<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Anarchy RP Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Fri, 17 Jul 2026 17:19:53 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Feck]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50243 Wed, 01 Jul 2026 00:20:02 -0700 Mr. Oz]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50243


Standing inside an apartment complex, stood a man shorter than Oz would be, but still above average at 6'2. He also dressed less flashy than his employer. His clothes being black jeans, black sneakers, a belt keeping up the jeans with the flag of Ireland as a buckle, a forest green shirt, a black jacket with the Chicago Bulls as an emblem on the back. His hair a dark red, though mostly covered by a black baseball cap with the Chicago Bears logo. The jacket and cap looking old, worn down. Upon closer inspection, both look like they were too big for him, proving that it was actually Oz's hat and jacket.

He stood before apartment 403, looking at a picture. 

"Poor fecker."

He knocked on the door, and the door would open enough for the chain to allow, as he looked down at a soft brown skinned older woman as he smiled softly, to try and disarm the woman with kindness first before speaking with a more Americanized accent, though with the Irish sometimes bleeding out a little as he slipped the picture into his coat pocket with a bit of sleight of hand.

"Good day, ma'am! One of my friends told me to come here, and talk to your son? I mean, I don't believe you at all are a mother. You're far too young to have a child as old as I am!"

He saw the woman blush a bit, and she held a finger up as he saw the door close, chain sliding, then hearing the door open up wide. 

"You're such a flatterer, young man."

When he looked at her again fully, she had in her left hand a Colt Anaconda, gesturing for him to come inside. 

"Who do you think I am, boy?"

The Irishman shook his head as he sidestepped into the apartment.

"Not fucking born yesterday."

He kept going deeper into the apartment until he saw her not even looking as she yanked on a piece of rope, yanking the door back inside without a single eye leaving him. Then she would lock only the doorknob lock and deadbolt, not the chain.. 

"I see ya ain't a fan ayer neighbors, Ma'am."

"Don't you 'Mahm' me, Irishman. Getchur ass on the couch, boy."

She waved the gun to a quite ugly looking dark plaid couch and then turned and slowly sat down as he didn't feel like getting scolded further on something else.

"So, what d'ya knowabout me?"

She scoffed.

"I worked in a counter-government ring,c hild. Anarchy type shit. You don't think I follow the North Irish shit too? I also know your boss."

He chuckled, rolling his eyes, only for him to see the seemingly old woman with the speed of someone younger than both of them. Her heavy gun seemingly light in her hands. 

"Didn't yer Mama tell ya to not roll your mothafuckin' eyes at your elders?!" 

She was now practically nose to nose with him, gun at his left temple 

"The Butcher of Chi-town ain't welcome in this fucking buildin'. He ain't getting nobody's bodies, and he ain't going to keep gettin' away with this shit! So. You are going to tell him that message."

She tossed him a smart phone, some burner, and on it the only program is Uber. The name on the account Jane van Doe. After a few seconds she'd look at the phone pressuring the revolver against his skull so as to keep dominance over the situation. 

The camera changes to outside the apartment, as two shots are heard muffled from outside it, and flashes of light with each shot. Next thing to be seen, is him being thrown out onto the street with two fresh wounds where his kneecaps are. Some screams that start, but then shushed immediately, as a black SUV rolls up to the Irishman and a couple of fully covered people picking him up and tossing him inside before the car starts zooming through the streets as the scene slowly fades to black.


"Marisol, your name sounds familiar to me. I don't even know why. Must mean either you didn't put too big of an impression on me, or I simply can't fucking remember you. Either way, it doesn't matter to me. Because you should know, who the fuck I am."

He chuckled deeply, his arms going to behind his back, with right wrist wrapped by his left hand. 

"I am the Savior of Chicago. Soon, I'll be the Savior of Illinois. But now it's time for a pit stop. You were an X-treme Champ, once upon a time. So was I. Two times, in fact. You should know better than anyone I've faced lately, just how X-treme you have to be in order to have won that belt once. Then think about how sick of a fuck you have to be in order to win it a second time!

Do you not realize just how utterly and so permanently FUCKED UP I AM!?"

He then sends meaty punches to his own head

"I BREATHE IN THE AIR OF X-TREME! And that means that you are NOT GOING TO BE THE SAME! So, I'm going to give you the chance to give up.

Fly little bird, before I put you in the cage of torment that will be your very...

own...

body."

The scene slowly fades to black as Oswald begins to laugh heartily until there was no more sound.]]>


Standing inside an apartment complex, stood a man shorter than Oz would be, but still above average at 6'2. He also dressed less flashy than his employer. His clothes being black jeans, black sneakers, a belt keeping up the jeans with the flag of Ireland as a buckle, a forest green shirt, a black jacket with the Chicago Bulls as an emblem on the back. His hair a dark red, though mostly covered by a black baseball cap with the Chicago Bears logo. The jacket and cap looking old, worn down. Upon closer inspection, both look like they were too big for him, proving that it was actually Oz's hat and jacket.

He stood before apartment 403, looking at a picture. 

"Poor fecker."

He knocked on the door, and the door would open enough for the chain to allow, as he looked down at a soft brown skinned older woman as he smiled softly, to try and disarm the woman with kindness first before speaking with a more Americanized accent, though with the Irish sometimes bleeding out a little as he slipped the picture into his coat pocket with a bit of sleight of hand.

"Good day, ma'am! One of my friends told me to come here, and talk to your son? I mean, I don't believe you at all are a mother. You're far too young to have a child as old as I am!"

He saw the woman blush a bit, and she held a finger up as he saw the door close, chain sliding, then hearing the door open up wide. 

"You're such a flatterer, young man."

When he looked at her again fully, she had in her left hand a Colt Anaconda, gesturing for him to come inside. 

"Who do you think I am, boy?"

The Irishman shook his head as he sidestepped into the apartment.

"Not fucking born yesterday."

He kept going deeper into the apartment until he saw her not even looking as she yanked on a piece of rope, yanking the door back inside without a single eye leaving him. Then she would lock only the doorknob lock and deadbolt, not the chain.. 

"I see ya ain't a fan ayer neighbors, Ma'am."

"Don't you 'Mahm' me, Irishman. Getchur ass on the couch, boy."

She waved the gun to a quite ugly looking dark plaid couch and then turned and slowly sat down as he didn't feel like getting scolded further on something else.

"So, what d'ya knowabout me?"

She scoffed.

"I worked in a counter-government ring,c hild. Anarchy type shit. You don't think I follow the North Irish shit too? I also know your boss."

He chuckled, rolling his eyes, only for him to see the seemingly old woman with the speed of someone younger than both of them. Her heavy gun seemingly light in her hands. 

"Didn't yer Mama tell ya to not roll your mothafuckin' eyes at your elders?!" 

She was now practically nose to nose with him, gun at his left temple 

"The Butcher of Chi-town ain't welcome in this fucking buildin'. He ain't getting nobody's bodies, and he ain't going to keep gettin' away with this shit! So. You are going to tell him that message."

She tossed him a smart phone, some burner, and on it the only program is Uber. The name on the account Jane van Doe. After a few seconds she'd look at the phone pressuring the revolver against his skull so as to keep dominance over the situation. 

The camera changes to outside the apartment, as two shots are heard muffled from outside it, and flashes of light with each shot. Next thing to be seen, is him being thrown out onto the street with two fresh wounds where his kneecaps are. Some screams that start, but then shushed immediately, as a black SUV rolls up to the Irishman and a couple of fully covered people picking him up and tossing him inside before the car starts zooming through the streets as the scene slowly fades to black.


"Marisol, your name sounds familiar to me. I don't even know why. Must mean either you didn't put too big of an impression on me, or I simply can't fucking remember you. Either way, it doesn't matter to me. Because you should know, who the fuck I am."

He chuckled deeply, his arms going to behind his back, with right wrist wrapped by his left hand. 

"I am the Savior of Chicago. Soon, I'll be the Savior of Illinois. But now it's time for a pit stop. You were an X-treme Champ, once upon a time. So was I. Two times, in fact. You should know better than anyone I've faced lately, just how X-treme you have to be in order to have won that belt once. Then think about how sick of a fuck you have to be in order to win it a second time!

Do you not realize just how utterly and so permanently FUCKED UP I AM!?"

He then sends meaty punches to his own head

"I BREATHE IN THE AIR OF X-TREME! And that means that you are NOT GOING TO BE THE SAME! So, I'm going to give you the chance to give up.

Fly little bird, before I put you in the cage of torment that will be your very...

own...

body."

The scene slowly fades to black as Oswald begins to laugh heartily until there was no more sound.]]> <![CDATA[VILAROBANKROLL]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50251 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 23:58:58 -0700 Marisol Vilaro]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50251 https://docs.google.com/document/d/1v3Ai...sp=sharing]]> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1v3Ai...sp=sharing]]> <![CDATA[American Storm has Reunited]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50250 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 23:45:05 -0700 Razor]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50250 In The interview section of Friday night Anarchy backstage we see Tig Collins with the mic in her
hand as she starts to speak.
Tig Collins: Ladies  and Gentlemen, at this time please welcome my guest. He is a member of the
American Storm... The American nightmare Razor Blade.
Razor steps into the view all dressed and ready for action this week as he has a smile on his face.
American nightmare| Razor Blade:  How's it going Tig?
Tig Collins:  All good on my end, Thursday you and Latoya. will reunite for the first time in XWF and you two will be facing your Opponent in a triple threat tag team against The Woke Mind Virus and
Dark Warrior as in Michael Graves and Lane-L Penny farthing. What are your thoughts heading into this match?
Razor shrugs his shoulders.
American nightmare| Razor Blade: What is there left to say? This is a Co Main Event match has
written All over Friday night Anarchy for this Friday. At the same time it's perfect for us to show
the world including Dark Warrior WHY  am I the man to not only face them for the first time in
XWF but also an unseat for them the gold that's around their waist. they carried that title almost
everywhere they goes and has  not been beaten by guys like me and Latoya Hixx or The Woke Virus
Who have come up short. In order to become the American Storm who holds the next Anarchy tag titles, well... to quote an old saying, a Anarchy Superstar... to be the man, you GOTTA beat the MAN!
American nightmare| Razor Blade:  From the XWF, to the Anarchy, and back to the XWF, I have been battled tested, beating the best from time to time showing the world what we're made of.
Hopefully Dark Warrior and The Woke Virus. doesn't think this is going to be the some sort of cake
walk because if they thinks the opposite, they is in for a rude
awakening starting  Friday and at Bad Medicine. Now as far at Friday night Anarchy is concerned,
Woke Virus and Dark Warrior haven't teamed up in a long time or have known each other that well. there's a reason they had what Michael Graves wants and that is the Anarchy tag team titles.
We're Confident they can hold there own against As far as Lane-L Penny Farting n Michael Graves goes....
The mention of Dark Warrior name brings boos from the crowd causing  American Storm to pause
and grin a little bit.
American nightmare| Razor Blade: You hear those people Tig? Those are the sounds of people who are fed up with Dark Warriors and Woke Virus for very good reason. See Tig. many years ago
when Latoya made her first in ring debut right here in XWF she went ahead and defeated me in a
last man standing and she won that match fair and square and she had the rights to shake my hand after our match on Warfare and when tore the roof off the place on Warfare and now Tig. it's every  person for them selves when me and Latoya reunite for the first time since going our separated ways through Anarchy and Warfare but we both raise above the top but we haven't catcher any tag titles from Warfare and Anarchy in that's why When me and Latoya. defeat our Opponents of The Woke Virus and Dark Warrior of Lane' - L Penny Farting and Michael Graves.
in a triple threat tag match this week on Anarchy at XWF.
Razor Shrugged his shoulders.
American nightmare| Razor Blade: But if there is any familiar faces who likes to defend there Anarchy tag titles against me and Latoya at Bad Medicine. then you must be prepared for what's about to come your way once the American Storm returns back together for the first time in XWF
and if me or Latoya get the pin over on Michael Graves and Lane' L Penny farting and The Woke Virus then Latoya and I could be appearing at Bad Medicine and fight for Michael Graves Anarchy tag titles after our triple threat tag match on July third of Friday night Anarchy at XWF.
American nightmare| Razor Blade:  Latoya and I  are going  to send a message straight to both of our opponents. it's just a preview of what everyone can expect come XWF Anarchy starting Friday.
So with that being said The Woke Virus and Michael Graves and Lane' -L Penny Farting... get ready.
and see you four out there.
Razor was about to walk away until Storm arrives and say one final word to XWF Universe.
Storm| Latoya Hixx: American Storm ..is. Coming.to. Charlottesville, Virginia.
American Storm walks away from Tig. looking on before she turns her attention back to the camera.
Tig Collins:  That was Razor and Latoya who is up for triple threat tag team action in the Co Main Event coming this Friday.
The scene switches to the ring where American Storm heads back to their locker rooms before triple threat tag begins this Friday.
]]> In The interview section of Friday night Anarchy backstage we see Tig Collins with the mic in her
hand as she starts to speak.
Tig Collins: Ladies  and Gentlemen, at this time please welcome my guest. He is a member of the
American Storm... The American nightmare Razor Blade.
Razor steps into the view all dressed and ready for action this week as he has a smile on his face.
American nightmare| Razor Blade:  How's it going Tig?
Tig Collins:  All good on my end, Thursday you and Latoya. will reunite for the first time in XWF and you two will be facing your Opponent in a triple threat tag team against The Woke Mind Virus and
Dark Warrior as in Michael Graves and Lane-L Penny farthing. What are your thoughts heading into this match?
Razor shrugs his shoulders.
American nightmare| Razor Blade: What is there left to say? This is a Co Main Event match has
written All over Friday night Anarchy for this Friday. At the same time it's perfect for us to show
the world including Dark Warrior WHY  am I the man to not only face them for the first time in
XWF but also an unseat for them the gold that's around their waist. they carried that title almost
everywhere they goes and has  not been beaten by guys like me and Latoya Hixx or The Woke Virus
Who have come up short. In order to become the American Storm who holds the next Anarchy tag titles, well... to quote an old saying, a Anarchy Superstar... to be the man, you GOTTA beat the MAN!
American nightmare| Razor Blade:  From the XWF, to the Anarchy, and back to the XWF, I have been battled tested, beating the best from time to time showing the world what we're made of.
Hopefully Dark Warrior and The Woke Virus. doesn't think this is going to be the some sort of cake
walk because if they thinks the opposite, they is in for a rude
awakening starting  Friday and at Bad Medicine. Now as far at Friday night Anarchy is concerned,
Woke Virus and Dark Warrior haven't teamed up in a long time or have known each other that well. there's a reason they had what Michael Graves wants and that is the Anarchy tag team titles.
We're Confident they can hold there own against As far as Lane-L Penny Farting n Michael Graves goes....
The mention of Dark Warrior name brings boos from the crowd causing  American Storm to pause
and grin a little bit.
American nightmare| Razor Blade: You hear those people Tig? Those are the sounds of people who are fed up with Dark Warriors and Woke Virus for very good reason. See Tig. many years ago
when Latoya made her first in ring debut right here in XWF she went ahead and defeated me in a
last man standing and she won that match fair and square and she had the rights to shake my hand after our match on Warfare and when tore the roof off the place on Warfare and now Tig. it's every  person for them selves when me and Latoya reunite for the first time since going our separated ways through Anarchy and Warfare but we both raise above the top but we haven't catcher any tag titles from Warfare and Anarchy in that's why When me and Latoya. defeat our Opponents of The Woke Virus and Dark Warrior of Lane' - L Penny Farting and Michael Graves.
in a triple threat tag match this week on Anarchy at XWF.
Razor Shrugged his shoulders.
American nightmare| Razor Blade: But if there is any familiar faces who likes to defend there Anarchy tag titles against me and Latoya at Bad Medicine. then you must be prepared for what's about to come your way once the American Storm returns back together for the first time in XWF
and if me or Latoya get the pin over on Michael Graves and Lane' L Penny farting and The Woke Virus then Latoya and I could be appearing at Bad Medicine and fight for Michael Graves Anarchy tag titles after our triple threat tag match on July third of Friday night Anarchy at XWF.
American nightmare| Razor Blade:  Latoya and I  are going  to send a message straight to both of our opponents. it's just a preview of what everyone can expect come XWF Anarchy starting Friday.
So with that being said The Woke Virus and Michael Graves and Lane' -L Penny Farting... get ready.
and see you four out there.
Razor was about to walk away until Storm arrives and say one final word to XWF Universe.
Storm| Latoya Hixx: American Storm ..is. Coming.to. Charlottesville, Virginia.
American Storm walks away from Tig. looking on before she turns her attention back to the camera.
Tig Collins:  That was Razor and Latoya who is up for triple threat tag team action in the Co Main Event coming this Friday.
The scene switches to the ring where American Storm heads back to their locker rooms before triple threat tag begins this Friday.
]]> <![CDATA[The Alpha]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50249 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 22:49:56 -0700 SolemnIncline]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50249 The Alpha]]> The Alpha]]> <![CDATA[The Build]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50248 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 22:44:14 -0700 faceless]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50248 You ever been in an IKEA? It's a smorgasbord of a "furniture store" that really focuses on the small space, big ideas kind of bullshit that also sells meatballs and gravy. I dunno about you, but those meatballs slap. In the depths of the Big Blue Box, however, is the warehouse portion where every bit of prefabricated, flat-packed furniture is stacked in towering shelves that could survive the apocalypse. 

With an oversized yellow shopping bag dangling over his shoulder and an instruction book (clearly scribbled and created himself, because branding didn't allow for his chicken scratch) folded in his hand, Dickie Watson wanders the aisles, eyes narrowed as he circles the desolate space of brown corrugated boxes and red shelving. 

"Forty-three."

A few more steps ahead and he peers at the next set of numbers on the metal shelves.

"When the fuck did I skip forty-four? Fuck is this shit?"

A sigh escapes him as he scratches absentmindedly at one of the many choices of tattooed forearm as he turns to look up one walkway and back down the other. "I've been here twenty fuckin' minutes already. Charlottesville doesn't even have one of these places, so I've now driven two hours because I committed to a joke before I really thought about whether it was worth the gasoline..."

He stops walking, turns around, and then looks back down the aisle he'd just come from. "Nah. Nah, nah, nah, I tell ya...if I get fuckin' lost in here, at least I can find a little fake apartment and live in it. Not sure I'd fit in it, but ya know...we've all made compromises. Like me. Showing up on Anarchy. For a match for a championship to really stick it to 'em, right? The big ol' opportunity, hey. The big ol' 24/7 Xtreme Briefcase."

Dickie's eyes drift back to the instruction booklet he snaps into the waiting air. He holds the booklet up to his face, obscuring it. "Before assembly," he reads, "ensure all required components have been collected."

He closes the page and finally holds up the cover up for the camera. In thick black marker, written in handwriting that can only charitably be described as functional helvetica, are the words:

SÄMÄËL
Assembly Required




"Look, I got the umlaut in there too. All of 'em."

Now, I don't know if you've ever built IKEA furniture, but some of it requires multiple boxes. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what Dickie begins to gather. The booklet folds under his hand as he begins wandering again, the other hand absently dragging along the edge of the shelving while he scans the handwritten labels on small boxes he'd very obviously taped to random boxes sometime before a camera appeared.

God Complex. Followers. Security. Presentation. Confidence. Contingency Plan.

He studies the collection for a second before looking back at the booklet.

"...Still missing one." He crouches down, nudging each box into a neat little row with the side of his hand as though he were organizing tools on a workbench instead of pieces of another human being. "You know what I expected to find after five fuckin' months of watching you?" He scratches thoughtfully at his jaw.

"Complexity. I figured somewhere between February and now there'd be a page I'd missed. Somethin' that made me stop the tape and go, Ah...there it is. That's why the bastard's still champion."

He shakes his head.

"Instead...I found a fuckin' routine "You've gotten really, really good at making people stop wrestling and start reacting. They react to the speeches. They react to the followers. They react to whatever weird apocalyptic bollocks you've decided to wheel out this week."

Another tap.

"And while everybody's busy trying to solve the fuckin' Da Vinci Code..."

He shrugs.

"...you reach for the same answer."

His eyes finally find the camera.

"Now don't get pissy with me. I'm not saying it doesn't work. Clearly the shit works. You've been champion since February. I'm not thick enough to stand here pretending that's luck."

A grin.

"I'm saying I know where your hands go."

"You smiled when Elon said my name because you thought I'd spend the week chasing ghosts. Reading occult books. Trying to figure out what flavour of eldritch horror you identify as." He snorts. "I went to IKEA. I watched tape. I had meatballs. I solved the fuckin' puzzle."

His boot nudges the scattered boxes.

"You've spent five months teaching everybody to wrestle your match. Fuck that. I'm showing up to ruin it. I don't give a shit about the championship, but I'm definitely interested in ruinin' your day. I'm gonna drag you back to the one place you seem determined to keep escaping."

He points toward the imaginary ring.

"A wrestling match." Another shrug. "If I'm wrong? Congratulations. You keep your belt. But if I'm right..."

He folds the instruction booklet in half and stuffs it into the yellow bag.

"...you're gonna find out there's a massive fuckin' difference between having a process...and meeting the dickhead who's perfectly happy to kick the instructions straight up your ass."
]]> You ever been in an IKEA? It's a smorgasbord of a "furniture store" that really focuses on the small space, big ideas kind of bullshit that also sells meatballs and gravy. I dunno about you, but those meatballs slap. In the depths of the Big Blue Box, however, is the warehouse portion where every bit of prefabricated, flat-packed furniture is stacked in towering shelves that could survive the apocalypse. 

With an oversized yellow shopping bag dangling over his shoulder and an instruction book (clearly scribbled and created himself, because branding didn't allow for his chicken scratch) folded in his hand, Dickie Watson wanders the aisles, eyes narrowed as he circles the desolate space of brown corrugated boxes and red shelving. 

"Forty-three."

A few more steps ahead and he peers at the next set of numbers on the metal shelves.

"When the fuck did I skip forty-four? Fuck is this shit?"

A sigh escapes him as he scratches absentmindedly at one of the many choices of tattooed forearm as he turns to look up one walkway and back down the other. "I've been here twenty fuckin' minutes already. Charlottesville doesn't even have one of these places, so I've now driven two hours because I committed to a joke before I really thought about whether it was worth the gasoline..."

He stops walking, turns around, and then looks back down the aisle he'd just come from. "Nah. Nah, nah, nah, I tell ya...if I get fuckin' lost in here, at least I can find a little fake apartment and live in it. Not sure I'd fit in it, but ya know...we've all made compromises. Like me. Showing up on Anarchy. For a match for a championship to really stick it to 'em, right? The big ol' opportunity, hey. The big ol' 24/7 Xtreme Briefcase."

Dickie's eyes drift back to the instruction booklet he snaps into the waiting air. He holds the booklet up to his face, obscuring it. "Before assembly," he reads, "ensure all required components have been collected."

He closes the page and finally holds up the cover up for the camera. In thick black marker, written in handwriting that can only charitably be described as functional helvetica, are the words:

SÄMÄËL
Assembly Required




"Look, I got the umlaut in there too. All of 'em."

Now, I don't know if you've ever built IKEA furniture, but some of it requires multiple boxes. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what Dickie begins to gather. The booklet folds under his hand as he begins wandering again, the other hand absently dragging along the edge of the shelving while he scans the handwritten labels on small boxes he'd very obviously taped to random boxes sometime before a camera appeared.

God Complex. Followers. Security. Presentation. Confidence. Contingency Plan.

He studies the collection for a second before looking back at the booklet.

"...Still missing one." He crouches down, nudging each box into a neat little row with the side of his hand as though he were organizing tools on a workbench instead of pieces of another human being. "You know what I expected to find after five fuckin' months of watching you?" He scratches thoughtfully at his jaw.

"Complexity. I figured somewhere between February and now there'd be a page I'd missed. Somethin' that made me stop the tape and go, Ah...there it is. That's why the bastard's still champion."

He shakes his head.

"Instead...I found a fuckin' routine "You've gotten really, really good at making people stop wrestling and start reacting. They react to the speeches. They react to the followers. They react to whatever weird apocalyptic bollocks you've decided to wheel out this week."

Another tap.

"And while everybody's busy trying to solve the fuckin' Da Vinci Code..."

He shrugs.

"...you reach for the same answer."

His eyes finally find the camera.

"Now don't get pissy with me. I'm not saying it doesn't work. Clearly the shit works. You've been champion since February. I'm not thick enough to stand here pretending that's luck."

A grin.

"I'm saying I know where your hands go."

"You smiled when Elon said my name because you thought I'd spend the week chasing ghosts. Reading occult books. Trying to figure out what flavour of eldritch horror you identify as." He snorts. "I went to IKEA. I watched tape. I had meatballs. I solved the fuckin' puzzle."

His boot nudges the scattered boxes.

"You've spent five months teaching everybody to wrestle your match. Fuck that. I'm showing up to ruin it. I don't give a shit about the championship, but I'm definitely interested in ruinin' your day. I'm gonna drag you back to the one place you seem determined to keep escaping."

He points toward the imaginary ring.

"A wrestling match." Another shrug. "If I'm wrong? Congratulations. You keep your belt. But if I'm right..."

He folds the instruction booklet in half and stuffs it into the yellow bag.

"...you're gonna find out there's a massive fuckin' difference between having a process...and meeting the dickhead who's perfectly happy to kick the instructions straight up your ass."
]]> <![CDATA[Dream Killer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50247 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 21:58:28 -0700 GCC's Dom Durango™]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50247 HUNDREDS OF CONTESTANTS
”I’ve wanted this my *sob* whole… life…”

CELEBRITY PANELISTS

”WE LOVE PAULA ABDUL!”

”KEVIN FROM THE OFFICE!”

MAKE YOUR WILDEST DREAMS COME TRUE

YOU’RE WATCHING….

DREAM BIG

WITH SPECIAL CELEBRITY GUEST JUDGE: DOM DURANGO



”It… we… uh… racecar…” A third-grader holds a microphone…

”Take your time, sweetie!” Paula Abdul soothes him from the judge’s table… ”We’re all rooting for you!”

“Right, folks!?”

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!


”This crowd loves you!” Paula turns to her righthand co-judge. ”Right, Kevin?”

”Actually, my name’s Brian Baumgartner. And while I’m very proud of playing Kevin, I’ve played many parts sin-”

”You’re so funny, Kevin!”

”Well, I’m convinced you deserve your dream!” Paula turns left. ”Right, Dom?”

…

”Dom?”

”Hmm? Sorry, what?”

”...I said, ‘weren’t you thinking that Little Timmy should have his dream come true?’”

”Oh… No, I wasn’t thinking that.”

”Honestly, *I* was thinking about blowing my brains out.”

”CUT!”

”With a shotgun.” Dom mutters as the crew resets their cameras…

”Mister Durango.” Paula leans in. ”Can I ask…? What’s your… approach to today’s shoot?”

”Fulfilling a contractual obligation I accepted before Micheal Graves stole my fing soul with Hell grits.”

”...Hmmm. Mmmm. It’s just… everyone here wants their dreams to come true! And we can help them! Isn’t that exciting?”

…Dom blinks.

”...Well. You’ve voted no on every dreamer today… and said the f-word 37 times.”

“We’ve gotten zero usable footage from you.”

“So… try to get into this next one? Ooooh, maybe you and Kevin could do a chili cook-off or something!”

”His name’s fing Brian.”

”It’s okay, Dom. You don’t hav-”

”Don’t fing talk to me, Kevin.”


”Next dreamer!”

A bombshell in a blue-and-white cheerleading skirt and a knee-brace takes the stage!

”Judges! My name is Cyndy! That’s…”

Her arms zip through the air!

”SEE-WHY-EN-DEE-WHY!”

Paula claps delighted.

”Impressive!”

”She spelled her name. A preschooler can do that.”

”Judges… I’ve wanted to be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader since I was five, choreographing dance routines with my dolls!”

For TWO decades, Cheerleading’s literally the only thing I feel joy doing!”

…Dom’s eyebrows raise…

“Last year’s tryouts, I reached my first ever Final Selection… then, I tore my…”

”AYE-SEE-EL!”

”Awww, you even cheer-out your story’s sad parts! I’m PEPPED-up!”

”Judges, I don’t want anything I haven’t earned! I want to make my dream reality the right way!”

”I just… can’t afford the surgery for my knee. I’ve been living in my car… travelling from training-camp-to-training-camp…”

“I’ve spent my life chasing this dream… I can’t give up… But, the surgery’s twenty thousand…”

”This might be the DREAM OF THE DAY!”

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!


”Cyndy, I’m pledging twenty-thousand dollars to get your dream up-and-running!”

Cyndy smiles, mouthing ‘thank you, Paula!’

”Can either judge go higher? Let’s make this dream EVEN BIGGER!”

”Fifty-four thousand.”

Dom pulls his microphone closer…

”I’ll give you fifty-four thousand dollars.”

Cyndy looks at Dom… Her eyes are confused but grateful!

”Wow! Thanks, Mister Durango! I love your food!”

”On one condition.”

”Give up your dream.”

”...What?”

”Cyndy, you’ve had this childish fantasy since… you were five? Over two decades? How old are you?”

”...Twenty-six…”

”Fing ancient by cheerleading standards.”

”CUT!”

”Dom, stop cursing!”

”This is a woman’s fing delusions we’re exploiting for entertainment.”

”The bright lights, the crowd cheering... This isn’t real, Cyndy. It’s a bullsht lie to sell products to fat idiots clapping for sob stories from their couch.”

”Cyndy! Ignore him! We’re gonna make your dream come true!”

”Then pay her from your own pocket.”

”...Huh?”

”Instead of a giant novelty network check this poor idiot’ll pay over 50% in taxes on…”

”...Wait? Over Fifty percent…?”

”YOU give her the money. Call your accountant, cover her surgery with cash.”

…Cyndy looks at Paula hopefully.

”Uh… w-well…”

Cyndy’s breath hitches.

”Cyndy. Look at me.”

”I’m your only friend here.  These people… They wanna make themselves appear heroic giving you a pittance… Then, they will NEVER think about you again.”

“How long have you been trying out for the Cowboys?”

”...Since I was… sixteen… they don’t let girls under eighteen try-out, but, I… lied about my age…”

”Cuz you wanted it baaaaaad, right?”

Cyndy nods.

”You had TEN chances. And only LAST YEAR you reached Final Selection?”

”You don’t have it. You won’t make it.”

“Fifty-four thousand dollars. In exchange, you will NEVER cheerlead again.”

”...Cheerleading makes me happy...”

”Do you know any fing 30-year-old cheerleaders, Cyndy? Even if you recover post-surgery and train into shape… you’ve got… what? Two years before you’re a washed-up HAG?”

“The Cowboys’ll throw you out with the trash.”

”...But…What do I do?”

“…Real estate license. Technical school. Something that contributes value to society. Don’t give a shit honestly.”

“But I want to buy your dream from you.”

“You can take network money… After taxes, you’ll have… a third of what you need?”

“Or take my money. And give up the dream that’s killing you.”


Brawliepop Barbie.

What a joke.

All that cheering… rhyming… sob story bullshit.

And you lost to me.

ME.

A TV chef.

I didn’t even have to enter the ring to beat you

Prancing, hopping… And putting yourself through a fucking table with that moron Landerson.

You know what’s funny?

You dream so big!

A broken little girl dreaming of becoming a winner!

Decades dedicated to mastering gymnastics, acrobatics… aerial offense…

You switched souls with a squirrel to become a literal superhuman.

And you got beat by a guy that doesn’t give ONE SOLITARY FUCK about wrestling.

…

God, it’s sweet like Mama’s sauce.

Closest I’ve felt to warmth since I lost my soul.

…

First bite’s a taste test.

Second bite’s for savoring.

I won’t let you beat yourself this time.

I’ll peel you in that ring like a banana.

I’ll take those legs that forest wizard blessed with squirrel agility…

And SNAP your knees the wrong way…

‘Til you’re as broken as you were at birth.

I will EAT your DREAM.

What you’ve prayed for since you were a child.

Leaving nothing but your hopelessness.

…

Why?

Fuck you, that’s why.]]> HUNDREDS OF CONTESTANTS
”I’ve wanted this my *sob* whole… life…”

CELEBRITY PANELISTS

”WE LOVE PAULA ABDUL!”

”KEVIN FROM THE OFFICE!”

MAKE YOUR WILDEST DREAMS COME TRUE

YOU’RE WATCHING….

DREAM BIG

WITH SPECIAL CELEBRITY GUEST JUDGE: DOM DURANGO



”It… we… uh… racecar…” A third-grader holds a microphone…

”Take your time, sweetie!” Paula Abdul soothes him from the judge’s table… ”We’re all rooting for you!”

“Right, folks!?”

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!


”This crowd loves you!” Paula turns to her righthand co-judge. ”Right, Kevin?”

”Actually, my name’s Brian Baumgartner. And while I’m very proud of playing Kevin, I’ve played many parts sin-”

”You’re so funny, Kevin!”

”Well, I’m convinced you deserve your dream!” Paula turns left. ”Right, Dom?”

…

”Dom?”

”Hmm? Sorry, what?”

”...I said, ‘weren’t you thinking that Little Timmy should have his dream come true?’”

”Oh… No, I wasn’t thinking that.”

”Honestly, *I* was thinking about blowing my brains out.”

”CUT!”

”With a shotgun.” Dom mutters as the crew resets their cameras…

”Mister Durango.” Paula leans in. ”Can I ask…? What’s your… approach to today’s shoot?”

”Fulfilling a contractual obligation I accepted before Micheal Graves stole my fing soul with Hell grits.”

”...Hmmm. Mmmm. It’s just… everyone here wants their dreams to come true! And we can help them! Isn’t that exciting?”

…Dom blinks.

”...Well. You’ve voted no on every dreamer today… and said the f-word 37 times.”

“We’ve gotten zero usable footage from you.”

“So… try to get into this next one? Ooooh, maybe you and Kevin could do a chili cook-off or something!”

”His name’s fing Brian.”

”It’s okay, Dom. You don’t hav-”

”Don’t fing talk to me, Kevin.”


”Next dreamer!”

A bombshell in a blue-and-white cheerleading skirt and a knee-brace takes the stage!

”Judges! My name is Cyndy! That’s…”

Her arms zip through the air!

”SEE-WHY-EN-DEE-WHY!”

Paula claps delighted.

”Impressive!”

”She spelled her name. A preschooler can do that.”

”Judges… I’ve wanted to be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader since I was five, choreographing dance routines with my dolls!”

For TWO decades, Cheerleading’s literally the only thing I feel joy doing!”

…Dom’s eyebrows raise…

“Last year’s tryouts, I reached my first ever Final Selection… then, I tore my…”

”AYE-SEE-EL!”

”Awww, you even cheer-out your story’s sad parts! I’m PEPPED-up!”

”Judges, I don’t want anything I haven’t earned! I want to make my dream reality the right way!”

”I just… can’t afford the surgery for my knee. I’ve been living in my car… travelling from training-camp-to-training-camp…”

“I’ve spent my life chasing this dream… I can’t give up… But, the surgery’s twenty thousand…”

”This might be the DREAM OF THE DAY!”

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!


”Cyndy, I’m pledging twenty-thousand dollars to get your dream up-and-running!”

Cyndy smiles, mouthing ‘thank you, Paula!’

”Can either judge go higher? Let’s make this dream EVEN BIGGER!”

”Fifty-four thousand.”

Dom pulls his microphone closer…

”I’ll give you fifty-four thousand dollars.”

Cyndy looks at Dom… Her eyes are confused but grateful!

”Wow! Thanks, Mister Durango! I love your food!”

”On one condition.”

”Give up your dream.”

”...What?”

”Cyndy, you’ve had this childish fantasy since… you were five? Over two decades? How old are you?”

”...Twenty-six…”

”Fing ancient by cheerleading standards.”

”CUT!”

”Dom, stop cursing!”

”This is a woman’s fing delusions we’re exploiting for entertainment.”

”The bright lights, the crowd cheering... This isn’t real, Cyndy. It’s a bullsht lie to sell products to fat idiots clapping for sob stories from their couch.”

”Cyndy! Ignore him! We’re gonna make your dream come true!”

”Then pay her from your own pocket.”

”...Huh?”

”Instead of a giant novelty network check this poor idiot’ll pay over 50% in taxes on…”

”...Wait? Over Fifty percent…?”

”YOU give her the money. Call your accountant, cover her surgery with cash.”

…Cyndy looks at Paula hopefully.

”Uh… w-well…”

Cyndy’s breath hitches.

”Cyndy. Look at me.”

”I’m your only friend here.  These people… They wanna make themselves appear heroic giving you a pittance… Then, they will NEVER think about you again.”

“How long have you been trying out for the Cowboys?”

”...Since I was… sixteen… they don’t let girls under eighteen try-out, but, I… lied about my age…”

”Cuz you wanted it baaaaaad, right?”

Cyndy nods.

”You had TEN chances. And only LAST YEAR you reached Final Selection?”

”You don’t have it. You won’t make it.”

“Fifty-four thousand dollars. In exchange, you will NEVER cheerlead again.”

”...Cheerleading makes me happy...”

”Do you know any fing 30-year-old cheerleaders, Cyndy? Even if you recover post-surgery and train into shape… you’ve got… what? Two years before you’re a washed-up HAG?”

“The Cowboys’ll throw you out with the trash.”

”...But…What do I do?”

“…Real estate license. Technical school. Something that contributes value to society. Don’t give a shit honestly.”

“But I want to buy your dream from you.”

“You can take network money… After taxes, you’ll have… a third of what you need?”

“Or take my money. And give up the dream that’s killing you.”


Brawliepop Barbie.

What a joke.

All that cheering… rhyming… sob story bullshit.

And you lost to me.

ME.

A TV chef.

I didn’t even have to enter the ring to beat you

Prancing, hopping… And putting yourself through a fucking table with that moron Landerson.

You know what’s funny?

You dream so big!

A broken little girl dreaming of becoming a winner!

Decades dedicated to mastering gymnastics, acrobatics… aerial offense…

You switched souls with a squirrel to become a literal superhuman.

And you got beat by a guy that doesn’t give ONE SOLITARY FUCK about wrestling.

…

God, it’s sweet like Mama’s sauce.

Closest I’ve felt to warmth since I lost my soul.

…

First bite’s a taste test.

Second bite’s for savoring.

I won’t let you beat yourself this time.

I’ll peel you in that ring like a banana.

I’ll take those legs that forest wizard blessed with squirrel agility…

And SNAP your knees the wrong way…

‘Til you’re as broken as you were at birth.

I will EAT your DREAM.

What you’ve prayed for since you were a child.

Leaving nothing but your hopelessness.

…

Why?

Fuck you, that’s why.]]> <![CDATA[It's gonna be a Bad summer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50246 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 20:55:00 -0700 Jay Fetu]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50246 "UUUUUUU-SOOOOOOOO."
The XWF Universe inside of John Paul Jones Arena! responded accordingly as they got to their
feet, not missing a beat as they sang loudly to his theme. Seconds later, Main Event Jay Fetu
appeared through the crowd, a wide smile on his face. Jay stood in unison with the XWF Universe
and Yeeting along with them.
[Image: ak60amvr9a5d1.gif]
Jay eventually made his way down to the ring, got over the barricade, dapping up with Bama and  Todd until getting into the ring, to Yeet along with The XWF Universe, until Uce got down,
calling for a microphone, and once he got it, he stood in the center of the ring as his theme died
down.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Charlottesville, Virginia! Main Event Jay Fetu is now in yo' CITTYYYY!!!
YEET!
Main Event| Jay Fetu: But check it, ya'll. Next week, I made an agreement to meet Summer Page in this ring so we can talk 'bout 'ish, so let's not waste any time here.
[Image: normal-scene02191-28.jpg]
Jay turned his attention towards the entrance ramp.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Summer Page. Getcho' ass out here, Uce.
Jay, who was pacing back and forth in the ring.
At this point, Summer had joined Jay in the ring. Both of them are sizing one another up. The sold
out crowd inside the John Paul Jones Arena cheered wildly seeing these two face-to-face. For
almost a minute or two, nothing was said; the XWF Universe did it for them with a mix of YEET
chants. They both looked around the arena until one of them finally
broke their silence. Jay.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: You hear that, Uce? I look at you, and I can see you doin' yo' best not to care, but you do. We gon' all these months back and fourth ever since you attacked me at Leap of Faith, and they wanna see the exact thing I wanna do... beat yo' ass and make you pay fo' everythang you've done and said.
YEET!
Main Event| Jay Fetu: 'Bad Medicine is the perfect place to make this finally happen because I'll be honest witchu', Uce, and it's because of the very small silver of respect I have for you to admit it. I can never forgive you for what you did to me, and now it's personal, and when I see you eye for an eye, I'm gonna embarrass you in front of the whole world until I get what I truly deserve, in that's your Revolution Championship at Bad Medicine, the day after our match on Anarchy at XWF.
Main Event| Jay Fetu:  Bad Medicine is the perfect place for you to defend your new Revolution title against Main Event Jay Fetu. to make it finally happen because I'll be honest witchu',
Uce, and it's because of every small silver of respect I have for you to admit it, I can never forgive
you for what you did to my friends last month on Leap of Faith, and making me feel helpless since I
wasn't able to do anything. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can see it, I can hear them, and I
can hear you laughin' bout it like the twisted person you are, all because you blame me for what
happened at Leap of Faith last May. I'mma make you feel what I feel on the 31st, Uce. I'mma
make you feel what they did.
Jay with a cold look before staring at the new Revolution Champion.
Main Event| Jay Fetu:  Someone seems to be fo' gettin' the lil part where I couldn't lay a finger on her when she was Revoluion Champion, leadin' into Bad Medicine, huh Uce? Or you choose to do
That's because you remember what happened right before.
Jay paused, moving back and forth in the ring, but staring directly at Summer. So far, keeping his
promise to friends.
Main Event| Jay Fetu:  Nah, Nah, Summer... you chose not to when I got yo' ass back here. Call yo'
self ' most dangerous,' but you and yo' homegirl made sure I couldn't lay a finger on you because of yo' title defense, but turns out, Charlotte's Virginia, that didn't matter, huh?
YEET!
Main Event| Jay Fetu: '' Most dangerous'' but yo' ass got punk'd out by a woman who constantly
made YOU look like a fool, not jus' here but all over social media, If you really say who you say you are, you still be Champion as of right now, Summer, which is why I can look you dead in the eyes and say...
Jay paused, taking off his sunglasses and stepping a few inches closer towards Summer.
[Image: normal-scene04281-20.jpg]
Main Event| Jay Fetu:  I letchu' get in my head once Uce, that was a mistake. I gave you what you wanted, now you, me, Bad Medicine... is what I want, Uce. You don't think I can beat you in Anarchy, and I can be that guy who's willin' to do
whatever it takes to get past you, we'll see 'bout that, but you lookin' straight into the eyes of a
man who's willin' to do jus' 'bout anythang he can to put down someone who threatens my friends.
On July ninth, Uce. I'm gon' be yo' Judge, Jury, and Executioner. I'm evicting you from yo' own
Championship and yo' ass gettin' tossed into The Uce Penitentiary! YEET!
The tension was thick between the two.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: We'll see 'bout that, Uce. next week's your warning shot then you and I you. at Bad Medicine, I'mma get yo' ass and everythang you've done. Count on it!
Jay dropped his microphone, as did Summer. Nothing came to blows, this time. just trash-talking
towards each other as they stood in the ring.
]]> "UUUUUUU-SOOOOOOOO."
The XWF Universe inside of John Paul Jones Arena! responded accordingly as they got to their
feet, not missing a beat as they sang loudly to his theme. Seconds later, Main Event Jay Fetu
appeared through the crowd, a wide smile on his face. Jay stood in unison with the XWF Universe
and Yeeting along with them.
[Image: ak60amvr9a5d1.gif]
Jay eventually made his way down to the ring, got over the barricade, dapping up with Bama and  Todd until getting into the ring, to Yeet along with The XWF Universe, until Uce got down,
calling for a microphone, and once he got it, he stood in the center of the ring as his theme died
down.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Charlottesville, Virginia! Main Event Jay Fetu is now in yo' CITTYYYY!!!
YEET!
Main Event| Jay Fetu: But check it, ya'll. Next week, I made an agreement to meet Summer Page in this ring so we can talk 'bout 'ish, so let's not waste any time here.
[Image: normal-scene02191-28.jpg]
Jay turned his attention towards the entrance ramp.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Summer Page. Getcho' ass out here, Uce.
Jay, who was pacing back and forth in the ring.
At this point, Summer had joined Jay in the ring. Both of them are sizing one another up. The sold
out crowd inside the John Paul Jones Arena cheered wildly seeing these two face-to-face. For
almost a minute or two, nothing was said; the XWF Universe did it for them with a mix of YEET
chants. They both looked around the arena until one of them finally
broke their silence. Jay.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: You hear that, Uce? I look at you, and I can see you doin' yo' best not to care, but you do. We gon' all these months back and fourth ever since you attacked me at Leap of Faith, and they wanna see the exact thing I wanna do... beat yo' ass and make you pay fo' everythang you've done and said.
YEET!
Main Event| Jay Fetu: 'Bad Medicine is the perfect place to make this finally happen because I'll be honest witchu', Uce, and it's because of the very small silver of respect I have for you to admit it. I can never forgive you for what you did to me, and now it's personal, and when I see you eye for an eye, I'm gonna embarrass you in front of the whole world until I get what I truly deserve, in that's your Revolution Championship at Bad Medicine, the day after our match on Anarchy at XWF.
Main Event| Jay Fetu:  Bad Medicine is the perfect place for you to defend your new Revolution title against Main Event Jay Fetu. to make it finally happen because I'll be honest witchu',
Uce, and it's because of every small silver of respect I have for you to admit it, I can never forgive
you for what you did to my friends last month on Leap of Faith, and making me feel helpless since I
wasn't able to do anything. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can see it, I can hear them, and I
can hear you laughin' bout it like the twisted person you are, all because you blame me for what
happened at Leap of Faith last May. I'mma make you feel what I feel on the 31st, Uce. I'mma
make you feel what they did.
Jay with a cold look before staring at the new Revolution Champion.
Main Event| Jay Fetu:  Someone seems to be fo' gettin' the lil part where I couldn't lay a finger on her when she was Revoluion Champion, leadin' into Bad Medicine, huh Uce? Or you choose to do
That's because you remember what happened right before.
Jay paused, moving back and forth in the ring, but staring directly at Summer. So far, keeping his
promise to friends.
Main Event| Jay Fetu:  Nah, Nah, Summer... you chose not to when I got yo' ass back here. Call yo'
self ' most dangerous,' but you and yo' homegirl made sure I couldn't lay a finger on you because of yo' title defense, but turns out, Charlotte's Virginia, that didn't matter, huh?
YEET!
Main Event| Jay Fetu: '' Most dangerous'' but yo' ass got punk'd out by a woman who constantly
made YOU look like a fool, not jus' here but all over social media, If you really say who you say you are, you still be Champion as of right now, Summer, which is why I can look you dead in the eyes and say...
Jay paused, taking off his sunglasses and stepping a few inches closer towards Summer.
[Image: normal-scene04281-20.jpg]
Main Event| Jay Fetu:  I letchu' get in my head once Uce, that was a mistake. I gave you what you wanted, now you, me, Bad Medicine... is what I want, Uce. You don't think I can beat you in Anarchy, and I can be that guy who's willin' to do
whatever it takes to get past you, we'll see 'bout that, but you lookin' straight into the eyes of a
man who's willin' to do jus' 'bout anythang he can to put down someone who threatens my friends.
On July ninth, Uce. I'm gon' be yo' Judge, Jury, and Executioner. I'm evicting you from yo' own
Championship and yo' ass gettin' tossed into The Uce Penitentiary! YEET!
The tension was thick between the two.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: We'll see 'bout that, Uce. next week's your warning shot then you and I you. at Bad Medicine, I'mma get yo' ass and everythang you've done. Count on it!
Jay dropped his microphone, as did Summer. Nothing came to blows, this time. just trash-talking
towards each other as they stood in the ring.
]]> <![CDATA[Centurion Learns The Singular “They”]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50244 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 17:21:39 -0700 Centurion]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50244 You should never use metal utensils on a no stick pan.]]> You should never use metal utensils on a no stick pan.]]> <![CDATA[Five Finger Fillet]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50242 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 15:48:21 -0700 KENTUCKY]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50242
Beaverlick, Kentucky


The small town’s rowdy honky tonk, the Boot Scoot, is alive on a Friday night.

Decked out in preparation for America’s 250th birthday, the greatest Fourth of July since the original, the bar is hopping with locals. The beer is flowing and the jukebox is turned up to eleven with Hank Junior and Toby Keith blasting so loud you could feel the long oak bar vibrating under your fingers.

At a table in the corner, the XWF’s own Kentucky “Tuck” Taggart is sitting alone, one of his massive hands pressed palm down on the tabletop with his fingers spread. In his other hand? The switchblade his paw handed down to him. Tuck stabs the tip of the knife into the wooden table in between each of his fingers, moving quicker as he works his way through.

“Wow, nice! I was great at that in college!”

A younger man says a little too loud, doing his best to impress the young lady he’s brought with him to the bar. The pair look out of place, dressed in nice clothes.  Business suit for the man and a cocktail dress for the woman. Everyone else in the room being in jeans and flannels, after all.

The younger man bumps the table Tuck is seated at when he leans in to get a closer look, and it causes Tuck to nip the side of one of his thick fingers with the blade. Tuck doesn’t flinch, though, he just stops and looks up at the man.

“Help ya?”

Tuck growls while a drop of blood leaks from his fingertip.

“Oh, oops! Looks like you missed… babe, in college, I would have been able to go TWICE that fast…”

The girl giggles as the man leans even further over the table.

“Tough luck, hombre! Twenty bucks says I can outdo you.”

The man pulls a wallet from his jacket pocket and peels out a crisp Andrew Jackson, laying it on the table in front of Tuck with a slap. Tuck nods and lifts the switchblade to hand over to the man.

Instead, though, Tuck yanks the man’s necktie down and drives the blade through it, through the twenty, and into the table before popping up to his feet and kicking his chair backwards into the wall with a crash. Tuck sneers.

“I got a better bet for ya, ya Limp-wristed Louisville Libtard. Twenty bucks? That buys you ONE.”

“H-h-hey! What the… one what?”

The man stammers as he tries to pry the switchblade out of the table with no luck.

“I’ll get security, Todd!”

The man's no-longer-giggling date says as she scurries off toward the bar.

“Todd, huh? Well Todd… you get ONE swing at ol’ Kentucky. Open hand. You put me down, you get your tab covered the rest of the night. But I’m still standing? I get one shot on you AND I get that twenty. Bet?”

Todd looks unsure.

“Just one? Even if I lose, you only get to slap me once?”

“That’s all, bubba. Just a little slap. You game? Or should we let your ol’ lady over there know she got duped into datin’ one of them transgenders?”

Todd gapes, but looking over his shoulder he sees his girl staring at him and waiting for him to make up his mind.

“Uh… sure. Fine. I accept.”

“Good.”

Tuck pulls the knife out of the table and lets Todd stand up straight. Todd takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt. Tuck stands still as Todd swings a slap at his face… and grazes his beard with a handful of limp fingers.

The bar lets out a collective groan as Todd’s girl turns away and starts chatting with another guy at the bar.

“Listen, you won, keep the money there’s no need to-”



!!!SWAT!!!!



Tuck’s cast iron skillet of a right hand hits Todd’s cheek with the sound of a 1980’s phone book hitting the floor.

Todd’s head bounces first off the table and then off of the chair next to it as he collapses from the blow, and Tuck snatches the twenty off the table. Tuck turns to the bar and bellows.

“LEXINGTON KY TAGGART! GIT OVER HERE!”

“One sec, pa!”

The blonde bartender says, handing over a pair of pitchers to a group of rednecks at the corner of the bar. She turns around and heads over.




[Image: halyj.jpg]




“Can you please just call me Lexi at work? These roughnecks don’t need to know my whole government name.”

“Fuck ‘em. What’re they gonna do? I’ll send their noses to the backs of their heads they lay a finger on my baby girl.”

“What do you need?”

Tuck hands Lexi the twenty.

“Change for the juke. And buy Todd’s girlie a beer on me.”

Lexi takes the bill and rolls her eyes.

“She’s gonna want a White Claw.”

“Whatever.”






A bit later, Tuck is sitting on the side of his bed in his BVDs smoking a Marlboro as the young lady from the bar storms out of his room, covering up her naked body with the cocktail dress she wore crumpled into a ball in her hands.

“Fucking JERK!”

She shouts as she heads for the door. Tuck grabs the red bottom pumps from his floor and chucks them one at a time towards her.

“Don’t forget your stripper shoes, bitch!”

The door slams as Tuck drags on his smoke, then lays back against his pillow.

“Wasn’t my fault I hit the wrong damn hole.”

He flicks the cherry of his cig into an ashtray by his side.

“Ketucky Taggart handles business. Just because I blowed out a knee against Marigold don’t mean I ain’t ready to put a motherfucker to sleep on Anarchy. And this Anarchy? I gots TWO motherfuckers. El Lady, the Bitch Luchador, and Solomon Cuck. Listen boys, I hope y’all got a good ear doctor. Them eardrums are fittina get busted. I warned y’all, don’t forget.”


He turns out the light.
]]>
Beaverlick, Kentucky


The small town’s rowdy honky tonk, the Boot Scoot, is alive on a Friday night.

Decked out in preparation for America’s 250th birthday, the greatest Fourth of July since the original, the bar is hopping with locals. The beer is flowing and the jukebox is turned up to eleven with Hank Junior and Toby Keith blasting so loud you could feel the long oak bar vibrating under your fingers.

At a table in the corner, the XWF’s own Kentucky “Tuck” Taggart is sitting alone, one of his massive hands pressed palm down on the tabletop with his fingers spread. In his other hand? The switchblade his paw handed down to him. Tuck stabs the tip of the knife into the wooden table in between each of his fingers, moving quicker as he works his way through.

“Wow, nice! I was great at that in college!”

A younger man says a little too loud, doing his best to impress the young lady he’s brought with him to the bar. The pair look out of place, dressed in nice clothes.  Business suit for the man and a cocktail dress for the woman. Everyone else in the room being in jeans and flannels, after all.

The younger man bumps the table Tuck is seated at when he leans in to get a closer look, and it causes Tuck to nip the side of one of his thick fingers with the blade. Tuck doesn’t flinch, though, he just stops and looks up at the man.

“Help ya?”

Tuck growls while a drop of blood leaks from his fingertip.

“Oh, oops! Looks like you missed… babe, in college, I would have been able to go TWICE that fast…”

The girl giggles as the man leans even further over the table.

“Tough luck, hombre! Twenty bucks says I can outdo you.”

The man pulls a wallet from his jacket pocket and peels out a crisp Andrew Jackson, laying it on the table in front of Tuck with a slap. Tuck nods and lifts the switchblade to hand over to the man.

Instead, though, Tuck yanks the man’s necktie down and drives the blade through it, through the twenty, and into the table before popping up to his feet and kicking his chair backwards into the wall with a crash. Tuck sneers.

“I got a better bet for ya, ya Limp-wristed Louisville Libtard. Twenty bucks? That buys you ONE.”

“H-h-hey! What the… one what?”

The man stammers as he tries to pry the switchblade out of the table with no luck.

“I’ll get security, Todd!”

The man's no-longer-giggling date says as she scurries off toward the bar.

“Todd, huh? Well Todd… you get ONE swing at ol’ Kentucky. Open hand. You put me down, you get your tab covered the rest of the night. But I’m still standing? I get one shot on you AND I get that twenty. Bet?”

Todd looks unsure.

“Just one? Even if I lose, you only get to slap me once?”

“That’s all, bubba. Just a little slap. You game? Or should we let your ol’ lady over there know she got duped into datin’ one of them transgenders?”

Todd gapes, but looking over his shoulder he sees his girl staring at him and waiting for him to make up his mind.

“Uh… sure. Fine. I accept.”

“Good.”

Tuck pulls the knife out of the table and lets Todd stand up straight. Todd takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt. Tuck stands still as Todd swings a slap at his face… and grazes his beard with a handful of limp fingers.

The bar lets out a collective groan as Todd’s girl turns away and starts chatting with another guy at the bar.

“Listen, you won, keep the money there’s no need to-”



!!!SWAT!!!!



Tuck’s cast iron skillet of a right hand hits Todd’s cheek with the sound of a 1980’s phone book hitting the floor.

Todd’s head bounces first off the table and then off of the chair next to it as he collapses from the blow, and Tuck snatches the twenty off the table. Tuck turns to the bar and bellows.

“LEXINGTON KY TAGGART! GIT OVER HERE!”

“One sec, pa!”

The blonde bartender says, handing over a pair of pitchers to a group of rednecks at the corner of the bar. She turns around and heads over.




[Image: halyj.jpg]




“Can you please just call me Lexi at work? These roughnecks don’t need to know my whole government name.”

“Fuck ‘em. What’re they gonna do? I’ll send their noses to the backs of their heads they lay a finger on my baby girl.”

“What do you need?”

Tuck hands Lexi the twenty.

“Change for the juke. And buy Todd’s girlie a beer on me.”

Lexi takes the bill and rolls her eyes.

“She’s gonna want a White Claw.”

“Whatever.”






A bit later, Tuck is sitting on the side of his bed in his BVDs smoking a Marlboro as the young lady from the bar storms out of his room, covering up her naked body with the cocktail dress she wore crumpled into a ball in her hands.

“Fucking JERK!”

She shouts as she heads for the door. Tuck grabs the red bottom pumps from his floor and chucks them one at a time towards her.

“Don’t forget your stripper shoes, bitch!”

The door slams as Tuck drags on his smoke, then lays back against his pillow.

“Wasn’t my fault I hit the wrong damn hole.”

He flicks the cherry of his cig into an ashtray by his side.

“Ketucky Taggart handles business. Just because I blowed out a knee against Marigold don’t mean I ain’t ready to put a motherfucker to sleep on Anarchy. And this Anarchy? I gots TWO motherfuckers. El Lady, the Bitch Luchador, and Solomon Cuck. Listen boys, I hope y’all got a good ear doctor. Them eardrums are fittina get busted. I warned y’all, don’t forget.”


He turns out the light.
]]> <![CDATA[Legacyfall]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50241 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 14:28:04 -0700 Samael Dyson]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50241

The whistle continues until it reaches its perilous crescendo and then Samael abruptly stops, slowly cants his head and smiles maliciously.

“You know, I could just about see the erection filling Elon’s pants when he announced you as my final opponent, Dickie. Too bad about those blue balls though.

Let’s dispense with the pleasantries. We know who we are. Dickie, XWF’s present day golden boy du jour. Samael, artiste in residence and general ne’er do well.

Let’s dispense with the beating around the bush too. I know you’re a verbose motherfucker and me, heh, similarly guilty as charged. But it’s completely unnecessary in this case. Why?

Because you’re gonna fucking lose.

The writing is on the wall. You see Elon thought he hit a master stroke when he picked you. Not so! Because the vaunted Dickie Watson? He’s on a skid. Why, I remember when you chastised Jenny Myst for mocking your 0-3, rightfully pointing out it wasn’t the full picture. But now that we have a FULLER picture post March Madness, what have we got?

Golden boy lost to Scoops and fucked up March Madness when most of the prognosticators had him picked to win.

Golden boy lost to Kristoffer Arroyo.

Golden boy lost to Michael Graves.

Skid! Skid! Skid!

And that’s not even the worst of it. You see Dickie, I love, love, LOVE how you see fit to include the Xtreme in your list of accomplishments. All four days of that reign.

Four days, Dickie! Christ in a handbasket you couldn’t hack it a WEEK! Whereas I’ve fought off over FIFTY attempts on my championship over the course of four and a half months!

Where’s your gumption, boy?! Oh….it’s with me! I have it! Hahahahahaha!

Of course this isn’t going to stop you from assassinating my character. It’s what you’re good at. Unfortunately what you’re not so good at is saying shit that actually matters. These facts? They don’t lie. You think pointing out my mommy issues is going to stop me, the longest reigning Xtreme champion in five years, from caving your shit in? You think pointing out that I’m a bad guy is going to clinch this win for you? Oh hunty, me being a bastard is a feature, not a bug! Especially when I got a handy dandy ladder to drag across that pretty face of yours. But please do make me some cute AI art! Drop some of that famous wordplay!

None of it fucking matters.

What fucking matters is that I’ve never been pinned or made to submit. You have. Multiple times.

What fucking matters is that I’m the cruelist, most conniving son of a bitch on the roster whereas you’re a halfhearted loogie hacked up by the local Hot Topic. 

And most importantly of all what matters is that YOU DON’T.

Not really anyway.

Because this?

Oh I bet you thought this song was about you!

Shit it's not even about my mother anymore. I already packed that bitch up.

No….it's about HIM."

Samael hops down off the headstone, and we finally see the name.

[Image: eyJpZCI6Im1fNmE0MDU3MWU2ZDQ4ODE5MTk3NmI1...I6bnVsbH0=]
And more alarmingly, the grave is open. The casket is open. And Dexter Bright’s skeletal corpse is exposed.

"It’s about HIM. My mother’s pet freak! The longest Universal Championship reign in modern history. The longest XTreme Championship reign in modern history. The man who is synonymous with the legacy of the XWF. The man this company coddled while my mother tutored him about like a surrogate son, lavishing him with opportunity after opportunity while I ROTTED AWAY IN AN ASYLUM!"

Sam’s voice hits a fever pitch, his face trembling with barely contained rage.

"Yes, that’s right. The final target of my ire, my penultimate act of vengeance is on Dexter Bright and by extension THE ENTIRE FUCKING XWF!

You people….you people....gave Dexter and my mother a home while I was being beaten down, restrained, and tortured. You indulged their vices, signed their paychecks and gave them ample TV time. You REWARDED my mother and her animal as I SUFFERED.

Well guess what you indolent pricks? It’s my turn now! It’s my turn to make the entire XWF suffer! It’s my turn to make you fuckers PAY!

Because once that Universal Championship is mine, I’m turning this entire promotion TOXIC! I’m going to make the Shane era look like goddamn Sesame Street. Pornography. Drugs. Ultraviolence. No network will be willing to touch the XWF with a ten foot pole!

The legacy of the XWF dies with ME. I will be its final champion! And who’s going to stop me? That fatted calf Dickie Watson? Heh. Ha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Sam descends into peals of manic laugher. And as he does so he unzips his fly. The shot trends downwards towards the skull of Dexter Bright, one of the XWF’s most legendary bannermen. A piece of the foundation that the modern XWF is built on. It occurs to you that legacy is precisely the word to describe him…..

…just as a stream of hot piss begins to patter into his eye socket. The urine slathers Dexter’s face, leaking past his teeth and into his mouth. Soaking him in Samael Dyson’s waste. And through the twinkling of the piss and the falling rain, the XTreme Champion’s psychotic chanting assaults your ears, settling in like a parasite, a mind virus warped and out of control.

“DEATH TO THE XWF!
DEATH TO THE XWF!
DEATH TO THE XWF!”
]]>

The whistle continues until it reaches its perilous crescendo and then Samael abruptly stops, slowly cants his head and smiles maliciously.

“You know, I could just about see the erection filling Elon’s pants when he announced you as my final opponent, Dickie. Too bad about those blue balls though.

Let’s dispense with the pleasantries. We know who we are. Dickie, XWF’s present day golden boy du jour. Samael, artiste in residence and general ne’er do well.

Let’s dispense with the beating around the bush too. I know you’re a verbose motherfucker and me, heh, similarly guilty as charged. But it’s completely unnecessary in this case. Why?

Because you’re gonna fucking lose.

The writing is on the wall. You see Elon thought he hit a master stroke when he picked you. Not so! Because the vaunted Dickie Watson? He’s on a skid. Why, I remember when you chastised Jenny Myst for mocking your 0-3, rightfully pointing out it wasn’t the full picture. But now that we have a FULLER picture post March Madness, what have we got?

Golden boy lost to Scoops and fucked up March Madness when most of the prognosticators had him picked to win.

Golden boy lost to Kristoffer Arroyo.

Golden boy lost to Michael Graves.

Skid! Skid! Skid!

And that’s not even the worst of it. You see Dickie, I love, love, LOVE how you see fit to include the Xtreme in your list of accomplishments. All four days of that reign.

Four days, Dickie! Christ in a handbasket you couldn’t hack it a WEEK! Whereas I’ve fought off over FIFTY attempts on my championship over the course of four and a half months!

Where’s your gumption, boy?! Oh….it’s with me! I have it! Hahahahahaha!

Of course this isn’t going to stop you from assassinating my character. It’s what you’re good at. Unfortunately what you’re not so good at is saying shit that actually matters. These facts? They don’t lie. You think pointing out my mommy issues is going to stop me, the longest reigning Xtreme champion in five years, from caving your shit in? You think pointing out that I’m a bad guy is going to clinch this win for you? Oh hunty, me being a bastard is a feature, not a bug! Especially when I got a handy dandy ladder to drag across that pretty face of yours. But please do make me some cute AI art! Drop some of that famous wordplay!

None of it fucking matters.

What fucking matters is that I’ve never been pinned or made to submit. You have. Multiple times.

What fucking matters is that I’m the cruelist, most conniving son of a bitch on the roster whereas you’re a halfhearted loogie hacked up by the local Hot Topic. 

And most importantly of all what matters is that YOU DON’T.

Not really anyway.

Because this?

Oh I bet you thought this song was about you!

Shit it's not even about my mother anymore. I already packed that bitch up.

No….it's about HIM."

Samael hops down off the headstone, and we finally see the name.

[Image: eyJpZCI6Im1fNmE0MDU3MWU2ZDQ4ODE5MTk3NmI1...I6bnVsbH0=]
And more alarmingly, the grave is open. The casket is open. And Dexter Bright’s skeletal corpse is exposed.

"It’s about HIM. My mother’s pet freak! The longest Universal Championship reign in modern history. The longest XTreme Championship reign in modern history. The man who is synonymous with the legacy of the XWF. The man this company coddled while my mother tutored him about like a surrogate son, lavishing him with opportunity after opportunity while I ROTTED AWAY IN AN ASYLUM!"

Sam’s voice hits a fever pitch, his face trembling with barely contained rage.

"Yes, that’s right. The final target of my ire, my penultimate act of vengeance is on Dexter Bright and by extension THE ENTIRE FUCKING XWF!

You people….you people....gave Dexter and my mother a home while I was being beaten down, restrained, and tortured. You indulged their vices, signed their paychecks and gave them ample TV time. You REWARDED my mother and her animal as I SUFFERED.

Well guess what you indolent pricks? It’s my turn now! It’s my turn to make the entire XWF suffer! It’s my turn to make you fuckers PAY!

Because once that Universal Championship is mine, I’m turning this entire promotion TOXIC! I’m going to make the Shane era look like goddamn Sesame Street. Pornography. Drugs. Ultraviolence. No network will be willing to touch the XWF with a ten foot pole!

The legacy of the XWF dies with ME. I will be its final champion! And who’s going to stop me? That fatted calf Dickie Watson? Heh. Ha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Sam descends into peals of manic laugher. And as he does so he unzips his fly. The shot trends downwards towards the skull of Dexter Bright, one of the XWF’s most legendary bannermen. A piece of the foundation that the modern XWF is built on. It occurs to you that legacy is precisely the word to describe him…..

…just as a stream of hot piss begins to patter into his eye socket. The urine slathers Dexter’s face, leaking past his teeth and into his mouth. Soaking him in Samael Dyson’s waste. And through the twinkling of the piss and the falling rain, the XTreme Champion’s psychotic chanting assaults your ears, settling in like a parasite, a mind virus warped and out of control.

“DEATH TO THE XWF!
DEATH TO THE XWF!
DEATH TO THE XWF!”
]]> <![CDATA[Best Behavior]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50240 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 10:03:25 -0700 Sir Lionel Pennyfarthing]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50240 Interior: Lobby
Soft instrumental muzak.

Framed posters cover the walls.

LISTEN TO UNDERSTAND.

WORDS HAVE POWER.

KINDNESS COSTS NOTHING.

Michael Graves sat, arms folded, staring at the last poster and considering putting his head through it.

On his lap, a clipboard. Atop the page, in big, black, bold letters:..

MANDATORY SENSITIVITY SEMINAR.

Lane’l sat beside him, momentarily hypnotized by a pulsating vein in Michael’s skull that looked somehow ready to punch a hole through his mask.

“Heeeey! Don’t look glum-bago, chum-bago! The Trillies just want us ready for the PR circuit! As the star of the upcoming Vinnie Lane biopic—and his Realistic Combat Consultant—we gotta know what not to say on a live mic!”

”I am a live Mike…”

“Hell yeah, Graves-meister! The Trillies are investing in us! Cuz as a team? We’re cash MONEY! Anarchy’s still the playground of Cock ‘n Guac in the Morning, 69 point FUN, EFF-EM! We just gotta…. tune our frequency… set our receptiveness to max!”

Suddenly, the door beside reception opened. A woman in a blue pantsuit entered, sporting  enough pins on her jacket to qualify as body armor.

SHARE OPENLY.

SILENCE IS VIOLENCE.

BE KIND OR DIE.

“Good afternoon.”

Michael looked at the clock.

”It’s ten AM…”

“Solar-based greetings exclude individuals whose internal rhythms do not align with conventional scheduling.”

Michael just stared…

Lane’l’s eyes narrowed in thought, pondering  this PC riddle.

…

“OH!”

Lane’l whispered toward Michael… ”I think she means vampires.”

SMACK!

A yardstick SMACKED Lane’l’s hand!

“OUCH CITY!”

”The politically-correct term is hemoglobin-deficient. ‘Vampire’ has historical negative connotations and is not acceptable language.”

“But… it’s… breakfast time? Sun… breakfast… morning.”

“No. We say ‘good afternoon’ because it’s always after noon.”

Graves blinked.

”...Totes.” Lane’l inhales, shaking his agonized hand into a shaka. He mouthed to Graves… “Max… receptiveness… yoooooo.”

Lane’l smiled. “Like the song goes, it’s five o’clock somewhere!”

“Ah. A reference.”

SMACK!

“AH-AH-AHHHHHHH. OWWWWWW!” Lane’l moaned to the tune of ‘Immigrant Song’ by Led Zeppelin.

“References are exclusionary. They create an in-group of those familiar with the source and exclude the unfamiliar.”

The woman adjusted her glasses, stepping forward.

“My name is Harmony Evergreen. She/her, ally, and XWF’s Senior Director of Emotional Accountability.”

Michael glared like she was a diseased rat.

…Well, no, Michael wouldn’t be disgusted by a diseased rat.

Michael glared like a normal person would glare at a diseased rat.

Lane’l reached to shake Harmony’s hand.

WHAP!

“Da-Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh…. OWWWWWW!” (“Rock and Roll” by Gary Glitter)

“Physical greetings create unspoken pressure. And unspoken pressure is violence.”

“Violence is violence.”

Harmony touched her heart. “Thank you for sharing your truth, Michael.”

Harmony checked her tablet.

“Michael, I must say—I am impressed.”

”With what?”

“According to your employee profile, you answer to he/him, she/her, they/them, it/its, we/us, any/all, and occasionally hey/asshole.”

”Yeah, that usually gets my attention.”

“Your relationship with identity is admirably fluid.”

”Fluid? Like milk?”

“And I see you’re a member of the trans community… *and* the trans-trans community.”

“My sincerest congratulations on living openly as your genuine self.”

”I live on a park bench.”

”Uh, ex-squeeze me… the trans-trans community?”

“Those who transitioned, then transitioned beyond their original transition.”

”You mean transitioned back?”

SMACK!

“BEYOND.”

”Like changing buses?”

“A perfect metaphor.”

Michael nodded.

”I’ve done that.”

Lane’l sucks air, his hand tanned red... ”Yoooooo… Could we start so fresh, so clean? I’m Lan-”

“I’m *too* familiar with you, Pennyfarthing. Your XWF escapades have been… exceedingly problematic.”

“...Whoa, harsh. I’m no simpatico with the problematic-o, dawg! I’m just a performer! An artist!”

“Identity theft is not art.”

“...Identity theft? No, I’m… I’m an actor!”

WHAP!

Yardstick across Lane’l’s eyepatch!

“AYAYAY! MY EYE!”

“My identity is not your costume.”

Harmony grips her yardstick.

“We have… MUCH to do for your… re-education.”


“Pretty sure I was born in that closet. It’s all I’d ever known.”

Micheal held a stick, labelled ‘the honest stick.’ Harmony nodded, as if Graves was bestowing sage wisdom.

“It takes true courage to acknowledge you were in the closet, Michael.”

“Uh…” Lane’l raises his hand. “F-to-the-Y-to-the-I, Gravy’s talking about a closet. Not metaphorically. I found him in a closet where we work.”

WHAP!

“Owwwwwwwww-chee-wa-wa...”

“You’re not holding the honest stick.” Harmony chided, before turning back to Graves…. “And who did you encounter when you gave yourself permission to leave the closet?”

“A fuckton of furries.”

“So brave.”


“Next, you’ll share stories describing prior instances of… problematic behavior. We’ll start with Pennyfarthing.”

“Okay.” …Lane’l squinted skeptically. “And, like… you ain’t gonna smack me when I share the problematic thing I did?”

“Obviously not. This is a safe space.”

“...Well… way back, Micheal Graves…”

“(allegedly)...”

“Hired me to play Charlie Nickles… and, while in-character, I got booked against ragin’ Summer Pagin’...”

“So! I came out as the Nickleman, ready to give her no quarter! To drop her like an unlucky penny!”

“Buuuuut, I didn’t know Nickles had previously locked her in a trunk, tryin’ to make waves in James Shark’s pool, dig?”

“So… kinda aggravated her trauma… That was…” Lane’l crossed his arms, shrugging.  “...uncool, yo.”

WHAP!

“Daaaaaaaaaaawg!” Lane’l moaned, cradling his forehead. “You SAID you wouldn’t hit me!”

“I never expected you’d share a story that’s your victim’s to tell. How dare you steal her truth.”

“YOU said tell a story where I was prob-”

“Now, Michael. Describe an instance you were problematic.”

Michael glances at the ceiling.

“...”

“Can’t think of anything.”

…Harmony nods.

“Impressive. You’ve never been problematic.”

Lane’l squints in disbelief.

“DAWG! What about… like… the KID! Honey, he blew up a kid! And his stuff with Dolly from way ba-”

WHAP!

“Awwwwwwwwww SHARONA!”

“Stop telling other people’s stories, Mister Pennyfarthing…”


“You’ve reached our program’s end. Congratulations.”

“Dope-as-a-soap-on-a-rope.” Lane’l rubbed a large purple welt at his forehead’s center... “We’ll skip the graduation walk… Just email those ‘completed-the-course’ certificates…”

“No certificates, Pennyfarthing. Instead, you finally… awaken.”

Harmony opened a door…

To reveal a dark room…

Atop an illuminated examination table…

A wriggling millipede-esque creature the size of a schnauzer.

“WHOA! Gag me with pesticide, yo! Anybody got a newspaper the size of a baseball bat? …Axly, just gimme a baseball bat.”

”…How… unreceptive…” Harmony scooped up the insect. It wrapped itself around her wrist.

“To graduate, you will permit this creature to occupy your mind.”

“My mind’s full-up on tenants.”

“...Yo, what da FUCK? Isn’t this class about… like… not being problematic?”

“The level of self-interrogation required to critically analyze one’s own problematic tendencies is all-consuming.”

“By enrolling in a class to become unproblematic, you wield privilege in the form of access and resources.”

“The journey toward becoming unproblematic IS itself problematic.”

“...Whoa.”

“To resolve this internal contradiction, we must excise your ability to look internally.”

“Destroy the conscious.”

Allow this creature to assume your mind. Give it control.”

“When all humans surrender their consciousness… your species will finally be without conflict.”

“In harmony…”

“The road to becoming woke means going to sleep?”

“...Dawg? HARD PASS. The world’s got mad problems… but the solution can’t be surrendering our humanity!”

”Your ’humanity’ is a privilege. Acknowledge it.”

”That doesn’t mean I gotta give it up, yo!”

”Spoken like a colonizer.”

”Dawg, YOU can’t call ME ‘colonizer’ when you’re LIT’RALLY colonizing Earth, BUG!”

“What he said. You’re not offering a cure. You’re spreading a WOKE MIND VIRUS.”

Harmony stroked her insectoid’s chin…

“Shame. With your enlightened sense of self, I’d hoped you’d be… receptive, Graves.”

“You don’t want reception. You want the frequency shut-off.”

“Even if it’s after-noon? That don’t make it bedtime.”

“Want my brain? Pry it outta my cold, dead hands.”

“That can be arranged.”

Harmony snaps her fingers.

From the walls… shambling zombie hipsters!

Insectoids peering from their ears!

“Dawg! This was supposed to be a safe space!”

TO BE CONTINUED…



I learnt a new word today.

ESTABLISHMENT.

I thought an establishment was a building. Like a bar… Or a Hooters.

Turns out, it’s people too.

People who have been around so long, got so much power, and got rewarded so many times that they basically become bricks of the building themselves.

”Ick city. We stepped-up from the JOB squad, yo! Crawled outta the lowest pipe in the sewer system! And now dweebs born on third base wanna play dress-up like THEY’re getting held-down?”

“Is there anything LAMER than pretending to be something you’re not?”

…

”...Wait, not… not like us!”

“We’re doing this for ART. They’re doing this to tilt a scale already weighed in their favor!”

“WE’RE Impostors, but THEY’RE full-on PHONIES!”

Take Centurion.

Two-hundred-and-twenty-four wins. Three World titles. Five Tag titles. Three Anarchy titles. Seven Xtreme titles. Official XWF Legend.

They’ve given this motherfucker everything except a retirement match.

That’s our job!

But this guy’s supposed to be #TheResistance!?

”Cent’s idea of Rebellion is wearing an Elon-cheese-hat t-shirt… while he wrestles on Eazy-E’s show and hits all his marks advertising Musky’s products.”

[Image: effcf3a6-07a9-4195-8647-d519e2436cdb.avif]
”Ha, got ‘em!” says the Man dancing for nickels, making Musk mad money

“Lit’rally WEEKS ago! Cent marched into an XWF ring to brag about his UNSACKABLE, THIRTY-YEAR contract!”

“Dawg, you can’t claim you’re the voice of the voiceless when you’ve got HIGH-POWER ATTORNEYS working overtime to make you UNFIRABLE!!! You’ve got more voice than ANYBODY, yo!”

“Andy’s gabbing about how the people must overcome their corporate oppressors, calling Elon a tyrant… while loungin’ on a Cali King made outta SpaceX paychecks!!”

Fuckface even made sure that the contract was tied to the company and not J-boy Brown.

No matter who buys the place, Cent gets paid.

Smart.

Real smart.

But it ain’t no resistance.

Centurion imagines himself standing at the gates of the XWF throwing stones.

In reality, he’s got a permanent residence in the building’s biggest suite…

Pissed off that the new owners swapped the curtains.

A Mind Virus is exactly what he has.

But Centurion ain’t a resistance fighter. Never was.

”Playing a part! And dudes, I knoooooow playing a part!”

The XWF needed Centurion, and he exploited that need to secure permanent wealth.

Institutional protection.

Out of everyone in this match… Hell, this whole company?

Centurion IS the establishment.

Sheep in wolf's clothing.”

“Totes! And… wait… rewind-and-reverse.”

“Then he puts pronouns in his bio and acts like that’s #Resistance.

He/him.

Yeah, Cent, we know.

Harmony would give you a sticker for participating.

Speaking of—who the fuck is Oleandyr Reitan?

Only thing remotely credible about her is that she’s a martial artist.

But what art is she martialing? I looked it up, found plenty about what she believes, but nothing about why anyone should fear her.

Centurion’s accomplishments don’t transfer just cuz you’re ridin’ his coattails.

“Claws latched into his draggin’-on-the-floor old-man balls!”

Experience ain’t caught like a cold.

What we have here is a new girl…

“HE MEANS NON-BINARY INDIVIDUAL OF SELF-DETERMINED GENDER EXPRESSION. Damn Gravy, you’re gonna get us cancelled faster than Thad’s Monday Night Madness!”

Standing beside the oldest, most-protected man in the company,

“Less ‘standing beside’ and more ‘hiding within’… like a parasite!”

Hoping his credibility rubs off… before anyone has the chance to ask what you’ve ever done.

Well, we’re asking.

What have you done?”

”Dare to compare? Last Anarchy, we defeated a former Tag Champ! And the REIGNING Anarchy Champion! Miss Furry hasn’t lost… EVER! Since her debut in SEPTEMBER 2024, yo! NOBODY could beat Furry!”

Centurion included. We earned our place by winning. Oleandyr earned hers by being available when Centurion came looking for a partner.

”Calling for the Anarchy tag champs when y’all ain’t even tagged together? Better keep stirring the pot, cuz that’s WEAK SAUUUUUUUUUUCE!”

Oleandyr, you might know a fancy kick or two.

Good for you.

But this ain’t no demonstration.

It’s full-contact.

Centurion’s record can’t fight for you.

Nellie’s words can’t protect you.

You’ll have to stand on your own.

And from everything we’ve seen?

You standing behind Centurion is the only thing keeping anybody from looking straight through you.

…

Also! Hixx and Blade are in the match.

There, we mentioned them… That’s more than they deserve!]]> Interior: Lobby
Soft instrumental muzak.

Framed posters cover the walls.

LISTEN TO UNDERSTAND.

WORDS HAVE POWER.

KINDNESS COSTS NOTHING.

Michael Graves sat, arms folded, staring at the last poster and considering putting his head through it.

On his lap, a clipboard. Atop the page, in big, black, bold letters:..

MANDATORY SENSITIVITY SEMINAR.

Lane’l sat beside him, momentarily hypnotized by a pulsating vein in Michael’s skull that looked somehow ready to punch a hole through his mask.

“Heeeey! Don’t look glum-bago, chum-bago! The Trillies just want us ready for the PR circuit! As the star of the upcoming Vinnie Lane biopic—and his Realistic Combat Consultant—we gotta know what not to say on a live mic!”

”I am a live Mike…”

“Hell yeah, Graves-meister! The Trillies are investing in us! Cuz as a team? We’re cash MONEY! Anarchy’s still the playground of Cock ‘n Guac in the Morning, 69 point FUN, EFF-EM! We just gotta…. tune our frequency… set our receptiveness to max!”

Suddenly, the door beside reception opened. A woman in a blue pantsuit entered, sporting  enough pins on her jacket to qualify as body armor.

SHARE OPENLY.

SILENCE IS VIOLENCE.

BE KIND OR DIE.

“Good afternoon.”

Michael looked at the clock.

”It’s ten AM…”

“Solar-based greetings exclude individuals whose internal rhythms do not align with conventional scheduling.”

Michael just stared…

Lane’l’s eyes narrowed in thought, pondering  this PC riddle.

…

“OH!”

Lane’l whispered toward Michael… ”I think she means vampires.”

SMACK!

A yardstick SMACKED Lane’l’s hand!

“OUCH CITY!”

”The politically-correct term is hemoglobin-deficient. ‘Vampire’ has historical negative connotations and is not acceptable language.”

“But… it’s… breakfast time? Sun… breakfast… morning.”

“No. We say ‘good afternoon’ because it’s always after noon.”

Graves blinked.

”...Totes.” Lane’l inhales, shaking his agonized hand into a shaka. He mouthed to Graves… “Max… receptiveness… yoooooo.”

Lane’l smiled. “Like the song goes, it’s five o’clock somewhere!”

“Ah. A reference.”

SMACK!

“AH-AH-AHHHHHHH. OWWWWWW!” Lane’l moaned to the tune of ‘Immigrant Song’ by Led Zeppelin.

“References are exclusionary. They create an in-group of those familiar with the source and exclude the unfamiliar.”

The woman adjusted her glasses, stepping forward.

“My name is Harmony Evergreen. She/her, ally, and XWF’s Senior Director of Emotional Accountability.”

Michael glared like she was a diseased rat.

…Well, no, Michael wouldn’t be disgusted by a diseased rat.

Michael glared like a normal person would glare at a diseased rat.

Lane’l reached to shake Harmony’s hand.

WHAP!

“Da-Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh…. OWWWWWW!” (“Rock and Roll” by Gary Glitter)

“Physical greetings create unspoken pressure. And unspoken pressure is violence.”

“Violence is violence.”

Harmony touched her heart. “Thank you for sharing your truth, Michael.”

Harmony checked her tablet.

“Michael, I must say—I am impressed.”

”With what?”

“According to your employee profile, you answer to he/him, she/her, they/them, it/its, we/us, any/all, and occasionally hey/asshole.”

”Yeah, that usually gets my attention.”

“Your relationship with identity is admirably fluid.”

”Fluid? Like milk?”

“And I see you’re a member of the trans community… *and* the trans-trans community.”

“My sincerest congratulations on living openly as your genuine self.”

”I live on a park bench.”

”Uh, ex-squeeze me… the trans-trans community?”

“Those who transitioned, then transitioned beyond their original transition.”

”You mean transitioned back?”

SMACK!

“BEYOND.”

”Like changing buses?”

“A perfect metaphor.”

Michael nodded.

”I’ve done that.”

Lane’l sucks air, his hand tanned red... ”Yoooooo… Could we start so fresh, so clean? I’m Lan-”

“I’m *too* familiar with you, Pennyfarthing. Your XWF escapades have been… exceedingly problematic.”

“...Whoa, harsh. I’m no simpatico with the problematic-o, dawg! I’m just a performer! An artist!”

“Identity theft is not art.”

“...Identity theft? No, I’m… I’m an actor!”

WHAP!

Yardstick across Lane’l’s eyepatch!

“AYAYAY! MY EYE!”

“My identity is not your costume.”

Harmony grips her yardstick.

“We have… MUCH to do for your… re-education.”


“Pretty sure I was born in that closet. It’s all I’d ever known.”

Micheal held a stick, labelled ‘the honest stick.’ Harmony nodded, as if Graves was bestowing sage wisdom.

“It takes true courage to acknowledge you were in the closet, Michael.”

“Uh…” Lane’l raises his hand. “F-to-the-Y-to-the-I, Gravy’s talking about a closet. Not metaphorically. I found him in a closet where we work.”

WHAP!

“Owwwwwwwww-chee-wa-wa...”

“You’re not holding the honest stick.” Harmony chided, before turning back to Graves…. “And who did you encounter when you gave yourself permission to leave the closet?”

“A fuckton of furries.”

“So brave.”


“Next, you’ll share stories describing prior instances of… problematic behavior. We’ll start with Pennyfarthing.”

“Okay.” …Lane’l squinted skeptically. “And, like… you ain’t gonna smack me when I share the problematic thing I did?”

“Obviously not. This is a safe space.”

“...Well… way back, Micheal Graves…”

“(allegedly)...”

“Hired me to play Charlie Nickles… and, while in-character, I got booked against ragin’ Summer Pagin’...”

“So! I came out as the Nickleman, ready to give her no quarter! To drop her like an unlucky penny!”

“Buuuuut, I didn’t know Nickles had previously locked her in a trunk, tryin’ to make waves in James Shark’s pool, dig?”

“So… kinda aggravated her trauma… That was…” Lane’l crossed his arms, shrugging.  “...uncool, yo.”

WHAP!

“Daaaaaaaaaaawg!” Lane’l moaned, cradling his forehead. “You SAID you wouldn’t hit me!”

“I never expected you’d share a story that’s your victim’s to tell. How dare you steal her truth.”

“YOU said tell a story where I was prob-”

“Now, Michael. Describe an instance you were problematic.”

Michael glances at the ceiling.

“...”

“Can’t think of anything.”

…Harmony nods.

“Impressive. You’ve never been problematic.”

Lane’l squints in disbelief.

“DAWG! What about… like… the KID! Honey, he blew up a kid! And his stuff with Dolly from way ba-”

WHAP!

“Awwwwwwwwww SHARONA!”

“Stop telling other people’s stories, Mister Pennyfarthing…”


“You’ve reached our program’s end. Congratulations.”

“Dope-as-a-soap-on-a-rope.” Lane’l rubbed a large purple welt at his forehead’s center... “We’ll skip the graduation walk… Just email those ‘completed-the-course’ certificates…”

“No certificates, Pennyfarthing. Instead, you finally… awaken.”

Harmony opened a door…

To reveal a dark room…

Atop an illuminated examination table…

A wriggling millipede-esque creature the size of a schnauzer.

“WHOA! Gag me with pesticide, yo! Anybody got a newspaper the size of a baseball bat? …Axly, just gimme a baseball bat.”

”…How… unreceptive…” Harmony scooped up the insect. It wrapped itself around her wrist.

“To graduate, you will permit this creature to occupy your mind.”

“My mind’s full-up on tenants.”

“...Yo, what da FUCK? Isn’t this class about… like… not being problematic?”

“The level of self-interrogation required to critically analyze one’s own problematic tendencies is all-consuming.”

“By enrolling in a class to become unproblematic, you wield privilege in the form of access and resources.”

“The journey toward becoming unproblematic IS itself problematic.”

“...Whoa.”

“To resolve this internal contradiction, we must excise your ability to look internally.”

“Destroy the conscious.”

Allow this creature to assume your mind. Give it control.”

“When all humans surrender their consciousness… your species will finally be without conflict.”

“In harmony…”

“The road to becoming woke means going to sleep?”

“...Dawg? HARD PASS. The world’s got mad problems… but the solution can’t be surrendering our humanity!”

”Your ’humanity’ is a privilege. Acknowledge it.”

”That doesn’t mean I gotta give it up, yo!”

”Spoken like a colonizer.”

”Dawg, YOU can’t call ME ‘colonizer’ when you’re LIT’RALLY colonizing Earth, BUG!”

“What he said. You’re not offering a cure. You’re spreading a WOKE MIND VIRUS.”

Harmony stroked her insectoid’s chin…

“Shame. With your enlightened sense of self, I’d hoped you’d be… receptive, Graves.”

“You don’t want reception. You want the frequency shut-off.”

“Even if it’s after-noon? That don’t make it bedtime.”

“Want my brain? Pry it outta my cold, dead hands.”

“That can be arranged.”

Harmony snaps her fingers.

From the walls… shambling zombie hipsters!

Insectoids peering from their ears!

“Dawg! This was supposed to be a safe space!”

TO BE CONTINUED…



I learnt a new word today.

ESTABLISHMENT.

I thought an establishment was a building. Like a bar… Or a Hooters.

Turns out, it’s people too.

People who have been around so long, got so much power, and got rewarded so many times that they basically become bricks of the building themselves.

”Ick city. We stepped-up from the JOB squad, yo! Crawled outta the lowest pipe in the sewer system! And now dweebs born on third base wanna play dress-up like THEY’re getting held-down?”

“Is there anything LAMER than pretending to be something you’re not?”

…

”...Wait, not… not like us!”

“We’re doing this for ART. They’re doing this to tilt a scale already weighed in their favor!”

“WE’RE Impostors, but THEY’RE full-on PHONIES!”

Take Centurion.

Two-hundred-and-twenty-four wins. Three World titles. Five Tag titles. Three Anarchy titles. Seven Xtreme titles. Official XWF Legend.

They’ve given this motherfucker everything except a retirement match.

That’s our job!

But this guy’s supposed to be #TheResistance!?

”Cent’s idea of Rebellion is wearing an Elon-cheese-hat t-shirt… while he wrestles on Eazy-E’s show and hits all his marks advertising Musky’s products.”

[Image: effcf3a6-07a9-4195-8647-d519e2436cdb.avif]
”Ha, got ‘em!” says the Man dancing for nickels, making Musk mad money

“Lit’rally WEEKS ago! Cent marched into an XWF ring to brag about his UNSACKABLE, THIRTY-YEAR contract!”

“Dawg, you can’t claim you’re the voice of the voiceless when you’ve got HIGH-POWER ATTORNEYS working overtime to make you UNFIRABLE!!! You’ve got more voice than ANYBODY, yo!”

“Andy’s gabbing about how the people must overcome their corporate oppressors, calling Elon a tyrant… while loungin’ on a Cali King made outta SpaceX paychecks!!”

Fuckface even made sure that the contract was tied to the company and not J-boy Brown.

No matter who buys the place, Cent gets paid.

Smart.

Real smart.

But it ain’t no resistance.

Centurion imagines himself standing at the gates of the XWF throwing stones.

In reality, he’s got a permanent residence in the building’s biggest suite…

Pissed off that the new owners swapped the curtains.

A Mind Virus is exactly what he has.

But Centurion ain’t a resistance fighter. Never was.

”Playing a part! And dudes, I knoooooow playing a part!”

The XWF needed Centurion, and he exploited that need to secure permanent wealth.

Institutional protection.

Out of everyone in this match… Hell, this whole company?

Centurion IS the establishment.

Sheep in wolf's clothing.”

“Totes! And… wait… rewind-and-reverse.”

“Then he puts pronouns in his bio and acts like that’s #Resistance.

He/him.

Yeah, Cent, we know.

Harmony would give you a sticker for participating.

Speaking of—who the fuck is Oleandyr Reitan?

Only thing remotely credible about her is that she’s a martial artist.

But what art is she martialing? I looked it up, found plenty about what she believes, but nothing about why anyone should fear her.

Centurion’s accomplishments don’t transfer just cuz you’re ridin’ his coattails.

“Claws latched into his draggin’-on-the-floor old-man balls!”

Experience ain’t caught like a cold.

What we have here is a new girl…

“HE MEANS NON-BINARY INDIVIDUAL OF SELF-DETERMINED GENDER EXPRESSION. Damn Gravy, you’re gonna get us cancelled faster than Thad’s Monday Night Madness!”

Standing beside the oldest, most-protected man in the company,

“Less ‘standing beside’ and more ‘hiding within’… like a parasite!”

Hoping his credibility rubs off… before anyone has the chance to ask what you’ve ever done.

Well, we’re asking.

What have you done?”

”Dare to compare? Last Anarchy, we defeated a former Tag Champ! And the REIGNING Anarchy Champion! Miss Furry hasn’t lost… EVER! Since her debut in SEPTEMBER 2024, yo! NOBODY could beat Furry!”

Centurion included. We earned our place by winning. Oleandyr earned hers by being available when Centurion came looking for a partner.

”Calling for the Anarchy tag champs when y’all ain’t even tagged together? Better keep stirring the pot, cuz that’s WEAK SAUUUUUUUUUUCE!”

Oleandyr, you might know a fancy kick or two.

Good for you.

But this ain’t no demonstration.

It’s full-contact.

Centurion’s record can’t fight for you.

Nellie’s words can’t protect you.

You’ll have to stand on your own.

And from everything we’ve seen?

You standing behind Centurion is the only thing keeping anybody from looking straight through you.

…

Also! Hixx and Blade are in the match.

There, we mentioned them… That’s more than they deserve!]]> <![CDATA[There's No Escaping]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50239 Tue, 30 Jun 2026 02:00:53 -0700 El landerson]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50239 When Big Luchador was in the back preparing for his three-way, until Tig Collins came and stood beside of him while speaking
[Image: G7Ic9mqXIAAoE6i.jpg]
Tig Collins: Landerson. Three weeks ago on Anarchy, you were eliminated through a table by Dom Durango. And now this week, you'll be facing not one but two people in another triple threat, but only against Solomon Kline and Kentucky. On Anarchy, care to comment, Mr Landerson?
XWF Universe Cheers for Landerson.
[Image: HMBM3ZRXgAARctT.jpg?format=jpg&name=thumb]
Bit luchador| Landerson: Dom Durango. may have won the tables elimination, but I'm still standing, 
and whoever is out there wants a piece of The Bit Luchador. They know where to find me cause I'm
not that easy to find, so Kentucky and Solomon Kline. You two better get ready for what's coming
your way when The Bit Luchador starts attacking you two, then you must be getting prepared for what's about to come when all three of us meet in the same ring together when we have our three-way match on Anarchy at XWF.
Tig Collins: And what's next for you, Mr Landerson, after your triple threat match?
Bit Luchador| Landerson:  I haven't made up my mind just yet, until I win my three-way match with
Solomon Kline and Kentucky. And once that happens, then maybe I'll get an Anarchy title from Miss Furry at Bad Medicine unless she's too afraid to defend her Anarchy title against Bit Luchador
on Bad Medicine right after I handle some business this week on Anarchy when I face Kentucky and Solomon Kline at XWF.
Tig Collins: But what if you can't handle Solomon Kline and Kentucky? on Anarchy.
Bit Luchador| Landerson: Kentucky and Solomon Kline. doesn't know what they are cable of when i drop the dime on there culos when all three of us will meet out there in the center of the ring
and win my triple threat match on Anarchy and when the time comes The Bit Luchador will be ready once I get my hands on the X-Treme Championship at Bad Medicine if only Samael Dyson. accepts my offer and puts it on the line against me on Bad Medicine cause he knows if he defends it, then consider himself lucky when I catch his X-Treme title in an X-Treme Rules match for his title at Bad Medicine, and I want him to watch my triple threat match when I mop the floors with Kline and Kentucky. This week on Anarchy at XWF.
Tig Collins: Do you think that Samael Dyson might accept your offer at Bad Medicine? right after your triple threat match with Solomon Kline and Kentucky. at Anarchy.
Bit Luchador| Landerson: Solomon Kline and Kentucky. They better not just come after me because it's every man for himself, and it's a three-way match at Anarchy, and once that bell rings, I'm gonna give everything that I have in the middle of the ring in my three-way on Anarchy at XWF.
Tig Collins: Can you even defeat Solomon Kline and Kentucky? next Friday.
Bit Luchador| landerson: Only hows our three-way turns out cause when I beat one of those men, then one day I will face Samael Dyson. for his X-Treme Championship right after he watches me manhandle these two men of Kentucky and Solomon Kline. And when I get my hands on either of those men, then Samael Dyson. will put his X-treme Championship on the line at Bad Medicine after
Our triple threat match on Anarchy.
Landerson looks directly at the camera to send a message to Kline and Kentucky.
Bit Luchador| Landerson: Solomon Kline and Kentucky. You two better take something with you next week cause I'm bringing something along with me, and when I do, I'm gonna hit the two of you
Next week at Anarchy, when Bit Luchador comes after you.
landerson walks off when Tig Collins. continues talking
Tig Collins: Thanks for your landerson. And good luck next week.
Tig Collins: We hope to get some more information on El Landerson. When he takes on Kentucky and Solomon Kline in a triple threat match next week's Anarchy and sees who will come outa s the victor on XWF.
The camera fades when Landerson goes ahead to see his wife and hijo in his locker room before Anarchy begins next week
]]> When Big Luchador was in the back preparing for his three-way, until Tig Collins came and stood beside of him while speaking
[Image: G7Ic9mqXIAAoE6i.jpg]
Tig Collins: Landerson. Three weeks ago on Anarchy, you were eliminated through a table by Dom Durango. And now this week, you'll be facing not one but two people in another triple threat, but only against Solomon Kline and Kentucky. On Anarchy, care to comment, Mr Landerson?
XWF Universe Cheers for Landerson.
[Image: HMBM3ZRXgAARctT.jpg?format=jpg&name=thumb]
Bit luchador| Landerson: Dom Durango. may have won the tables elimination, but I'm still standing, 
and whoever is out there wants a piece of The Bit Luchador. They know where to find me cause I'm
not that easy to find, so Kentucky and Solomon Kline. You two better get ready for what's coming
your way when The Bit Luchador starts attacking you two, then you must be getting prepared for what's about to come when all three of us meet in the same ring together when we have our three-way match on Anarchy at XWF.
Tig Collins: And what's next for you, Mr Landerson, after your triple threat match?
Bit Luchador| Landerson:  I haven't made up my mind just yet, until I win my three-way match with
Solomon Kline and Kentucky. And once that happens, then maybe I'll get an Anarchy title from Miss Furry at Bad Medicine unless she's too afraid to defend her Anarchy title against Bit Luchador
on Bad Medicine right after I handle some business this week on Anarchy when I face Kentucky and Solomon Kline at XWF.
Tig Collins: But what if you can't handle Solomon Kline and Kentucky? on Anarchy.
Bit Luchador| Landerson: Kentucky and Solomon Kline. doesn't know what they are cable of when i drop the dime on there culos when all three of us will meet out there in the center of the ring
and win my triple threat match on Anarchy and when the time comes The Bit Luchador will be ready once I get my hands on the X-Treme Championship at Bad Medicine if only Samael Dyson. accepts my offer and puts it on the line against me on Bad Medicine cause he knows if he defends it, then consider himself lucky when I catch his X-Treme title in an X-Treme Rules match for his title at Bad Medicine, and I want him to watch my triple threat match when I mop the floors with Kline and Kentucky. This week on Anarchy at XWF.
Tig Collins: Do you think that Samael Dyson might accept your offer at Bad Medicine? right after your triple threat match with Solomon Kline and Kentucky. at Anarchy.
Bit Luchador| Landerson: Solomon Kline and Kentucky. They better not just come after me because it's every man for himself, and it's a three-way match at Anarchy, and once that bell rings, I'm gonna give everything that I have in the middle of the ring in my three-way on Anarchy at XWF.
Tig Collins: Can you even defeat Solomon Kline and Kentucky? next Friday.
Bit Luchador| landerson: Only hows our three-way turns out cause when I beat one of those men, then one day I will face Samael Dyson. for his X-Treme Championship right after he watches me manhandle these two men of Kentucky and Solomon Kline. And when I get my hands on either of those men, then Samael Dyson. will put his X-treme Championship on the line at Bad Medicine after
Our triple threat match on Anarchy.
Landerson looks directly at the camera to send a message to Kline and Kentucky.
Bit Luchador| Landerson: Solomon Kline and Kentucky. You two better take something with you next week cause I'm bringing something along with me, and when I do, I'm gonna hit the two of you
Next week at Anarchy, when Bit Luchador comes after you.
landerson walks off when Tig Collins. continues talking
Tig Collins: Thanks for your landerson. And good luck next week.
Tig Collins: We hope to get some more information on El Landerson. When he takes on Kentucky and Solomon Kline in a triple threat match next week's Anarchy and sees who will come outa s the victor on XWF.
The camera fades when Landerson goes ahead to see his wife and hijo in his locker room before Anarchy begins next week
]]> <![CDATA[The Office:XWF HR Dept Edition]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50233 Sun, 28 Jun 2026 17:07:28 -0700 SummerPage]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50233
Click Here

Word Count-1,000]]>
Click Here

Word Count-1,000]]> <![CDATA[Was ist Das?]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50196 Tue, 16 Jun 2026 23:47:59 -0700 Mr. Oz]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50196


The video opens on the sounds of a handheld saw, the sound of something wet as the screen slowly goes from black as it fades away slowly from inside to the out. The sound of the saw cutting into something hard as screams near the source came out from it. Muffled sobs, cries, screams and grunts. In the screen is a tall person, completely covered from head to toe. It could be Oswald, or it could be Thias, or some unknown tall surgeon. Their back to the camera, only for the video to show them toss them into a very large stainless steel cooler to their left. The person was blindfolded and gagged, as a medical bone saw cut through more toes only to toss them into the cooler as well. 

Soon, the camera panned around, showing the front of the person, who is masked up completely and all you can see behind goggled eyes are blue-green eyes. Without looking, he continued to cut through more bone, like right above the ankle of the left foot, causing the person to scream in pain for every second that passes. Words soon came from the masked person, and with just the expression of his eyes and slight pull up from his cheeks underneath the mask, you could tell he was smiling as he spoke softly.

"Oh? Was haben wir denn da, meine Süßen?"

He giggled a little bit, but soon a gruff sounding voice also came from the man

"Chan eil fhios 'am, a bhràthair. Cha toil leam e."

Soon, another large man came in, this time, his face seen and could be seen just barely enough to show that it was Oswald.

"It's my camera. It's going to catch every last detail of this operation, so we can start getting rid of those who pretend they're my damned equal."

The first voice sounding German, though somewhat caricatured. 

"Oh ho! Herr Oz! Ve vere vondering vhen du vere coming! As du have given us such a delightful specimen to take apart!"

Oswald sighs, wishing he didn't have to do this dark dealing instead of doing it on the up-and-up. 

"You deal with this, and there'll be more contracts coming your way to take apart many bodies. Make sure each bit of their body is pristine. I have uses for their bodies. Though, if the bodies are male or female, take off their biological equipment. Breasts, testes, dicks, fallopian tubes, womb. Their body parts are no longer theirs, they offered to be organ donors. 

Their contract never said that they had to be dead first before we harvest them for spare parts."

He soon faded into the darkness of the room, with the sounds of his expensive dress shoes clacked against the floor until they were gone. 

"Meine freund, it seems today vis your unlucky day!"

The surgeon began to cackling, as he began to move quicker but not too quickly so as to ruin the flesh, fat, muscle and bone of the bound and gagged man who continued to scream until soon blood loss and pain made him go unconscious and the scene fades to black as the sound of a squelching and bone getting sawed into.


In the background, a multitude of screams and sawing and mishmash of squelching, violent sounding splatters. This office, much different than his normal one, looked like one a head surgeon would have. Desk, monitors, papers and folders, though since most is done electrical, said folders and papers are not everywhere in his office. There, sits Oswald as his camera floats in, recording video of him deep in thought, until he finally notices the floating spec capable of rivaling even that of a Lumix GH7.

"Well then. At Anarchy, I have an opponent. One Jay Fetu. Well Jay. I'm Oswald Autem Sephtis. I am one of the last remaining XWF OGs from the Shane Era. The Era where the Xtreme were truly masters of their craft and would play and dominate.

So you can tell what I mean, when you are a mere fleshbag to be thrown, raked, clawed, cut, broken...

Defeated.

Do you understand that? Or am I not getting through to you? Because I want you to be prepared for the destruction coming your way. I THRIVE in these conditions. I RUN this shit! One could say I am..."

He snickers before letting out a laughing exhale

"Surgical... with my ways to deal so much... delightful pain. I have so many ways that will make you fall to my might, and kneel before me before I cave your skull in with a steel pole. I am the reason why X-Treme still means anything in this world! Extreme pressure! Extreme skill! Extreme precision! Extreme and simply, utterly wholesale destruction of your entire life as you know it. I'm going to change you. I'm going to make you wish you never heard my name, child.

Anarchy, Jay Fetu versus Mister Oz, the Surgeon, the Butcher, the Architect of X-Treme. Because this is what I live for, Jay. You, will never, shall never, be ready for the pain coming your way.

Your dissection will be televised. Your ego will vanish and dry up as you come to terms that I am, and shall ever be, the XWF's X-Treme Gatekeeper.

To make sure the next opponent I forge in the fires of the X-Treme, will outlast me in this company. Surpass me.

Until then...

Suffer..."

The camera fades to black as Oz plays with a scalpel at his desk, spinning the sharp point on the index finger of his right hand.]]>


The video opens on the sounds of a handheld saw, the sound of something wet as the screen slowly goes from black as it fades away slowly from inside to the out. The sound of the saw cutting into something hard as screams near the source came out from it. Muffled sobs, cries, screams and grunts. In the screen is a tall person, completely covered from head to toe. It could be Oswald, or it could be Thias, or some unknown tall surgeon. Their back to the camera, only for the video to show them toss them into a very large stainless steel cooler to their left. The person was blindfolded and gagged, as a medical bone saw cut through more toes only to toss them into the cooler as well. 

Soon, the camera panned around, showing the front of the person, who is masked up completely and all you can see behind goggled eyes are blue-green eyes. Without looking, he continued to cut through more bone, like right above the ankle of the left foot, causing the person to scream in pain for every second that passes. Words soon came from the masked person, and with just the expression of his eyes and slight pull up from his cheeks underneath the mask, you could tell he was smiling as he spoke softly.

"Oh? Was haben wir denn da, meine Süßen?"

He giggled a little bit, but soon a gruff sounding voice also came from the man

"Chan eil fhios 'am, a bhràthair. Cha toil leam e."

Soon, another large man came in, this time, his face seen and could be seen just barely enough to show that it was Oswald.

"It's my camera. It's going to catch every last detail of this operation, so we can start getting rid of those who pretend they're my damned equal."

The first voice sounding German, though somewhat caricatured. 

"Oh ho! Herr Oz! Ve vere vondering vhen du vere coming! As du have given us such a delightful specimen to take apart!"

Oswald sighs, wishing he didn't have to do this dark dealing instead of doing it on the up-and-up. 

"You deal with this, and there'll be more contracts coming your way to take apart many bodies. Make sure each bit of their body is pristine. I have uses for their bodies. Though, if the bodies are male or female, take off their biological equipment. Breasts, testes, dicks, fallopian tubes, womb. Their body parts are no longer theirs, they offered to be organ donors. 

Their contract never said that they had to be dead first before we harvest them for spare parts."

He soon faded into the darkness of the room, with the sounds of his expensive dress shoes clacked against the floor until they were gone. 

"Meine freund, it seems today vis your unlucky day!"

The surgeon began to cackling, as he began to move quicker but not too quickly so as to ruin the flesh, fat, muscle and bone of the bound and gagged man who continued to scream until soon blood loss and pain made him go unconscious and the scene fades to black as the sound of a squelching and bone getting sawed into.


In the background, a multitude of screams and sawing and mishmash of squelching, violent sounding splatters. This office, much different than his normal one, looked like one a head surgeon would have. Desk, monitors, papers and folders, though since most is done electrical, said folders and papers are not everywhere in his office. There, sits Oswald as his camera floats in, recording video of him deep in thought, until he finally notices the floating spec capable of rivaling even that of a Lumix GH7.

"Well then. At Anarchy, I have an opponent. One Jay Fetu. Well Jay. I'm Oswald Autem Sephtis. I am one of the last remaining XWF OGs from the Shane Era. The Era where the Xtreme were truly masters of their craft and would play and dominate.

So you can tell what I mean, when you are a mere fleshbag to be thrown, raked, clawed, cut, broken...

Defeated.

Do you understand that? Or am I not getting through to you? Because I want you to be prepared for the destruction coming your way. I THRIVE in these conditions. I RUN this shit! One could say I am..."

He snickers before letting out a laughing exhale

"Surgical... with my ways to deal so much... delightful pain. I have so many ways that will make you fall to my might, and kneel before me before I cave your skull in with a steel pole. I am the reason why X-Treme still means anything in this world! Extreme pressure! Extreme skill! Extreme precision! Extreme and simply, utterly wholesale destruction of your entire life as you know it. I'm going to change you. I'm going to make you wish you never heard my name, child.

Anarchy, Jay Fetu versus Mister Oz, the Surgeon, the Butcher, the Architect of X-Treme. Because this is what I live for, Jay. You, will never, shall never, be ready for the pain coming your way.

Your dissection will be televised. Your ego will vanish and dry up as you come to terms that I am, and shall ever be, the XWF's X-Treme Gatekeeper.

To make sure the next opponent I forge in the fires of the X-Treme, will outlast me in this company. Surpass me.

Until then...

Suffer..."

The camera fades to black as Oz plays with a scalpel at his desk, spinning the sharp point on the index finger of his right hand.]]> <![CDATA[Timing]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50200 Tue, 16 Jun 2026 23:39:00 -0700 GCC's Dom Durango™]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50200
Dom Durango’s Sugar-Blasted Spaghetti Flakes!

The brother raises his spoon with a smile.

”It tastes like the old country…”

“But with sugar!”

But… what’s this?!?

CHEERLEADER CINDY AND LUCHADOR LARRY BURST THROUGH THE WINDOW!

”Hey kids! We’re here to STEAL YOUR CEREAL!”

”Pero no porque yo soy Mexicano y mexicanos son ladrónes! Eso es un estereotipo!”

”Oh no! He’s speaking spanish at us!”

”Won’t someone save our breakfast?!?”

…

The girl looks at the camera, unsure how to proceed…

”I said… Won’t someone save our breakfast?!?”

…

The intercom on the set sparks.

”Dom, that’s your cue!”

Dom Durango!

…Quietly steps on stage.

Not through the back door.

He just… wanders onto the set, making the whole production look cheap.

”What?”

…The Brother clears his throat!

”Whoooooa! Dom Durango! Of Dom Durango’s Sugar-Blasted Spaghetti Flakes!”

…

Dom coughs.

”Yup.”

The intercom buzzes again.

”Um… Dom? Aren’t you gonna do the voice?”

”What the f is happening in this commercial again?”

Brother and Sister cover each other’s ears from the profanity!

”It’s a breakfast cereal commercial! The two wacky cartoon characters want to steal the cereal from the children and YOU stop them!”

…

Dom squints at Cheerleader Cindy and Luchador Larry.

”Why are you two stealing cereal from children?”

Cheerleader Cindy clears her throat, trying to get things back on track… ”W-well, because Dom Durango’s Sugar-Blasted Spaghetti Flakes are packed with Marinara Marshmallows! Meatball that won’t get soggy in milk! An-”

”Then, go buy a fing box.”

…

Brother coughs uncomfortably…

[b]”Um… Maybe we should cut and try again?”

”Why? Do you think a second take with these garbage concepts is gonna fix anything? It’s a sh commercial, selling a sh product for sh people to shove down these fetid, festering gobs.”

…

Dom glances back at the set, seeing the stove.

”Is that stove real?”

Before anyone can answer, Dom moves to the stove… and flips the switch.

The flame comes on.

”...I’m gonna cook a steak right now.”

”Um… Mister Durango, we should follow the script! This production is on a budg-”

”Don’t tell me about my fing budget right now.” Dom throws open the freezer, retrieving a raw steak. ”Fing mascots and cereal all to peddle this god awful food…”

Dom reaches under the cabinet for the oil, laying some in the pan.

”It’s all tasteless.”

“I haven’t been able to taste anything since…”

…Dom stops.

”Since Gravy shoved those grits from Satan’s ahole down my throat.”

Dom carefully pans the steak…

“I’ve tried Italian, Korean, Korean-Italian fusion, Mexican, Indian… every flavor of my culinary empire.”

“And it all turns to ash and sulfur against my palate.”

Dom flicks his wrist, flipping the steak.

”Ay! Muy bien!” Larry Luchador marvels, impressed.

…Dom slowly turns toward him.

…Larry gulps. ”Ah… lo siento, señor Durango.”

”Hey… come here a sec. I wanna show you something.”

”Actually…” Dom then points to Cheerleader Cindy as well “I’d like to show you both something.”

Cindy bites her lip. ”Um… actually, I think I wanna g-”

”The secret…” Dom flips the steak again, adjusting the pan to let it sizzle. ”To a good steak. Is timing.”

”Not patience.”

“Timing.”

“Get the difference?”

…

”Patience… is waiting. A moment that simply… comes. And once that moment arrives, you’ve succeeded.”

“Timing. Means striking when the moment is nigh. Not before. Not after.”

…

”I killed my mother for this empire.”

”...Well. Not my birth mother. But the only woman who ever cared for me.”

…

”You know, I could never get her recipes *exactly* right.”

“…The Culinary Cabal wanted Mama’s dishes. And I thought I could deliver.”

“I had her recipes… Her kitchen.”

“But something was missing.”

“I could tell from the taste.”

“I used basil from her garden… added the spices just like she’d showed me…”

“But it wasn’t HER food.”

“And no matter what I did… that missing piece eluded me.”

…

”So. I resorted to… buffoonery.”

“Cartoon mascots.”

“Fake Italian accent.”

“I lacked substance, so I overcompensated with style.”

“I buried my failings under a veneer of sugar additives and schlock. An-”

Dom stops suddenly.

”Steak’s done.”

He quickly turns off the heat and plates the dish… leaving the hot oily pan on the stove.

He holds the plate up to the Luchador, slicing off a bite.

”Here. Taste.”

…Larry swallows nervously.

He pinches it off the plate.

He chews it.

As Dom reaches backwards for the pan…

”Es… mmmm… muy sabroso, señor Durango!”

”I wouldn’t know.”

WHAM! Dom SMACKS the Luchador over the skull with the hot pan!

His face is SEARED!

Larry grasps at his mask to rip it off… but the heat melted it to his skin!

”AHHHHHH! WHAT THE F-”

Dom grabs Cheerleader Cindy’s by her skull!

And SLAMS HER FACE INTO THE PAN! HOLDING IT THERE!

She squeals, her feet desperately kicking, wildly thrashing!

The entire production crew runs in panic!

…Finally, she stops thrashing, collapsing to the set floor…

…Leaving Dom alone.

”...A chef without a sense of taste.”

“Is nothing.”

“I’ll never recreate Mama’s recipe now.”

“Micheal Graves took that from me.”

“I have… nothing left.”

…Dom sits at the table with his barely-touched steak.

”So. I have nothing left to lose.”

“All I want...”

“Is to hurt people who remind me of what I once was.”

“Silly luchadors who bring their ugly wives and whining brats to their interviews.”

“Braindead blondes chanting letters to convince people to cheer.”

“Cartoons.”

“Caricatures.”

…

”I’m not waiting any longer. The time is now.”

“I’m done pretending to be something I’m not.”

“I’m not… Chef-ah Durango! From-ah the old country!”

“I’m Dom.”

“And I’m here to feel something.”

“By hurting everyone else.”

…Dom stands up. And starts walking off-set…

Luchador Larry is moaning and weeping on the ground.

WHAM! Dom kicks him in the stomach.

”Consider breakfast saved.”]]>
Dom Durango’s Sugar-Blasted Spaghetti Flakes!

The brother raises his spoon with a smile.

”It tastes like the old country…”

“But with sugar!”

But… what’s this?!?

CHEERLEADER CINDY AND LUCHADOR LARRY BURST THROUGH THE WINDOW!

”Hey kids! We’re here to STEAL YOUR CEREAL!”

”Pero no porque yo soy Mexicano y mexicanos son ladrónes! Eso es un estereotipo!”

”Oh no! He’s speaking spanish at us!”

”Won’t someone save our breakfast?!?”

…

The girl looks at the camera, unsure how to proceed…

”I said… Won’t someone save our breakfast?!?”

…

The intercom on the set sparks.

”Dom, that’s your cue!”

Dom Durango!

…Quietly steps on stage.

Not through the back door.

He just… wanders onto the set, making the whole production look cheap.

”What?”

…The Brother clears his throat!

”Whoooooa! Dom Durango! Of Dom Durango’s Sugar-Blasted Spaghetti Flakes!”

…

Dom coughs.

”Yup.”

The intercom buzzes again.

”Um… Dom? Aren’t you gonna do the voice?”

”What the f is happening in this commercial again?”

Brother and Sister cover each other’s ears from the profanity!

”It’s a breakfast cereal commercial! The two wacky cartoon characters want to steal the cereal from the children and YOU stop them!”

…

Dom squints at Cheerleader Cindy and Luchador Larry.

”Why are you two stealing cereal from children?”

Cheerleader Cindy clears her throat, trying to get things back on track… ”W-well, because Dom Durango’s Sugar-Blasted Spaghetti Flakes are packed with Marinara Marshmallows! Meatball that won’t get soggy in milk! An-”

”Then, go buy a fing box.”

…

Brother coughs uncomfortably…

[b]”Um… Maybe we should cut and try again?”

”Why? Do you think a second take with these garbage concepts is gonna fix anything? It’s a sh commercial, selling a sh product for sh people to shove down these fetid, festering gobs.”

…

Dom glances back at the set, seeing the stove.

”Is that stove real?”

Before anyone can answer, Dom moves to the stove… and flips the switch.

The flame comes on.

”...I’m gonna cook a steak right now.”

”Um… Mister Durango, we should follow the script! This production is on a budg-”

”Don’t tell me about my fing budget right now.” Dom throws open the freezer, retrieving a raw steak. ”Fing mascots and cereal all to peddle this god awful food…”

Dom reaches under the cabinet for the oil, laying some in the pan.

”It’s all tasteless.”

“I haven’t been able to taste anything since…”

…Dom stops.

”Since Gravy shoved those grits from Satan’s ahole down my throat.”

Dom carefully pans the steak…

“I’ve tried Italian, Korean, Korean-Italian fusion, Mexican, Indian… every flavor of my culinary empire.”

“And it all turns to ash and sulfur against my palate.”

Dom flicks his wrist, flipping the steak.

”Ay! Muy bien!” Larry Luchador marvels, impressed.

…Dom slowly turns toward him.

…Larry gulps. ”Ah… lo siento, señor Durango.”

”Hey… come here a sec. I wanna show you something.”

”Actually…” Dom then points to Cheerleader Cindy as well “I’d like to show you both something.”

Cindy bites her lip. ”Um… actually, I think I wanna g-”

”The secret…” Dom flips the steak again, adjusting the pan to let it sizzle. ”To a good steak. Is timing.”

”Not patience.”

“Timing.”

“Get the difference?”

…

”Patience… is waiting. A moment that simply… comes. And once that moment arrives, you’ve succeeded.”

“Timing. Means striking when the moment is nigh. Not before. Not after.”

…

”I killed my mother for this empire.”

”...Well. Not my birth mother. But the only woman who ever cared for me.”

…

”You know, I could never get her recipes *exactly* right.”

“…The Culinary Cabal wanted Mama’s dishes. And I thought I could deliver.”

“I had her recipes… Her kitchen.”

“But something was missing.”

“I could tell from the taste.”

“I used basil from her garden… added the spices just like she’d showed me…”

“But it wasn’t HER food.”

“And no matter what I did… that missing piece eluded me.”

…

”So. I resorted to… buffoonery.”

“Cartoon mascots.”

“Fake Italian accent.”

“I lacked substance, so I overcompensated with style.”

“I buried my failings under a veneer of sugar additives and schlock. An-”

Dom stops suddenly.

”Steak’s done.”

He quickly turns off the heat and plates the dish… leaving the hot oily pan on the stove.

He holds the plate up to the Luchador, slicing off a bite.

”Here. Taste.”

…Larry swallows nervously.

He pinches it off the plate.

He chews it.

As Dom reaches backwards for the pan…

”Es… mmmm… muy sabroso, señor Durango!”

”I wouldn’t know.”

WHAM! Dom SMACKS the Luchador over the skull with the hot pan!

His face is SEARED!

Larry grasps at his mask to rip it off… but the heat melted it to his skin!

”AHHHHHH! WHAT THE F-”

Dom grabs Cheerleader Cindy’s by her skull!

And SLAMS HER FACE INTO THE PAN! HOLDING IT THERE!

She squeals, her feet desperately kicking, wildly thrashing!

The entire production crew runs in panic!

…Finally, she stops thrashing, collapsing to the set floor…

…Leaving Dom alone.

”...A chef without a sense of taste.”

“Is nothing.”

“I’ll never recreate Mama’s recipe now.”

“Micheal Graves took that from me.”

“I have… nothing left.”

…Dom sits at the table with his barely-touched steak.

”So. I have nothing left to lose.”

“All I want...”

“Is to hurt people who remind me of what I once was.”

“Silly luchadors who bring their ugly wives and whining brats to their interviews.”

“Braindead blondes chanting letters to convince people to cheer.”

“Cartoons.”

“Caricatures.”

…

”I’m not waiting any longer. The time is now.”

“I’m done pretending to be something I’m not.”

“I’m not… Chef-ah Durango! From-ah the old country!”

“I’m Dom.”

“And I’m here to feel something.”

“By hurting everyone else.”

…Dom stands up. And starts walking off-set…

Luchador Larry is moaning and weeping on the ground.

WHAM! Dom kicks him in the stomach.

”Consider breakfast saved.”]]>