Juan, this will be the best training of Zasshu’s life! Malo, he is making the little visit,” he says with a small laugh, “to the costume shop and can you be guessing what I is finding there?”
“Oh no,” John says, already seeing where this is going, “bad idea, dude.”
“Amigo,” Malo continues, “this is a great idea. Zasshu will be wrestling an alligator today, and Malo is thinking that you would be giving him the most run for his monies!”
John nearly chokes on his tongue, “What? You want me to dress up and go try and jump him? Are you insane?”
Malo smiles, “Insane like the fox, amigo! Now, while you is getting dressed,” he says as he finishes dragging the large costume from the bag, “Malo, he will record the selfie videos for his amigos.”
There’s some hemming and hawing as John turns over the camera to Malo in return for the costume, but it isn’t long before Malo stands with the camera pointed at himself awkwardly, John in the background disrobing.
“Ladies and gentlepeoples, Malo, he is coming to you alive today from the muy beautiful Toledo, Ohio. Very much soon, mi amigo, Zasshu y Malo will be stepping our feet into the ring against Los Lost Chicos – this,” he smiles, “could prove to be the match of the evenings if Malo’s calculations are accurate.
The Chico’s,” he wags a finger on his free hand towards the camera, “while they is a very talented team, the brothers,”
“They aren’t brothers, FYI” John pipes up from behind.
“Que?”
“Brothers, they aren’t brothers – they’ve got different last names and everything.”
“But,” Malo continues, looking confused, “Malo is almost certain that they is brothers; maybe they is just having the different padres?”
John shrugs as he struggles with the zipper to the costume.
“Well, brothers or not, Malo knows from the experiences what you both is capable of; mi amigo, Chris Fenell is knowing it first hand. But this,” he says with a nod, “is what is separating you both from Malo y Zasshu. While Los Lost Chicos is fighting for …” he shrugs, “whatever vain, petty reasons you is fighting for, Bueno Club,” he grins, “we is fighting for honor.
From the first days, Malo is standing up for what wrestling should be, y Zasshu is standing by mi side as we fight the bueno fight!
Malo, he does not know if you both is having any of the ideas what you is getting into, but rest assured …” he pauses, looking over his shoulder and noticing that he’s alone. The camera lowers slightly as Malo moves around a bit looking for John.
“Juan?” he calls out, “Juan, where is you?”
There’s a rustling in the brush just beyond the camera’s field of view and Malo, wide eyed, stares intently at it. “H…h…hola?” he says, the noises growing louder. Just as Malo screws up the courage to investigate, the grass parts and a man in an ill fitting alligator costume comes bursting out from the bushes screaming in terror.
“He’s gonna kill meeeeeeeeee,” John calls out, looking over his shoulder and tripping over his feet.
“Juan?” Malo questions just as a beige blur burst forth from the undergrowth, wrapping his arms around the middle of John and tackling him to the ground. Malo, getting a hold of himself and positioning the camera so that it captures both himself as well as Zasshu, who at this point has hog tied John, smiles into the camera.
“Rest assured, chicos, you will be learning respect and honor – even if we is having to beat it into you.
Olé!”
Well howdy there pardner.