08-04-2026, 09:59 PM
We see Kentucky “Tuck” Taggart slamming down an empty shot glass next to a neat row of three other identical empties.
He pounds his fist onto the wooden bar with a wave.
“Bartender, I need another.”
“Jesus, Tuck… can you even walk?”
Taggart kicks his bar stool out from under himself and stands up with a sneer.
“Boy, I can do better than walk, I can tapdance all over your ass if you don’t pour anothSHIT!”
Taggart sways and falls backward onto his ass, sending all the empty shot glasses across the bar as he futilely tries to grab onto it to keep his balance.
The barman just chuckles as Taggart struggles to his feet.
“I think you’ve had enough, Tuck.”
“I ain’t payin’ you to think, I’m payin’ you to pour.”
“Well, Tuck, you ain’t paid me at all in months. This tab is getting to be as big as those palms of yours.”
Kentucky growls and flares his nostrils, but maintains his composure for the most part.
“Look… I just need one… big… score.“
“Yeah, well, you said that in July too. Told everyone to bet big on you against that English guy. Half this town thinks you owe them now, Tuck. I think it’s time you settled up!”
With that, the bartender pulls out a gun! We’re talking a Dirty Harry style .44, here. The long cannon of a pistol gleams in the neon lights of the beer signs as the bartender steps out and around the bar, never taking his aim off of Taggart.
“I lost ten thousand on you, Tuck. My old lady left me. I couldn’t buy my dog’s medicine and he died. My truck got repossessed just yesterday. And now you’re in here telling me to add more to what you owe? I think not.”
Taggart doesn’t flinch. He just looks down the barrel of that gun and nods.
“Why don’t you go on ahead and pull that there trigger, you knock-kneed nimrod. I know you sit down to piss, but you got a chance to stand up right now and make a name for yourself.”
The bartender’s hand shakes a little.
“Wait… hold on…”
“We already past the point of talkin’ it through, buster. Take the shot. Be a man. Be THE man that put ol’ Tuck Taggart down. Best not miss, though...I can blow out your eardrum just as easy as I can blow over the limit.”
The barman steels himself and looks like he might squeeze the trigger… but after a tense moment of nearly putting the pressure onto the trigger, he drops his hand to his side with a loud exhale.
“Tuck… I ain’t gonna kill you. Just pay up, man.”
But Taggart has other plans. He pulls his cell phone out and starts to dial.
“I thought you might puss out on me, on account of your cowardly DNA. But I think I might know how to get you mad enough to pull that trigger like a man… let’s just see.”
Tuck presses the speaker button as a woman’s sleepy voice answers.
“Hey… Tuck? Are you still at the bar? You ain’t rubbin’ it in his face are ya?”
The bartender’s face goes pale.
“... CANDY!?”
Taggart starts laughing as he points at his cell phone.
“She sound familiar, boy? Looks like little miss Candy knew right where to go to finally be with a real man.”
“Tuck! You promised!”
Tuck talks into the phone.
“I’ll be home shortly, sweet cheeks. Go on and get yourself ready for round two. Or was it three? Yeah, it was three.”
Tuck disconnects the call and the bartender shrieks.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
He pulls the trigger! The walls of the bar echo with the thunderous BOOM of the gunshot aimed right at the forehead of Kentucky Taggart!
But with an impossible speed, Taggart swings his right hand in a lightning fast SLAP! He hits the bullet in mid air and sends it drilling into the wood of the bartop. The bartender can’t believe it! He raises the gun to shoot again but this time Taggart closes the distance between them and slaps the bartender right across the jaw sending him ass over teakettle, sprawled on the floor in front of the bar’s jukebox.
Tuck then simply turns toward the camera that had been filing all of this action for the XWF fans as is required contractually for all XWF stars.
“Michelle Graves! You done fucked up now, boy! You stuck your nose bones in Tuck Taggart’s business, which means you just BECAME Tuck Taggart’s business! On Anarchy, you’ll get to see four jaws get knocked off their hinges. Stu. Dom. Deena. Landerson. Each of em’s gettin’ the Taggart Special, and they get to go home feelin’ like they went down on a 12 gauge shotgun.”
“But Graves, them jaws ain’t the only things that’s gettin’ unhinged. Ol’ Tuck Taggart has been feelin’ unhinged ever since your narrow skeleton ass got involved with my moment at Bad Medicine, when I had Lenny Pussyfarting on the road to a retirement filled with drinkin’ all his meals through a straw. You took my moment from me, and now I’m gonna take all your moments from you. So get you a front row seat come Anarchy and take a look into your own future when Kentucky Taggart slaps four bitches into matching comas. THE BLUEGRASS BADASS IS COMIN’ FOR YOUR EARDRUMS MIKE!”
Tuck slaps the camera and everything goes black.
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