Summary: The Motor City Machine Guns have advertised their company to anybody with cash to burn, but with the clients they attract they get more than they bargained for. Rated T13 for humor and language.
I really should be studying, but when plot bunnies form they quickly multiply. Mine started around the time that I saw the Motor City Machine Guns run their promo advertising, well, themselves, essentially, and it just went on from there. I personally would somehow scrape together a grand just for Chris Sabin, but yeah, if I got them both I would probably just let them sit around and watch Metalocalypse while I cook them dinner. I am such a spaz.
As always, reviews and ideas are much appreciated.
Disclaimer: TNA Wrestling and any other promotions, brands, etc, are property of their respective owners. If there is any fathomable way to own the Guns, please inform me because I am SO there.
Date Uploaded: 26 August 2009
Chapter 1: Glorified Babysitters
Advertising your services was one thing; advertising the mere awesomeness of your presence was another. But Alex Shelley had supreme confidence in his and his tag team partner's magnetic ability to suck in their fans – enough to shower them in money, in the very least.
"Well, if there's one thing we've learned to count on you boys for, it's ego," Christy Hemme remarked after she and Tara had watched the playback of their commercial along with the Motor City Machine Guns.
"Ego?" Alex echoed, feigning puzzlement. "How is it ego when we're simply stating an undeniable truth? Chris and I are both well-known personalities who are generous enough to share our time and talents with others – for a low, low fee, of course."
"Right," Tara replied cynically, her tarantula, Poison, beginning a slow trek from one of her shoulders to the other. "And who on earth is going to fork out two grand an hour for you guys to 'hang out' with them?"
"Rich suckers," Alex replied immediately.
"What he means is wealthy, intelligent people who like to make the acquaintance of other intelligent, witty people," Chris Sabin quickly corrected his partner.
"Yeah, what he said," Alex agreed, nodding.
Christy and Tara exchanged glances. "Right, good luck on all of this, then," Christy said with a grin, "Because in no way, shape or form is this going to end badly."
"We're going to get paid to goof around with rich suckers," Alex said to her in a mildly impatient tone, ignoring Chris' disgruntled noise at referring to their would-be benefactors as 'rich suckers' again. "Tell me how that's supposed to end badly, huh, Imitation Ginger?"
Christy scowled at him, but it was Tara who spoke. "You know, I'd be more concerned at the fact that TNA actually let you go ahead and put that on their programming. The fact that they seem to care little about you guys peddling personal appearances outside of their umbrella would indicate that you two may be, shall we say, a mite indispensible?"
That caused both of the Guns to glare at her. "Hey, you know what, shut up," Alex retorted.
"Yeah, why don't you and your long-legged, furry freak of nature go off and devour some dung beetles," Chris added, "And take that tarantula with you too."
"You're a tool," Christy snapped at him.
Tara simply gave them an amused grin and ushered her own tag team partner off with her. "Let's go Christy; we'll be back to laugh when this blows up in your face, boys."
"Psh," Chris scoffed when they were out of earshot. "What do those two know? We're going to go great with this little venture of ours."
"Better than great, man," Alex said, having started to check their emails from his iPhone. "We've got at least a dozen interested parties contacting us already! Didn't I tell you this would be awesome?"
"That you did," Chris conceded, looking at the tiny screen over his shoulder. "But hey, this means we're going to need a hell of a lot more ShamWows."
"Yeah, let's go and beat it out of that Vince Offer guy," Alex said, pocketing his iPhone. "Just looking at his face is starting to piss me off nowadays. Plus I tried to use one of those things to blot a grape soda spill on my carpet, and the stain fucking turned orange. Total scam, man."
"I'm with you," Chris agreed, and the two of them headed off, satisfied that by the end of the week they would be seeing big bucks for absolutely minimal work. Best idea ever.
As it turned out the Vince Offer guy was in jail for 'allegedly' beating up a hooker, again, and so the Guns had to settle for ordering another batch of the dodgy ShamWow product, which would arrive in seven days. Alex had been less than pleased with the credit card bill, but as Chris pointed out, you had to spend money to make money. As it was, the rest of their money-making scheme would merely involve them hanging out with wrestling geeks and internet smarks and posing as coolly as they could. Which, being the Motor City Machine Guns, was pretty cool.
And job number one started the very next day. Landing in Dallas, Texas, the two of them headed straight from the airport to a twenty-hectare ranch where their first client had asked to meet them. Alex grinned at Chris as the two of them stepped on the spacious front porch and knocked on the door. "What'd I tell you? A few more of these sweet gigs at rich folk's homes and we are set – for the next few months, in the very least."
"Yeah, until you order another high end sex doll from Japan that puts us back another ten grand," Chris said to him.
"Hey, don't pretend you haven't had a few good times with Ayumi yourself."
"You're a sick fuck," Chris said, ringing the bell again.
The door finally opened and, much to the Guns' surprise, Dixie Carter poked her head out. "Oh good, you're here," she said, looking relieved, crooking a finger to beckon them inside. "Come in, come in, I've been waiting for you for the last ten minutes."
"Uh, Dixie?" Chris asked, looking confused, as he and Alex walked inside her home. "You hired us? This is your place?"
"Yes. This is the family's summer home," Dixie said, leading them down the hall. "Listen, I have to head out in just under five minutes or I'm going to be really late for my meeting, but my number and my husband's numbers are on the fridge, as well as the doctor's and the neighbors' in case of an emergency."
"Wait, emergency?" Alex asked, the two of them still trekking after her. "What exactly are you..." he trailed off when they arrived at the recreation area and came face to face with a boy and a girl of about seven and five respectively, both sitting sullenly on a couch, their arms crossed and scowls on their faces.
"All right, Joseph, Whitney, this is Alex and Chris," Dixie said, going over to crouch in front of her children. "They're going to be looking after you while mommy goes out for a while, okay?"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait..." Alex said, stopping her just as she had scooped up her purse and keys. "Call me crazy here, but I'm starting to get the impression that you hired us to babysit your kids."
"That's right," Dixie replied.
"Far be it for me to question the decisions of the Madam President," Chris said with a displeased frown, "But wouldn't it have been cheaper to hire a junior high student who lives down the block?"
Dixie looked at them, to her kids, and then back to them again. She then leaned in close so that she could speak to them in a low voice. "Okay, here's the deal. I've gone through seventeen nannies and babysitters in the past two months. All of them have refused to set foot in this place again."
"So you hired us," Alex said, cocking an eyebrow, "To babysit?"
"Well in your ad you did say that you were happy to do anything," Dixie said, giving them a sly grin. "Speaking of which, you may want to think about levering boundaries on that clause in the future. Either way, I have you for three hours, and I expect you two make sure that the kids don't tear the place down in the space of that time. I assume that two grown men can do that. In return, I pay you your ridiculously extravagant fee. Deal?"
Alex and Chris looked at each other. "Okay," Alex finally said.
"Great!" Dixie said, already halfway down the hall. "I'll see you guys in three hours then, bye!" And then there was the sound of a door slamming and she was gone.
"Dude, I didn't sign up to be a fucking babysitter," Chris said to his partner.
"Dude, it's two little kids," Alex said, slinging an arm around his shoulders and grinning at him. "How hard can this be?"
A mere hour later the place was in complete chaos. The dinner table had been turned on its side and thrown fruit had splattered everywhere, there were paint handprints marked on every wall downstairs, an upstairs toilet had been clogged and water was overflowing, the back door had been opened and about seven dogs had rushed in and upset furniture as they ran back and forth.
Chris stopped to catch his breath and found Alex lying on an upended couch. "Dude, what the hell are you doing?"
"I'm taking a fucking breather, that's what!" Alex said to him. "That crazy kid Joseph stuffed about two dozen TNA action figures in the upstairs toilet and I had to spend half an hour trying to keep water from flooding the entire floor!"
"Well it's starting again," Chris said, shoving a plunger in his hands and making him groan. "Don't give me that shit, man, I just rounded up five dogs with a tray of sausages I found in the freezer, and I still haven't caught up to that rugrat Whitney! Speaking of which, have you seen her?"
"I think she ran past with a can of pink paint and a poodle about five minutes ago," Alex said.
"And you didn't stop her??"
"I was taking a breather!"
Chris looked like he would strangle him when Whitney suddenly ran up to them and slapped a hand onto Alex's forehead, leaving a bright pink handprint. She let out a hysterical squeal and then ran off, a poodle yapping at her heels.
Pissed off, Alex threw a few shredded pillows off of him and got up. "That's it; we underestimated those little shits and they've tried to divide and conquer us. We have to get control back. You with me?"
Chris's response was to snicker.
"Yes, I realize I must look like a jackass with a pink handprint on my forehead, but can we focus on the bigger picture here?"
There was a loud click as Chris snapped a photo of him with his iPhone. "Oh yeah, I see the bigger picture; this blown up to A3 size, hanging in the locker room."
"You're an ass," Alex snarled at him. "Help me get the kids."
When Dixie Carter stepped into her front door a few hours later, the first thing she saw was multi-colored handprints on her cream-colored walls. Furniture was out of place, and she could see that they had been hurriedly straightened up. A few of her vases were gone and so were her picture frames, and, taking a quick look in the garbage bin in the kitchen she could see their smashed up remains. Trekking upstairs, she was a little concerned at the fact that the floor was wet.
Wondering not for the first time whether leaving her admittedly hellraiser kids with the Motor City Machine Guns was a good idea, Dixie went to check on her children. To her surprise, she found them both tucked in and sound asleep in their beds, although Popo the poodle was curled up on top of Whitney's covers.
"Well, well, who knew?" Dixie mused. Closing the door, she went in search of her rather expensive babysitters.
She found them in the recreation area, sitting in front of the TV, asleep on each other's shoulders, while a rerun of Harvey Birdman played in front of them. Dixie had to grin. As things went, it could have been much worse. Taking her checkbook, she wrote out a check for six thousand dollars and then folded and attempted to put it into Alex's jeans pocket.
That of course caused him to stir and wake up. "Hey, you don't have to molest me in my sleep, Dixie, all you have to do is ask," he said with a somewhat bleary grin.
She smacked him on the arm, in effect jerking Chris to consciousness as well. "I was just slipping you your pay," she said. "In fact, I was going to be nice and let you guys sleep it out here on the couch; you two cuddled up next to each other was just too cute to move."
Alex finally realized that he was snuggled up to Chris and shoved him, causing the disgruntled Chris to shove him back. "We'd be happy to spend the night," Alex said, "But that's on the clock too."
"In that case, OUT!!" Dixie roared, pointing to in the direction of the door.
In moments the two of them had been disposed outside the front door. "So much for thanks!" Chris yelled.
"But hey, at least we've got six grand," Alex said, taking the check out and admiring it.
"Yeah, after three hours of hell."
"You know, you really have to start looking at the brighter things in life," Alex said, pocketing the check again. "Take, for example, the fact that I can get Ayumi fixed now – I think she broke last time."
"Give me the fucking check, Alex."
The two grappled for it down the drive and even into the cab that they hailed, until the exasperated taxi driver kicked them both out and sped off. That sobered them enough to pull their acts together to get another ride to the airport. Besides, Chris figured he would take that check off his partner when Alex was asleep; that would take care of his preorder of the PS3 Slim and PlayTV.