Post by Azurine Vebbins on Mar 21, 2021 9:02:30 GMT -5
“Da Adorkable Angel” Azurine Vebbins awkwardly assuages anxiety by juggling three pins and reticently riding a unicycle. Nidrah, meanwhile, hammer fists a mime-faced mannequin like her forearms are honed hatchets. Ms. Vebbins performs a less rigorous training regimen since she dances twice this Saturday night. Still, this maudlin merengue on Monday, compounded with what transpired on last week’s CruiserClash, may have smudged Azurine’s mental makeup. For pandering purposes, the couple armors themselves in customized Las Vegas Golden Knight hockey jerseys.
Azurine Vebbins: It’s malevolent Machiavellian malarkey dat six days before Totally Inconceivable Meta Event Broadcastin’ Objectionable Mayhem Blot...General Malpractice Jim Mud books us against a couple chuckle-chokin’ Charlie Quinns. We cannot let dese low-level louts turn dis depressin’ disturbance into an arena-scale laugh riot. Da followin’ should also be stated wid crystal clear conscience. Security must not permit whoopin’ cranes, whoopin’ cough, and/or whoopie cushions anywhere on da premises. Hearin’ such diabolical distractions could cause Carnival of Carnage to receive carte blanche in terms of chanter cachet. I deem dat disastrous since Sideshow Of Sadness inspires irrational irritation. Deyr preferred/possibly paraphrased philosophers once posited: “How do foxtrottin’ magnets work?” Well, apart from describin’ our peppy personality, da answer’s synonymous wid a Paula Abdul’s 1989 hit sin’-le: “Opposites Attract.” Den again, da only din’ Pineapple Promenade’s attractin’ wid you jocular jack of all shades is an attentive audience.
Rinse Cuppa and Kink Your Horn, da jape of jostlin’ juggalos on National Goof-Off Day isn’t GPS signal lost on Nidrah and myself. Some suspect our tasteful tandem’s a pretty punchline. Dey hear us once, we get it, but odd-er one-liners hit harder. Of course dat’s da noxious narrative certain critics claim whilst punchin’ deyr own clown down. Would explain why dat banana peel slippin’, seltzer water shakin’, and whipped cream pie-faced tossin’ tart wants “Big Swoon” and I experiencin’ “backyard fun” on March 28. Notion it’s a cheaper drill dan his dentist’s novocaine. Still, deyr’s concentrated consolation continuin’ championship conversation. Will be da greatest guffaw slippin’ a Cruiserweight Tag-Team title strap back on my “Sarong Strong Samoan’s” svelte, smokeshow stomach. Plus, unlike Two Clark Kents and Nash’s Naysayers...we’re a better bet given our payoff’s more profound.
If any-din’ we’re viewin’ dis week’s volta as a veiled Vegas vacay. Hell, California, she and I are sportin’ souvenirs for dis particular promotional material. Wid da NHL back in full swin’, I knew we needed Golden Knight jerseys. Considerin’ da puck drops at T-Mobile Arena ’round 7 p.m. Pacific Standard Time against da Saint Louis Blues, our CruiserClash cha-cha’s gotta be airin’ earlier. Why does dat deserve a mention? Da hooligans my partner and I will be half-nelson suplexin’ hail from Hockeytown. If Rinse or Kink are really lucky, den dey might get brutally bashed broadside into da boards. Dat’s da blister-inducin’ beauty of our grapplin’ gauntlet, dough. Drow-in' down on da ice results in bein' sent to penalty boxes for five minute majors. Conversely, slammin’ someone on da outside of our rasslin’ rink only incurs a minor, verbal warnin’ from da zebra. It’s da equivalent of Wayne Campbell and Gard Algar sayin’ “Game on” after Stacy clips a parked car wid her bicycle.
Actually, dat’s probably how Cuppa and Horn picture us, isn’t it, Nidrah? Pineapple Promenade may be banged up from Mud’s miscreants, da cage fencin’, and Blaze’s knobby knee, but we recognize our route to redemption. Da road starts by takin’ a Michigan left past Carnival of Calamity. Again, if memory serves me correctly since I’m generally in da passenger seat when “Big Swoon” drives, dat’s a right followed by a U-turn? Sounds like a navigational nightmare for anyone not from Motown.
Speakin’ of nightmares, it’d be eerie not explainin’ how I envision our eccentric enemies. Call him Rinse Cuppa since he’s in for a coffee, drinks five, should wash, and helps himself to a heap of Hungry Howie’s Pizzas. As for Kink Your Horn? Dude projects himself as a long tenor toot yet sounds like a short soprano squeal. Neider’s ready to run a dree-rin’ circus dat’s chaotic as da CruiserClash Cruiserweight Tag-Team Division. Nidrah and I, however, aren’t above steppin’ on squeaky shoes. I'm feelin' better airin' out dat anxiety.
Azurine Vebbins: It’s malevolent Machiavellian malarkey dat six days before Totally Inconceivable Meta Event Broadcastin’ Objectionable Mayhem Blot...General Malpractice Jim Mud books us against a couple chuckle-chokin’ Charlie Quinns. We cannot let dese low-level louts turn dis depressin’ disturbance into an arena-scale laugh riot. Da followin’ should also be stated wid crystal clear conscience. Security must not permit whoopin’ cranes, whoopin’ cough, and/or whoopie cushions anywhere on da premises. Hearin’ such diabolical distractions could cause Carnival of Carnage to receive carte blanche in terms of chanter cachet. I deem dat disastrous since Sideshow Of Sadness inspires irrational irritation. Deyr preferred/possibly paraphrased philosophers once posited: “How do foxtrottin’ magnets work?” Well, apart from describin’ our peppy personality, da answer’s synonymous wid a Paula Abdul’s 1989 hit sin’-le: “Opposites Attract.” Den again, da only din’ Pineapple Promenade’s attractin’ wid you jocular jack of all shades is an attentive audience.
Rinse Cuppa and Kink Your Horn, da jape of jostlin’ juggalos on National Goof-Off Day isn’t GPS signal lost on Nidrah and myself. Some suspect our tasteful tandem’s a pretty punchline. Dey hear us once, we get it, but odd-er one-liners hit harder. Of course dat’s da noxious narrative certain critics claim whilst punchin’ deyr own clown down. Would explain why dat banana peel slippin’, seltzer water shakin’, and whipped cream pie-faced tossin’ tart wants “Big Swoon” and I experiencin’ “backyard fun” on March 28. Notion it’s a cheaper drill dan his dentist’s novocaine. Still, deyr’s concentrated consolation continuin’ championship conversation. Will be da greatest guffaw slippin’ a Cruiserweight Tag-Team title strap back on my “Sarong Strong Samoan’s” svelte, smokeshow stomach. Plus, unlike Two Clark Kents and Nash’s Naysayers...we’re a better bet given our payoff’s more profound.
If any-din’ we’re viewin’ dis week’s volta as a veiled Vegas vacay. Hell, California, she and I are sportin’ souvenirs for dis particular promotional material. Wid da NHL back in full swin’, I knew we needed Golden Knight jerseys. Considerin’ da puck drops at T-Mobile Arena ’round 7 p.m. Pacific Standard Time against da Saint Louis Blues, our CruiserClash cha-cha’s gotta be airin’ earlier. Why does dat deserve a mention? Da hooligans my partner and I will be half-nelson suplexin’ hail from Hockeytown. If Rinse or Kink are really lucky, den dey might get brutally bashed broadside into da boards. Dat’s da blister-inducin’ beauty of our grapplin’ gauntlet, dough. Drow-in' down on da ice results in bein' sent to penalty boxes for five minute majors. Conversely, slammin’ someone on da outside of our rasslin’ rink only incurs a minor, verbal warnin’ from da zebra. It’s da equivalent of Wayne Campbell and Gard Algar sayin’ “Game on” after Stacy clips a parked car wid her bicycle.
Actually, dat’s probably how Cuppa and Horn picture us, isn’t it, Nidrah? Pineapple Promenade may be banged up from Mud’s miscreants, da cage fencin’, and Blaze’s knobby knee, but we recognize our route to redemption. Da road starts by takin’ a Michigan left past Carnival of Calamity. Again, if memory serves me correctly since I’m generally in da passenger seat when “Big Swoon” drives, dat’s a right followed by a U-turn? Sounds like a navigational nightmare for anyone not from Motown.
Speakin’ of nightmares, it’d be eerie not explainin’ how I envision our eccentric enemies. Call him Rinse Cuppa since he’s in for a coffee, drinks five, should wash, and helps himself to a heap of Hungry Howie’s Pizzas. As for Kink Your Horn? Dude projects himself as a long tenor toot yet sounds like a short soprano squeal. Neider’s ready to run a dree-rin’ circus dat’s chaotic as da CruiserClash Cruiserweight Tag-Team Division. Nidrah and I, however, aren’t above steppin’ on squeaky shoes. I'm feelin' better airin' out dat anxiety.