SOMEWHERE IN JOLLY OL ENGLAND….A BATTLE IS ABOUT TO COMMENCE…
…came the piercing cry as Daniel Strong galloped over the hill in full polo attire. He was wearing one of those quaint, incomprehensible British hats…which made one’s head look like a penis. Ah, the joys of being formal.
Albeit, there was no one to be formal with.
Wembley stadium stood empty, as Daniel Strong strode in on his horse, affectionately named Mrs. Sissy-mare.
Mrs. Sissy-mare nibbled on the lush, and somewhat artificial Wembley turf before lovingly galloping over to Darkstar, standing smartly in the center of the arena, the camera panning accordingly.
Darkstar: Ah…I see you’ve….
Strong: Pip pip, cheerio boss!
Darkstar : ….what?
Strong: Oh erm…salutations…um….klatu-barada-niktoe!
Darkstar: That’s not even Briti-….whatever. I am glad you could make it. Now if we could just….
Just as the boss began to collect his thoughts, a collective “OI! OI! OI!” began to rumble beneath the calm surface of the sporting venue. The heavens shook, volcanoes erupted…
….heads were shaved….
Strong: What the…?
Darkstar: It can’t be….
Darkstar and Strong: The Manchester United “Let’s get drunk and sodomize people who hate us” fan club! [T.M.U.L.G.D.A.S.P.W.H.U.F.C.]
Lightning descended from the heavens as, crashing through the gates, a collection of very angry looking men in red soccer jerseys stampeded through and made a menacing beeline towards the TWO-stars representatives in the center of the field.
Darkstar and Strong: THEY’RE COMING RIGHT FOR US!
….but it was too late. The men in red were bearing down upon them, like an unholy avalanche that reeked of British hops and too much BBC. The human wave surged forth….
Darkstar and Strong: SHIIII-----
….and harmlessly ran past them…leaving a dizzy and still frenzied Christopher Eagles in their wake.
Darkstar: What the….what was hell was that?
Eagles: Oi, o-…what? Where am I?
Darkstar: The stampede! What was with the stampede??
Eagles: Oh….oh that. Tickets.
Darkstar: Tickets for WHAT?
Eagles: The cup. Manchester United, dontcha know.
Darkstar: But they haven’t even QUALIFIED yet!
Darkstar: Never mind…just line up right there. Anywho, welcome both of you to
Came the long, dragged out reply. Soaring thousands of feet above the stadium in his private “Global Ballin Navigation” Jet, Mikhail Mills gracefully began his plummet to earth. Yanking on his parachute cord, his safety tool immediately inflated into place; a parachute in the pattern of the United States flag. Sporting all Sean-John attire, he finally planted his feet firmly into Wembley soil, before shooting an invigorated look at the boss…who seemed a bit unimpressed.
Darkstar: Always one to make an entrance, huh? Well that makes three. Now if we could just find….
Darkstar: DEAR GOD?! Where did YOU come from?!
The massive frame of Dan Jackson did not walk…nor parachute…nor riot it’s way into the stadium. It merely appeared…as the large, none too jolly man manifested himself over Darkstar’s right shoulder…with a menacing, Kawada-like glare in his eyes.
Darkstar: Right then. Just go line up with the rest of them. Now….AHEM….gentlemen…..and now onto the reason why you’re all here.
They awaited with running noses, distempered breaths, unparalleled excitement, and in some cases a crippling jock itch,
Darkstar: You have been selected for the first ever….TWO-STARS UNITED STATE CHAAALLL…..
JDZ: WAIT A MINUTE!!!!
An out of breath James-Dario-to-the-Z comes sprinting out of breath into the arena…clearly worried about his time management skills.
Darkstar: You’re late.
JDZ: Right, right…but *pant* my agent had me booked for something else….see Anna Nicole Smith died…and it was this huge thing and…press coverage. Anyway, long story short, I’m starring as Anna in the new movie they’re making on her life. You can continue now.
Darkstar: Right…now…aheem…..TWO-STARS UNITED STATES TITLE CHAAAALLLLEEEEEENGE!!!!!!!!!!!!
To be continued…..