Post by Mr. McCoy on Aug 19, 2011 2:20:55 GMT -5
As the feed opens up we see Freebird McCoy walking backstage, a bottle of cough syrup and Jim Beam dangling in his fingertips in his left hand, and some painkillers in the other. He ventures over to a nearby table and sets his medicinals down before noticing the camera in his peripheral vision. He cracks a smile, giving a warmhearted welcome to the cameraman before popping some of the painkillers into his mouth. The hiss of the whiskey being opened is audible as McCoy stares at the beer with thirst. Afterward he takes a big gulp of his lager, briefly swishing the pills and the alcoholic liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. Having quenched his thirst and tackled his aching wounds, the Oklahoman licks his chops before turning to the camera.
Freebird: "You might say I'm crazy to be mixing my medicine with my booze, or even stupid, but I've been used to being labeled a moron all my life."
"When I blindfolded myself and operated the tractor on my grandad's farm for entertainment and ended up driving it into the horses stable. In retrospect, that was probably a stupid thing."
He shrugs his shoulders in a lukewarm fashion as he reminisces about his past.
"When I misplaced the weeds.... I mean plants with the bag of dog food and accidently gave Mr. Barksdale six kinds of Wednesday. Or the time I invested a five thousand dollar tax return into a vacation home in Cape Verde, only to realize the real estate was a figment of the salesman's imagine, and within a few weeks his number had changed and my money was gone. That was probably a stupid thing. But I'll tell you what's really stupid, somebody being called a hick because he was raised on a farm, wrestled the animals, and likes chewing big wads of tobacco. I'm a hardworking American from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I've had to sleep under cardboard boxes during rainstorms to keep from getting drenched. I had to take baths with a hose to reduce the water bills. I had to hitch rides to get to work because its unethical to ride lawnmowers on the road. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO HITCHHIKE LOOKING AS STUPID AS I DO!?"
McCoy takes a deep breath to calm himself down, having delivered the last piece of his speech with a vehement, maniacal tone. Having taken too many trips down memory lane, the only way he can suppress those memories is through alcohol and cough syrup, which he quickly does, taking a sip of the Jim Beam and cough syrup one after the other. He then exhales.
"I'm not a hick; now Jerry Nate, that's a hick. He's a cornshusker, who chews Copenhagen tobacco, likely never finished elementary school, and probably had intercourse with his cousin on multiple occasions. But I don't really know that for sure, I mean that would be completely stereotypical wouldn't it, and that would be pretty stupid..."
McCoy tucks his painkillers in his jean pocket, before grabbing his Jim Beam and cough syrup. As he walks out of camera view, he stares at the two bottles, his face wrinkling with deep contemplation. His eyes then light up as if the lightbulb had just illuminated.
"Could use some more Ibuprofen!"
End of Thread
Freebird: "You might say I'm crazy to be mixing my medicine with my booze, or even stupid, but I've been used to being labeled a moron all my life."
"When I blindfolded myself and operated the tractor on my grandad's farm for entertainment and ended up driving it into the horses stable. In retrospect, that was probably a stupid thing."
He shrugs his shoulders in a lukewarm fashion as he reminisces about his past.
"When I misplaced the weeds.... I mean plants with the bag of dog food and accidently gave Mr. Barksdale six kinds of Wednesday. Or the time I invested a five thousand dollar tax return into a vacation home in Cape Verde, only to realize the real estate was a figment of the salesman's imagine, and within a few weeks his number had changed and my money was gone. That was probably a stupid thing. But I'll tell you what's really stupid, somebody being called a hick because he was raised on a farm, wrestled the animals, and likes chewing big wads of tobacco. I'm a hardworking American from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I've had to sleep under cardboard boxes during rainstorms to keep from getting drenched. I had to take baths with a hose to reduce the water bills. I had to hitch rides to get to work because its unethical to ride lawnmowers on the road. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO HITCHHIKE LOOKING AS STUPID AS I DO!?"
McCoy takes a deep breath to calm himself down, having delivered the last piece of his speech with a vehement, maniacal tone. Having taken too many trips down memory lane, the only way he can suppress those memories is through alcohol and cough syrup, which he quickly does, taking a sip of the Jim Beam and cough syrup one after the other. He then exhales.
"I'm not a hick; now Jerry Nate, that's a hick. He's a cornshusker, who chews Copenhagen tobacco, likely never finished elementary school, and probably had intercourse with his cousin on multiple occasions. But I don't really know that for sure, I mean that would be completely stereotypical wouldn't it, and that would be pretty stupid..."
McCoy tucks his painkillers in his jean pocket, before grabbing his Jim Beam and cough syrup. As he walks out of camera view, he stares at the two bottles, his face wrinkling with deep contemplation. His eyes then light up as if the lightbulb had just illuminated.
"Could use some more Ibuprofen!"
End of Thread
