<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation

<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Warfare RP Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Sat, 07 Nov 2026 17:30:47 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[The Nickles Nemesis]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50624 Sun, 01 Nov 2026 23:38:28 -0800 Charlie Nickles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50624

Blooood Onn Myyyy Haaands Agaaaiiin…

A beat-up sedan cruises down the highway. “Blood on My Hands Again” plays through the car’s speakers as the setting sun is swallowed by the horizon. Darkness spreads across the sky as the sedan rounds a corner, passing the only road sign in miles.

Charlie sits in the driver’s seat, a cigarette in his hand and no safety strap across his chest: because he thinks seatbelts are for pussies! Even still, his lifeless sister is strapped in beside him. Her skin is pale and white, except for the area around her broken nose, which is stained with blood. She’s still wearing the same hospital gown she was murdered in.

Charlie leaves his smoking hand on the wheel as he turns towards Jennie’s corpse, patting her on the shoulder as if to comfort her.

“It’s going to be okay, Jens’. These people reached out to me after Warfare and told me they could help fix you…they could fix what Micheal Graves made me break.”

Charlie gave his sister a soft smile before turning his gaze back towards the road.

But it was already too late. He didn’t see it standing there in time.

“FUCK!”

Charlie instinctively placed a hand in front of Jennie to shield her from the coming crash. He tried slamming on the brakes. The car skidded across the road, the brakes locking up as rubber burned across the pavement.

The collision happened in a second.

Metal ripping through flesh and the sound of glass shattering, accompanied by a bloodcurdling deathrattle. Charlie was thrown through the windshield as the sedan was forced to a sudden stop.

The Nickleman lay atop the pavement, some twenty odd feet down the road from the crash site. His mind groggy, his vision blurry, and his face covered in a crimson mask with flecks of glass and asphalt embedded in his skin.

He coughs up blood as he tries to stand.

“JENNIE!”

The Nickleman stumbles back towards the busted sedan, wiping blood from his brow and trying to regain his bearings.

“WHERE ARE YOU?!”

The Nickleman nearly trips over the dead beast laying flat on the highway.

“What the…”

Laying dead in front of him is nothing other than a 1500 pound golden cow. Now bloody and mangled, the cow’s ear tag is somehow still intact. Charlie grips the tag and flips it over.

The tag reads ‘Bacchus Beef Company’.

“....BBC?”

The creature’s head was somehow still in relatively good condition. Charlie lifted the eyelids of the beast open. The creature’s eyes were pitch black.

“You ok, bud?”

No response.

“Heh, of course not. Guess you shouldn’t have gotten in my way, huh? You look like you were someone’s prize pet- and now, you’re just my roadkill.”

Charlie's hand drifted down to the beast’s mouth. He began raising the cow’s lips and speaking in an accent as he imitated the creature’s retort. As the lips move, you can see the teeth behind them: and they look nothing like they should. A twisting set of fangs has replaced all the creature’s teeth along both the bottom and the top gumline.

“You were going too fast and not paying attention to the consequences of your actions…and now, I’m dead and gone forever! Boo-hoo, it’s not fair! We need an animal uprising to stop mean men like you!”

Charlie released the cow’s lips.

“But life ain’t fair, is it bitch? The only revolutions you can count on in this world, are the revolutions of my engine as I run you down!”

Charlie chortles, clearly content with his clever wordplay.

“Speaking of my engine…”

The Nickleman looks back towards the sedan, which is crumpled and coated with blood. Light smoke rises from the car, but it’s not from the engine: it’s from the blood. The cow’s acidic ichor is slowly melting the paint. But much to Charlie’s relief, his sister is still strapped in the passenger seat.

Charlie shakes his head, blood flying every which way like water shook from a dog. Then, he turns his attention back to his precious sister: but something’s wrong. She’s not in the car anymore! The passenger side door is swinging wide open!

“JENNIE?!”

That’s when he spots them: a group of shadowy figures absconding with his sister’s body! They’re carrying Jennie into the ditch and towards the treeline!

“Put her down, or I’ll put you down!”

They quickly shuffle into the trees with Jennie’s corpse! Charlie runs to the car. He reaches in and opens the center console, pulling out a trusty six-shooter. You think it’s a Colt Peacemaker, but you’re not a gun aficionado so you can’t be sure. Charlie spins the cylinder, making sure all six chambers are loaded.

With gun in hand, Charlie turns back around to chase down his sister’s kidnappers.

But the golden cow he crashed into has other plans.

Standing upright once more, the cow slams its hooves onto the pavement. The sudden movements cause it’s exposed guts to spill out. The acidic blood melts the asphalt as the cow’s pitch black eyes stare straight at Charlie, searching for his soul.

But when The Nickleman and the golden cow lock gazes, there’s not a soul to be found.

MOOOOOOOOO!

It screams hatefully.

“How the fuck?!”

The cow lowers its head and charges straight at Charlie! The beast’s hooves slam down on the asphalt with such massive force that it shakes the entire road! Charlie is wobbling as he raises his firearm, aiming through a crimson mask as the creature barrels towards him in a stunning twist of fate.

“You’re going to regret coming back, cunt!”

Charlie fires!

POW!

Three shots straight to the dome. Each bullet rips through the cow’s skull, spreading its gooey brainmatter all over the highway. After the third bullet, there wasn’t even a skull left to shoot. With one last screech of evil, the monster falls back down to the asphalt.

Charlie takes one last look at the felled monster before he turns his head towards the treeline his sister disappeared into.

“Don’t worry, Jens’…Chucky’s coming to getcha!”

Charlie puts one boot in front of the other as he strides after the corpse of his little sister. Softly in the background, the final verse of Cypress Hill’s song is heard through the speakers of the crumpled sedan.

And only God could judge me for those things I had to clean away

The tidal wave, it came and washed every single thing away

And as I stray, lookin' for the day the maker makes a plan

I'll be lurkin' in the shadow with your blood upon my hands

So Thad’s golden calf has returned.

Welcome back to the XWF, Johnny Bitchass.

I can’t wait to send you packing…AGAIN!

But before we get started, I want you to tell everyone the truth:

You’re still scared shitless of The Nickleman.

As you should be!

After all, that BASTARD embarrassed you in the halls of X-treme! And then, to make matters worse…he cost you the Universal Championship.

Everywhere you went in this company The Nickleman was right behind you- chasing you down, and eventually, he ran you right out of the XWF!

He made you leave this fed’ with your tail tucked between your legs.

And now, you want to come back and LEAD a War Games team?!

Fuckin’ ridiculous.

You don’t even deserve to participate in War Games, let alone be a Captain!

What the fuck do you know about WAR? Last time I brought war to your doorstep, you stepped away after just one battle. You were smart enough to know that your luck was running out, I’ll credit you that: but I won’t credit you a god damn thing else.

In case you forgot, Johnny: this is the X-treme Wrestling Federation.

And you’re not X-treme.

At best, you’re X-tremely entitled.

X-tremely pretentious.

And X-tremely FUCKED!

Because I know for a FACT that nobody told you I was a Captain…if you knew you had to face ME in your comeback match, we both know your ass would’ve stayed gone!

In the age of revolutionaries, woke scolds, and agitators: I stood strong as the company man. While you were talking about tearing it all down, I was busy reinforcing the foundation. So when you set your eyes on the Universal Championship…I set my eyes on you.

The new XWF top 50 list just came out…and I didn’t see your name on it.

You know why?

Because I scratched it out every time you got close to accomplishing something special.

So when we meet at War Games?

I’m running it all back like a direct-to-DVD horror sequel!

I’m costing you belts, I’m tarnishing your legacy, and I’m beating your ass so bad that they’re gonna call you Johnny Black-and-Blue-chus!

If you’re still a smart man, Johnny: you should do what you did last time and just leave...

Before The Nickleman comes for you again!

[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQAtFMkKZEVHWo5pwby-Tm...DJLxg&s=10]

Charlie followed the trail of Jennie’s captors through the woods, eventually finding a clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood a dilapidated church. The building was in such a state of disrepair you’d swear it was abandoned: if not for the lights on inside.

Charlie clutched his piece as he slouched down low, crouching towards the windows. He peeked in, and couldn’t believe what he saw!

“Holy…”

Inside the church, a macabre congregation had assembled. Standing in front of a broken ambo were two men dressed in knockoff clergy robes. One of them stood considerably taller and wider than the other. Seated facing them, was a collection of hairy little children. Disgusting little vermin, who appeared to be more wolf than human.

Charlie’s eyes nearly popped out of his sockets when he saw Jennie seated in between a few of the vile cretin children. Her pale skin had been covered with strange fur, crudely glued to her lifeless flesh.

“What the fuck are they doing to her!”

Charlie cursed under his breath, keeping a watchful eye on the flock as he kept a steady hand on the glock. Or maybe it’s not a glock. Again, you don’t really know guns like that.

Inside the church, their dark mass was just starting. The freaky little gremlins start humming and chanting interchangeably as their dark preachers light some incense. Then, the smaller man reaches into the ambo and pulls out this cult’s most prized relic.

He gets on one knee to present it to the largest man in the room.

He opens up the box it’s in to reveal…

“Is that a fucking cock ring?! Oh hell no, I’ve seen enough!”

Charlie walks around the building and kicks in the door! The children all turn around, baring their sharpened canines with low growls. The two men at the front of the congregation try to calm everyone down. The smaller one speaks first, cock ring still in hand.

“Well hello friend! Have you come to join us for evening mass?”

Charlie just smirks before raising his pistol.

“I came to save my sister.”

The preacher looks over to Jennie’s corpse, sitting lifelessly in the pews.

“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that. Now, if you haven’t come to join our congregation, I will have to ask you to leave.”

“And if I don’t?”

The preacher gestures towards the massive man next to him, who is now proudly wearing the cock ring on his finger.

“Mudd Swallows will have to escort you off the property, and into the dirt.”

Charlie looks between the big man’s giant mouth, and the precious cock ring around his giant finger.

“Heh, yeah- I bet he does. Now swallow this!”

POW!

Three shots ring out across the church, and all the weird children scatter like hairy roaches!

Two shots slam into Mudd Swallows’ chest, causing the big man to fall straight onto the dilapidated ambo, completely crushing it! The final shot strikes the smaller man in the gut, causing him to slump against the back wall of the church before slouching into a seated position.

Charlie blows the smoke off the barrel of his pistol as he walks forward. He steps over the bleeding husk of Mudd Swallows before kneeling in front of the seated pastor.

“What the fuck did you weirdos think was gonna happen when you took my little sister? You thought I’d just let it go?”

The man coughs up blood while pressing both hands against the bullet wound in his stomach.

“I didn’t know she was your little sister!”

Charlie stood tall in front of the man, tucking his six-shooter into his waistband while staring down at the wannabe clergyman.

“Well ya do now, bitch!”

Nickles then raised a boot, and slammed it directly into the seated man’s skull! The wall behind him gave out, causing the man to fall out onto the grass! Charlie’s boot followed, staying right on top of him until the very moment that his skull cracked and his brains splattered across the grass!

“‘Thou who fucketh with The Nickleman, flirteth with death’ - that’s the book of Charlie, chapter 6, verse 7!”

With a self-satisfied chuckle, Charlie turned back from the carnage and locked his gaze back onto his precious sister. He walked towards her, kneeling in front of her. When he saw all the hair glued to her body, his laughter quickly died off.

“That cult tried to turn my sister into a monster…but there’s still time to fix you, Jens’!”

Then, Charlie picked his sister up by the waist and slung her over his shoulders. He walked out of the church with Jennie’s corpse in tow, finally reunited on their journey to Raccoon City.

This has been a long time coming, Judd.

A lot of folks think men like you and I are cut from the same bloody cloth.

But they couldn’t be more wrong.

On the surface, sure, I can understand the comparison:

We’re both big brutes with bloodletting kinks.

But that’s where the similarities end.

You’re not a blue-blood talent like me, and you’re only about half the puppetmaster: with none of the prestige.

Your biggest accomplishment?

Is winning Sam Dyson’s cock ring from that bitch Korvayne.

My biggest accomplishment?

Take your fuckin’ pick.

Was it winning the Universal Championship? Was it winning War Games? Was it breaking records with my TV title runs? Was it headlining Night 3 of Relentless, in just my second month with the company?

Or is it the amount of names I’ve actually WEEDED from this business?

The thing I’ve noticed about you, Judd- is that you’re really only dangerous in your vignettes.

In your scripted lil’ scenes with that knock-off Graves.

But inside that ring?

I haven’t seen a damn thing that scares me.

You haven’t taken a single soul in this business yet.

But me?

I ended Dallas Marshall’s career in my first ever XWF match.

And then I ended Lynx’s career the very next month on Warfare.

It’s a habit I can’t quite kick, like your dedication to slobbering all over the cock of whoever the fuck you happen to be booked against.

Here’s some free game, Judd: you don’t have to deepthroat the god damn boot that’s kicking you in the face! Sometimes, you just have to cut a motherfucker’s foot off!

But you’ve always struggled with your commitment to brutality.

You wear it like a cheap costume, only putting it on whenever you have to clock in.

But certified Bastards like me?

The brutality ain’t some marketing gimmick that you only see on a screen.

It’s a god-damned mantra and a way of life!

So by the time I’m done with you, Judd?

You’re not going to be “The Sin Collector” anymore.

You’re just going to be Judd Hollow- WEEDED.

Charlie carried his sister’s fur covered corpse through the darkness, eventually arriving at the eerie entrance to the Raccoon City Hospital. Charlie looked around, but didn’t see anyone. It was a bit odd, but Charlie shrugged off the feeling of uneasiness- after all, The Nickleman would do anything for his sister.

“Well, this is supposed to be the place…”

Charlie opened the doors to the hospital and carried Jennie inside. He walked up to the front desk, but nobody was there.

“HELLO? IS ANYONE HERE?”

That’s when a walky talky suddenly came to life behind the receptionist’s desk.

“Hey, stay quiet! We’re here, but we need you to come to us.”

“Don’t you tell me to stay quiet! Do you know who the fuck I am? I came here to see-”

The walky talky quickly cut him off.

“Dr. Maria Stokes, I know! I’m her! Quickly, we need you to come to the elevator. Ride all the way up to the 27th floor. The access code is 80085. And keep it down, please, for the love of God! For your safety and ours!”

Charlie grabs the walky talky from the desk.

“You know I get paid millions of X-bux for running my mouth, right? What, are you scared I’m going to say something that TRIGGERS you?!”

“No…I’m scared you’re going to wake them up.”

Charlie raised a brow in concern.

“Wake up…who?”

A long pause.

Then, the walky talky cuts back in.

“...The Dark Warriors.”

Charlie rolls his eyes as he walks towards the elevators with the walky talky in one hand and his sister in the other.

“Trust me buddy, I’ve felled my share of dork warriors. I ain’t concerned about anything with such a trite and overplayed fuckin’ moniker.”

“Well, that’s what we’ve been calling them around the office ever since the outbreak. But you might know them as…well, how do I say this? Well…uhm, some of my colleagues have alleged that they are…zombies. There’s fucking zombies in the hospital, dude!”

That puts a little hustle in Charlie’s step as he reaches the elevator. He quickly presses the up button. When it arrives, the elevator doors slide open to reveal…

[Image: fef69001651922236c37741297408e79.jpg]

A motherfucking zombie is waiting in the elevator! It lurches out towards Charlie with a rotting hand that’s almost falling off the arm.

“You’re one ugly son of a bitch!”

Charlie spartan kicks the zombie in the chest, sending it crashing against the back wall of the elevator. Nickles quickly closes the gap, and with his sister still draped over his shoulder, he stomps the zombie’s head in exactly like he did that creepy pastor with the hairy kids!

“That? THAT was what you were scared of?! Give me a fuckin’ break.”

Nickles punches in the access code and clicks the button for 27. That’s when the walky talky chimes back in.

“Well, the problem is…there’s a horde of them.”

That’s when Charlie looks out through the closing doors of the elevator, and sees over a dozen Gravy zombies charging right at him! The ones in the front reach through the sliding doors, trying to scratch and claw at The Nickleman and his precious cargo-

But the elevator doors slam shut in a flash of blood and flesh! The mangled hands of the zombies are ripped clean off the steel doors!

“Oh fuck!”

“Just stay calm, when you get up here I’ll explain everything!”

After a long ride to the 27th floor, Charlie walks out and is greeted by a team of doctors who quickly rush to him and begin fussing over Jennie. They take her from his arms and lay her down on an operating table. They pull out serums and syringes bearing the logo of The Umbrella Corporation.

Charlie steps forward to intervene- but the woman in charge stops him.

“Charlie: you did your part. You brought her here. Now let us do our part.”

It was the voice from the walky talky. Charlie looked at her with hope.

“You’re going to bring her back, right? That’s what you said when you called me after Warfare.”

The woman bit her lip.

“We will bring her back…in a way.”

The doctor looked back at the operating table. Her team was hooking Jennie’s body up to whirring machines while simultaneously injecting her with strange, glowing fluids that bore a suspicious resemblance to the blood of the golden cow Charlie had to kill twice.

“She just won’t exactly be your sister anymore.”

“What do you mean? She will always be my precious Jennie!”

“Charlie, listen. After Warfare, we got our hands on a blood sample from Micheal Graves. It got out. That’s what’s downstairs. Half the city is Gravy now! But your family’s blood is different. Nickles kill. It’s in your DNA. Everyone you’ve ever loved, you put in the ground. With the Lucifer serum, Jennie becomes a Nemesis. A hunter built to wipe out every last one of them.”

“...So you’re turning my sister into me.”

“An undead version: but, yes. That’s one way to look at it.”

Just then, a sudden clanging sound came from the elevator shaft. It grew louder and louder in intensity, causing the doctor’s face to go as pale as Jennie’s.

“Oh my God….they’re coming! We need our new Nemesis A.S.A.P!”

A voice from the operating table chimed in.

“We’re working on it! We just need one more minute!”

“I don’t think we have one more minute!”

True enough, they didn’t. The clanging turned into a raucous banging on the other side of the elevator doors.

“Quick, we need to barricade th-”

But it was too late! The elevator doors were being pried open, and a slew of Gravy zombies began pouring onto the 27th floor!

“SHE’S TRANSFORMING!”

“Thank the heave-”

The doctor shouted her thankfulness, but that didn’t stop the zombies from rushing forward at breakneck speed and taking her down in the blink of an eye!

“AGGGGHHHH! AGGGHHHHH! HOLY FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-”

The doctor’s screams of anguish were chilling. Charlie froze, watching the doctor be eaten alive by the horde of Gravys. Every single zombie pouring out of the elevator took a piece of her until there was nothing left.

Charlie’s gaze was locked onto the horrifying sight.

Until he heard another scream coming from behind him. When he turned to look, he saw his sister’s transformation had worked: but not as The Umbrella Corporation had intended!

The Nemesis had grabbed one of the surgeons by the throat, lifting him high into the air before popping his head like a balloon! A sadistic grin spread across The Nemesis’ undead lips before she turned her eyes onto the rest of the doctors. She dispatched them one by one, each death coming in a more brutal fashion than the last.

Then, she locked eyes with The Nickleman.

Charlie pulled the pistol from his waistband and held it up, aiming for the soft spot right between Jennie’s eyes.

“Sorry sis’, I guess you’re having a closed casket.”

Charlie pulled the trigger-

But nothing happened!

HIS SIX-SHOOTER WAS OUT OF AMMUNITION!

The Nemesis bull rushed forward, and Charlie instinctively raises his hands to shield his face-

But Jennie didn’t attack him.

She brushed past him, briefly patting his shoulder, before charging toward the horde of zombies pouring out from the elevator shaft. One by one and sometimes even two by two, The Nemesis starts splitting masks and ripping apart Gravys.

Charlie watched in awe as his sister began putting belt to ass on the entire zombie horde!

“You see that, Mikey?

You made me break her. Now look what she does to your kind!

Even dead, a Nickles is still beating your ass!

Nickles kill Gravys. It’s in our fuckin’ blood.”

Charlie and The Nickles Nemesis walked out of the hospital together, leaving a river of Gravy behind them. Jennie cleared a path all the way to the edge of Raccoon City, right past the same road sign Charlie drove by at sundown.

The Nickleman lit a cigarette and patted his sister on the shoulder one last time before he stepped beyond city limits.

”Told ya I’d fix you, Jens’.”

The Nemesis howled with glee, her hands coated with Gravy’s scarlet verdict.]]>

Blooood Onn Myyyy Haaands Agaaaiiin…

POW!

MEANWHILE AT THE #VILAROFIT EXERCISE EQUIPMENT FACTORY IN RACOON CITY

Clowns are working on the assembly line, screwing tops onto jars of #VILAROFIT protein powder.

Clown Clown, the clown who is the most traditionally clown-like of all the clowns, (and is also the mild-mannered clown alter-ego of Television Clown, True Clown-lievers!)...

Clown Clown twists the top onto a jar, but ends up twisting the plastic jar lid into a giraffe, like a balloon animal.

”Ugh, drat.” He groans, before tossing the useless animal-shaped lid onto a pile of similarly goofed lids, all shaped like balloon animals.

”CLOWN CLOWN!” Shouts Hard-Nosed Manager Clown, the clown who is a very demanding manager and also has a nose with the hardness of an uncut diamond. ”How many times do I have to tell ya! Screw the lid on like a LID!”

”Sorry!” Clown Clown takes out a balloon from his pocket. ”Here, do you like dinosaurs?”

”You KNOW that I do.” HNM Clown retrieves from under his clown-y wifebeater a locket, which he opens to show him at a wedding to a Masiakasaurus in a bridal gown.

The picture of the Masiakasaurus screeches, before shrugging. ”It’s a marriage.”

Clown Clown twists the balloon… molds the balloon… massages the balloon with the gentle touch of a Spanish lover and the technique of a Belarusian sanitation worker…

And he creates!

…A perfectly shaped lid for a jar.

”Dagnabbit… I was going for a pterodactyl.”

”CLOWN CLOWN! QUIT CLOWNING AROUND!” HNM Clown squeezes his index finger and thumb tightly together. ”You are THIS close to getting fired!”

Clown Clown gasps! ”No!”

”Out of a cannon!”

”...Oh.”

”And we’ll shoot you out of a cannon into the UNEMPLOYMENT LINE!”

”NO!”

”Which is a line drawn in the ground made out of the abstract concept of unemployment.”

”...How do you draw a line made out of an abstract concept?”

”Very carefully. And while you’re in that very metaphysical line, we will OPEN YOUR POSITION TO OTHER POTENTIAL APPLICANTS!”

”NOOOOOOOOOOO! Please, HNM Clown!” Clown Clown pleads, falling on his knees!

When Clown Clown falls to his knees, his knees honk.

”I’ve gotta keep this job working for #VilaroFit, a shady fitness-based organization!”

Clown Clown and HNM Clown both turn toward the camera as lights flash to a message hanging over their heads.

Submitted for your Shady Organization bonus point consideration

The lights stop flashing and they turn back to each other like nothing happened.

”I’ve got a wife and kids to feed!”

”I didn’t know you were married, Clown Clown.”

”I’m not! They’re not my wife and kids! I don’t know how they got in my home, but they just demand RAW MEAT!”

Clown Clown reaches for his own locket around his own neck, and opens it, revealing…

The same Masiakasaurus in a bridal gown, also flanked by three half clown, half dinosaur children.

They are fucking nightmares to look at.

”Callback!” says the picture.

”In the time you’ve done this bit, you could have created SEVENTY-SEVEN LIDS! QUIT CLOWNING AROUND!”

“I’m doing my best, HNM Clown!” Clown Clown reasons! ”It’s just… we’re clowns! I don’t have any experience working on a factory floor! My entire career is built around doing clowny things!”

”That’s a regressive stereotype! And Miss Vilaro made us all watch a video about those! And it WASN’T FUNNY!” Hard-Nosed Manager Clown taps his foot impatiently.

Every time he taps his foot, it honks.

”Just because we’re clowns, doesn’t mean we’re not serious workers! Now, get back to work!”

Hard-Nosed Manager Clown turns around with a huff, his nose accidentally knocking into Knocked Unconscious Clown.

Knocked Unconscious Clown’s skull explodes on impact.

Hard-Nosed Manager Clown is coated in blood.

”OH FUCK! OH CLOWN JESUS!” screams Clown Clown in horror.

Clown Jesus looks up from the breakroom, taking one earbud out, which is playing the Monster Mash. ”Yo?”

”GUYS!” Sudden-Interruption-Back-To-What-Can-Loosely-Be-Referred-To-As-A-Plot Clown storms in. ”Guys! Quick!”

”Not now, SIBTWCLBRTAAP Clown!” Huffs Hard-Nosed Manager Clown, as he walks over to the slop sink and hoses off the blood from his scientifically impossibly hard nose.

He is unfazed to the point that he must inadvertently run into and kill other clowns constantly.

”I was just in the middle of explaining to Clown Clown that we are perfectly capable of running a functioning factory floor as clowns!”

”That’s just it! You know how Miss Vilaro wanted her #VILAROFIT protein powder to re-awaken muscles of those who have let their physiques die?

”Yes! Miss Vilaro wanted her product to turn couch potatoes into gym potato au gratin.”

Clown Clown scratches his bald white-painted scalp. ”Yeah, I’m still not clear on what gym potato au gratin means?”

”NOBODY KNOWS WHAT IT MEANS, BUT IT’S PROVOCATIVE!”

”W-w-well, I gave Miss Vilaro’s instructions to the scientist clowns, but they accidentally read the instructions as REAWAKEN THE LIVING DEAD!!!”

Suddenly, a fucking horde of clown zombies

Clown Clown puts his hands on his cheeks like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.

”OH JEEZ! THAT’S A LOT OF COMPETITION FOR THIS JOB”

”THAT’S RIGHT!” Says Commercial Voice Actor Clown. ”Those wacky clowns at VilaroFit ACCIDENTALLY created a formula that rejuvenates muscle SO WELL, IT CAN BRING THE DEAD BACK TO LIFE!”

Cut to a fat guy eating a carton of rocky road ice cream on his couch.

”This is a VilaroFit customer BEFORE being infected with the V Virus!”

Starwipe.

The fat guy is now convulsing, the carton of ice cream coats his face as he writhes in agony and death.

”This is the same guy AFTER having a massive heart attack and DYING!”

He stops convulsing and dies, his cold metal spoon clatters metallically against the floor.

Starwipe.

The fat corpse is now a fucking RIPPED AS FUCK zombie.

His skin is green, but he is built like a goddamned marble statue of David.

Not Leonardo Da Vinci’s David.

David, the guy who fucked your mom before she met your dad and she still thinks about.

Anyway, David is very muscular.

And he’s not your Dad.

And if your mom were more attractive to David, you probably wouldn’t exist.

Sorry you had to find that out by watching this protein powder commercial.

”THAT’S RIGHT, EXTENDED ASIDE CLOWN!” Commercial Voice Actor Clown announces! ”Now, the dead are alive and they are BEACH BODY READY!”

Smash Cut to a horde of zombies in swim trunks and bikinis on the beach.

The Ghost of Chubby Checker is singing a sound-alike of The Twist.

(He lost the rights to the song when he died).

That’s right, honey
Let's perform The Turn
It's legally distinct
From the dance I was known for in life
Take me by my little hand
And don’t sue me, World Media Group!

”Jesus Christ, this doesn’t even fucking rhyme. This is some terribly written lyrics!”

…Commercial Voice Actor Clown strokes his chin.

”Mmm, can we get a bonus point for that?”

Commercial Voice Actor Clown snaps his fingers.

WHAM! Dictionary Clown drops a massive fucking dictionary in the soundbooth with CVA Clown.

”Let’s see… Lactomangulation… Logomachy… aha! Lyrics!”

Lyrics - noun - the words of a song

”And then… Daberlick… Defenestrate… aha! Dialogue!”

Dialogue - noun - a conversation or exchange of ideas between two or more people

”Hmm!” Commercial Voice Actor Clown strokes his chin thoughtfully. ”Well… Chubby Checker’s ghost is exchanging ideas about his dance craze The Turn with the crowd of zombies… And it is terribly written!”

Writer Clown, the Clown that Writes this Reality, nods knowingly from his couch a thousand universes away.

”I think that puts us in Bonus Point City!”

”Which is a Bonus Point Planet!”

Submitted for your Terribly Written Dialogue bonus point consideration

The zombies are dancing on the beach…

When suddenly, a legion of preppy high school children, also in trunks and bikinis, walk up on the beach.

”Hey! Just because you zombies are super ripped doesn’t mean you own the beach!” Barks Tad Thaddington III, heir to the Thaddington Shrimp-That-Feel-Pain-While-You-Eat-Them fortune. He adjusts the chest of his bikini.

I bet you thought the men among the high schoolers were the ones wearing trunks.

Well, Racoon City is a strange village/town

Submitted for your Strange Village/Town bonus point consideration

”We challenge you zombies to a surf contest for the beach! An-”

”GRRRRRRAAAAAAAGH!” One of the zombies bites down on Tad’s skull!

”Ahhhhhh!” Tad screams as his skull is gnawed into blood, his brains spattering down the side of his skull! ”D-do you know who my father is?!?” Are his last words.

What a weird manchild.

Submitted for your Weird Child bonus point consideration

The zombies start to devour the teens, who in turn are turned into zombies…

And those zombies are then given the V Virus!

And become super fucking RIPPED ZOMBIES!

”JOIN THE V VIRUS MOVEMENT! KILL YOURSELF TODAY!”

…Commercial Voice Actor Clown double-takes at the script.

”Am I… is that really the slogan for the…”

…

”No, yeah, I fuckin’ guess, it’s just…”

…

”No, fuck you! You can’t get another voice actor to read this! I’M COMMERCIAL VOICE ACTOR CLOWN!”

Click.

On-screen, the slogan ‘KILL YOURSELF TODAY’ is flashing on-screen as Commercial Voice Actor Clown is in the midst of defending his position as a voice actor.

…Sitting in a black velour chair in a pinstripe, perfectly-tailored pantssuit…

Is the Queen of VilaroFit herself!

Marisol Vilaro!

A famous fitness product merchant!

Submitted for your Merchant bonus point consideration

She is surrounded by her marketing team…

Which are clowns.

Because she fired all of her employees and replaced them with clowns.

The Marketing Clowns sweat nervously as she stares with her constantly furious expression at the screen.

WHAM! She swats her protein shake bottle to the ground furiously.

”What the FUCK are you clowns thinking with this advertisement?!?”

”...Ah!” Lead Marketing Clown bows profusely. ”We are so sorry, Miss Vilaro!”

”What are you apologizing for?” Commands Marisol, as she sits back in her chair, staring daggers at Lead Marketing Clown. ”Mari does not accept apologies that are given without knowing the correct reason!”

…

Lead Marketing Clown looks back at his associates, Marketing Associate Clown and Business School Graduate Clown.

They both shrug.

…

”I’m sorry… that you didn’t like the commercial!”

”FOOLS! WHY DON’T I LIKE THE COMMERCIAL?”

…Marketing Associate Clown meekly raises his hand.

”Uh… Is it because the slogan for the product is ‘Kill Yourself Today’?”

”NO.”

Business School Graduate Clown scratches his scalp.

”...Uh… because our zombie actors actually killed all those teen actors?”

”NO.”

…Suggestion Clown is now more curious.

”Um… Is it because Chubby Checker is actually still alive? Because we can explain that!” Suggestion Clown nods, pleased. ”See, we KILLED him! For the bit!”

”I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT SEÑOR CHUBBY CHECKER.”

…

Idea Clowns One Through Nine huddle up and compare notes….

After a few moments of fierce debate and discussion, Idea Clown #1 steps forward.

”We believe we have the answer. You’re angry because… the commercial is effectively confessing that the VilaroFit Empire is the sole cause of the zombie outbreak which is actively going on outside, as we speak.”

Submitted for your Outbreak bonus point consideration

The camera pans to just outside this boardroom, where zombies are roaming the streets.

They are so fucking ripped, yo.

Genuinely, they look exactly like David.

Sorry, I know I keep bringing up the man who is the reason your mom is unhappy.

Anyway.

”That’s why you’re angry, correct?”

”NO, YOU BLITHERING IMBECILES! IT WAS THE VERY FIRST LINE OF THE GODDAMNED COMMERCIAL, YOU PASAYOS TONTOS!”

Vilaro rewinds the commercial back to the beginning…

Quote:”THAT’S RIGHT!” Says Commercial Voice Actor Clown. ”Those wacky clowns at VilaroFit ACCIDENTALLY created a formula that rejuvenates muscle SO WELL, IT CAN BRING THE DEAD BACK TO LIFE!”

”ACCIDENTALLY?!?” Vilaro throws the remote so hard, it wedges itself completely into the screen.

”MARI IS A GODDESS! MARI IS A DIVINE BEING! DOES A DIVINE BEING ERR? NEVER! THEREFORE, NEITHER DOES MARI.”

…

The Idea Clowns huddle back up.

…

They break up from the huddle.

”...So…” Idea Clown #1 starts…

Before looking confused.

…They signal to all the clowns on the factory floor.

All the Clowns gather into a massive, chaotic huddle.

Mari’s foot taps impatiently.

Her foot does not honk when she taps it.

But if you’re mentally picturing this scene, this huddle comprises every clown that’s ever been referenced thus far.

And there is so much ambient fucking honking right now.

The Clowns finally break out of the huddle.

Idea Clown #1 steps forward.

”...Okay… so… you want us to say that… this was intentional?”

”MARI WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS!”

”THAT’S RIGHT!” Says Commercial Voice Actor Clown. ”Those wacky clowns at VilaroFit INTENTIONALLY AND FOR THE DELIBERATE PURPOSE OF ACHIEVING EXACTLY THE EFFECT THAT RESULTED…”

A television in a window display in Racoon City displays the updated #VilaroFit commercial, which takes complete credit for the Ripped Zombie Apocalypse!

A bunch of zombies are shuffling about.

One zombie shuffles a deck of playing cards.

Another shuffles a deck of Magic the Gathering cards.

Two Clowns peek out from behind a corner.

”That was close! We were almost clown sandwiches!”

The camera pans out.

One clown is in a Halloween costume, dressed like a clown-sized Hot Dog, his entire body wrapped in a bun.

The other is dressed like a clown-sized taco.

”You know, there’s a fair argument that we’re both currently clown sandwiches.”

”HERETIC!” Sandwich Purist Clown kicks Open-To-Liberal-Definitions-of-Sandwich Clown into a crowd of zombies! They immediately begin devouring his hard corn tortilla shell!

Some of the zombies turn toward Sandwich Purist Clown!

He tries to run away!

RESIDENT EVIL STYLE QUICK TIME EVENT!

Rapidly press

Code:
Ctrl + W

to escape the zombie horde!

Code:
Cmd + W

on Mac!

…

……

If you fell for that, you lost one life.

Submitted for your Chase Scene bonus point consideration

Sandwich Purist Clown baseball slides into a courtyard!

As he gets there, the door locks behind him!

”Phew, I should be safe here…” mutters Sandwich Purist Clown.

Above him is a sign hanging in the room, labelled ‘BOSS FIGHT ROOM.’

Suddenly, stones and rubble shift around him!

”Oh crap!” Sandwich Purist Clown swallows nervously…

And emerging from the rubble, it’s…

[Image: sa.jpeg?q=50&fit=crop&w=825&dpr=1.5]

[Image: sa.jpeg?q=50&fit=crop&w=825&dpr=1.5]

EL GIGANTE!

Which is actually spanish for “The Landerson”

”AY DIOS MIO!” The gargantuan beast says very spanishly, as he lumbers forward toward Sandwich Purist Clown!

”Where the Hell did this guy come from?!?”

”I’ll answer that!” Announces Doctor Exposition Clown, who emerges from behind a pillar in the Boss Fight Room. ”My doctorate is in summarizing backstories… You see, that poor creature was a dead guy who was infected with the V Virus! But, the V Virus is actually so good and rejuvenating dead muscle, that the muscle never actually stops growing! It lengthens spines! It expands musculature beyond that which a living human body is capable of! And it makes penises smaller! It’s the perfect compound!”

”...Sorry, what was that last thing you said?”

”That it’s the perfect compound?”

”Before that.”

”That it expands musculature beyond that which a living human body is capable of?”

”Between that sentence and the earlier sentence.”

”Oh, you mean, about the pen-”

KERUUUUUUUSH! EL GIGANTE CRUSHES Doctor Exposition Clown’s skull between his thighs…

Submitted for your Thighs bonus point consideration

”Wait, that wasn’t what the bonus point was for! It was for fight with a massive enemy!” Complains Pedant Clown.

Submitted for your Fight with Massive Thighs bonus point consideration

”...Close enough.”

”HOLY SHIT!”

WHAM! The door kicks open!

And who should emerge…

BUT MOTHERFUCKING TELEVISION CLOWN!

”I told you I’d be back!”

”I have no idea who you are!”

”I was talking to the cameras.”

”...What?”

”Never mind. Point being, I’m going to kill the fuck out of that big asshole.”

”Hooray!”

”Right after I talk about trash.”

”...What?”

Oh what? Y’all thought that punk bitch, Kristoffer Arroyo, would finish me off?

Just because he literally murdered me in that ring?

Puh-leez.

One swig of Vilaro protein smoothie and I’m as right as three left turns.

Well, I’ve always said I could talk about trash.

And what do I see before me? Four heaping helpings of trash they call wrestlers!

Hey Judd! Thanks for the backup at Warfare.

I doubt you wanna be pals going forward, probably more of an “enemy of my enemy” thing, right?

I mean, you had a shot to take this from Samael Dyson of all people. And didn’t.

And you had a shot to get to the Relentless Main Event to earn vengeance against Samael Dyson…

And didn’t.

Making Arroyo look stupid is pretty much the closest thing you have to ‘an accomplishment’ so far in the XWF.

And before you bring up the X-Treme title around your waist…

Let’s remember that Tommy Wish held that belt five times, so it probably smells like shame and ladies’ foot powder.

People like to hide out with that belt ducking challenges.

My belt DEMANDS blood.

My belt DEMANDS entertainment!

I can’t take a week off, and I ain’t starting now, Juddy baby!

Charlie Nickles!

Not the first time you’re going to get clowned on, huh?

At least before you had the excuse of the Director hanging around your neck like the weight keeping Latina Submission Machina’s corpse submerged at the bottom of the ocean.

Too soon? I mean, can’t be, LSM’s still fresh enough that you keep reheating her remains to try to reinvigorate your dead career.

Oh boo hoo hooooooo, my daughter died (because I killed her)

and my sister died (because my tag partner killed her)

and my wife left me and my kids hate me (because they know me)

and PEOPLE KEEP HANDING ME UNIVERSAL TITLE SHOTS.

I’d say Charlie is failing upwards.

But failing upwards implies that he’s moving up.

He’s failing flat.

Like Jennie Nickles’ heart monitor in whatever hospital is keeping her braindead corpse.

I mean, it was either this or Gavin Newsome’s District Attorney was going to put her back in prison for a lethal injection.

Which I think is what Micheal Graves calls his penis.

Hey Michael!

Boy, you’re riding high, huh?

Two-time Universal champion! Nice!

After years of being a punchline, or being a freak sideshow that couldn’t rub two wins together on Anarchy… You’ve climbed all the way to being the Top Guy of the whole XWF enchilada!

Man.

It would be a real shame if some asshole clown showed up and just…

Clowned all over you, huh?

That’s the thing about us, Clowns, Mikey!

We win when it’s funny.

That’s what happened to Garisha!

And Kristoffer Arroyo was so determined to beat me to death, he accidentally killed his career.

And then there was you!

You were once a real goofy boy, Micheal!

Putting exploding collars on children’s necks!

Funny stuff!

But now you’re so serious!

Let’s see if we can’t smack you upside the head enough times to find that depraved streak you used to have.

That’s what my title is about, Mike.

PERSONALITY.

And right now, you’re looking like you sold your personality to the devil in exchange for dodging Scoops.

Oh yeah, Mikey, we’re talking about it.

Let’s face it. The one monkey you still haven’t gotten off your back is Scoops McGee.

He’s the reason you don’t have a King of the XWF crown on your head.

You basically got those two Uni titles runs off beating Samael Dyson.

Who, I mean, yeah, scary guy when he tells you not to come to school tomorrow.

But in the ring? Fucking E-Z, GG, you feel me?

I mean, throw in SEB who was already mentally planning his vacation rubbing tanning oil on Thad Duke’s slender shoulders in Tahiti, and you basically got a gift-wrapped Uni title at Relentless, huh?

Speaking of SEB!

Heeeeeeey, Johnny Bacchus!

Of course, SEB walks out and you roll right back in!

Literally waited until the “THANK YOU SEB” chants stopped before quietly submitting your ‘okay, now that the guy who had eternal bragging rights over my ass is gone, I’d like to come back and nuke the roster please.’

Just to warn you, tho, Backy, somewhere out there, Isaiah King still has a briefcase.

You know Zay. That guy you told didn’t belong in the story you and SEB were crafting.

Who knocked you both on your ass and walked out the champ.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m a fucking clown.

I’d love to wreck all four of your precious little narratives…

I’d love to turn all of your little redemption arcs into the fucking laugh riot I see them as.

But, Bacchus?

Man.

Imagine waiting all that time for Johnny Bacchus to make his return.

Only to get schooled by the Valedictorian of Clown College.

Television Clown is standing over the re-deadified corpse of El Gigante!

Referee Clown is watching back the instant reply.

”It’s going to be a close call.” Murmurs John Madden Clown. ”Remind us, what does Television Clown need for the bonus point, Pat?”

”BRAAAAAAAAAAAAINS!” Groans Zombie Pat Sumerall.

”Exactly right, Pat! He needs brains to thread this needle for that last bonus point! He needs three cheesy one liners to earn that last bonus point! This will put him on track for his ninth bonus point!”

”I’m pretty sure it’s only three bonus points total, he just covered all the different ways you can possibly get bonus points, which almost certainly was to his own detriment.”

”Hey.”

…

”Shut up.”

John Madden Clown adjusts his headset, which honks as he adjusts it.

”He’s gonna need to have delivered THREE cheesy one-liners to get the last point…”

The referee is watching back the footage of the fight…

Quote:Television Clown does a sick backflip over the charging Gigante!

”You may be a monster, but I’ll chew through you like MUENSTER!”

The referee raises his hand for one.

Quote:El Gigante grabs a tree trunk and swings it at Television Clown!

Quick! Press Alt + F4 to dodge!

…

If you closed the window and came back, don’t finish this story. You got a Game Over.

If you didn’t, proceed…

Television Clown fires his gun, blasting several holes through El Gigante, who appears unfazed!

Television Clown winks at the camera through the holes in El Gigante!

”You may not be neutral, but you’re looking real Swiss!”

The referee raises his hand for two.

”I don’t think by cheesy, they mean that the one-liners needed to reference cheese…”

BANG. John Madden Clown shoots Pedant Clown.

Quote:El Gigante, with the last of his energy charges Television Clown!

But Television Clown extends his big clown shoe and trips El Gigante!

And he winds up in a hilariously large crate addressed to Mexico!

”See you in Monterrey, Jack!”

WHISTLE!

The referee raises his hands!

Three cheesy one-liners!

Presented for your Cheesy One-Liner Bonus Point Consideration

Television Clown dusts his hands as the big sealed crate with El Gigante in it, rumbles behind him.

”Looks like I saved you! Any longer and you would have ended up a clown sandw-”

BANG! Sandwich Pedant Clown shoots Television Clown.

”BLASPHEMER!”

Sandwich Pedant Clown adjust his hot dog bun costume and walks off furiously.

…

Television Clown coughs up blood on the floor.

…

He hears footsteps.

”H-hey! Is someone there? Do you have an herb or something? I just got shot…”

Television Clown looks up.

And sees…

Shoots-People-Who-Do-The-Same-Joke-Twice-In-The-Same-Story Clown.

…

”Clown sandwich, huh?”

”...Ah.”

BANG.

]]>

MEANWHILE AT THE #VILAROFIT EXERCISE EQUIPMENT FACTORY IN RACOON CITY

Submitted for your Shady Organization bonus point consideration

That’s right, honey
Let's perform The Turn
It's legally distinct
From the dance I was known for in life
Take me by my little hand
And don’t sue me, World Media Group!

Lyrics - noun - the words of a song

”And then… Daberlick… Defenestrate… aha! Dialogue!”

Dialogue - noun - a conversation or exchange of ideas between two or more people

Submitted for your Terribly Written Dialogue bonus point consideration

Submitted for your Strange Village/Town bonus point consideration

Submitted for your Weird Child bonus point consideration

Submitted for your Merchant bonus point consideration

Submitted for your Outbreak bonus point consideration

Quote:”THAT’S RIGHT!” Says Commercial Voice Actor Clown. ”Those wacky clowns at VilaroFit ACCIDENTALLY created a formula that rejuvenates muscle SO WELL, IT CAN BRING THE DEAD BACK TO LIFE!”

RESIDENT EVIL STYLE QUICK TIME EVENT!

Rapidly press

Code:
Ctrl + W

to escape the zombie horde!

Code:
Cmd + W

on Mac!

…

……

If you fell for that, you lost one life.

Submitted for your Chase Scene bonus point consideration

Submitted for your Thighs bonus point consideration

”Wait, that wasn’t what the bonus point was for! It was for fight with a massive enemy!” Complains Pedant Clown.

Submitted for your Fight with Massive Thighs bonus point consideration

Quote:Television Clown does a sick backflip over the charging Gigante!

”You may be a monster, but I’ll chew through you like MUENSTER!”

The referee raises his hand for one.

Quote:El Gigante grabs a tree trunk and swings it at Television Clown!

Quick! Press Alt + F4 to dodge!

…

If you closed the window and came back, don’t finish this story. You got a Game Over.

If you didn’t, proceed…

Television Clown fires his gun, blasting several holes through El Gigante, who appears unfazed!

Television Clown winks at the camera through the holes in El Gigante!

”You may not be neutral, but you’re looking real Swiss!”

The referee raises his hand for two.

”I don’t think by cheesy, they mean that the one-liners needed to reference cheese…”

BANG. John Madden Clown shoots Pedant Clown.

Quote:El Gigante, with the last of his energy charges Television Clown!

But Television Clown extends his big clown shoe and trips El Gigante!

And he winds up in a hilariously large crate addressed to Mexico!

”See you in Monterrey, Jack!”

WHISTLE!

The referee raises his hands!

Three cheesy one-liners!

Presented for your Cheesy One-Liner Bonus Point Consideration

Intelligence has determined that the X-Treme Wrestling Federation (XWF), of which you are familiar, will be sending a contingent of unafflicted persons into Racoon City at the time of your mission. The success or failure of these representatives in their own personal or professional endeavors is irrelevant to your own and it is unlikely you will encounter these persons in your duties.
(word count: 3550)

]]>

]]> <![CDATA[Judd Hollow Presents: Last Call For Sanity]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50620 Sat, 31 Oct 2026 18:34:51 -0700 Judd Hollow]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50620

… Or Click Here

]]>

… Or Click Here

]]> <![CDATA[Prematurely Winter Goth Vibes to Chill/Relax To]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50619 Sat, 31 Oct 2026 14:13:10 -0700 bacchus]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50619

I'll see you at the cemetery gates.
[Image: maxresdefault.jpg]

]]>

I'll see you at the cemetery gates.
[Image: maxresdefault.jpg]

]]> <![CDATA[Dreams Meet Reality]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50617 Fri, 30 Oct 2026 20:50:10 -0700 Jason Cashe]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50617 Click HERE]]> Click HERE]]> <![CDATA[RE:HEARSAL]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50616 Thu, 29 Oct 2026 19:37:14 -0700 The Dark Warrior Michael Graves]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50616 [Image: RFDc7WG.png]

The Graves Boneyard!

Home of the legendary Dark Warrior!

Two-time Universal Champion! Hall of Legends inductee!

And one of the biggest assholes to ever grace God's green earth!

And hiding in his garbage can?

WHAT THE FUCK!?

That's right folks! ANOTHER Michael Graves!

As if one wasn't bad enough!?

Anyway, our hero has been sitting in this garbage can for THREE FUCKING HOURS! Three hours of breathing in rotten food, used cat litter, and something that smells like somebody took a shit on a week-old dead animal!

And WHY is he doing this?

Well, that's none of your fucking business!

Just know that he's got a damn good reason!

Probably!

See, our Graves has been studying the other Graves for a while now. Learning everything there is to know about the man.

So far he's learned that the man likes to say fuck, enjoys threatening people, and might be the dumbest son of a bitch alive!

Good stuff!

BZZZZZZZZZZT!

OH SHIT! SOMEBODY'S HERE!

Our hero quickly presses his face against the garbage can to get a better look, getting a little cat shit on his nose in the process!

But that's okay! He's a professional!

Some delivery asshole is standing at the door.

"Package for Micheal Graves?"

"I ain't order nothin'..."

Our Graves pulls out his little notebook as Graves shakes the package.

(Doesn't trust mailman. Says ain't. Remember to say ain't.)

The REAL Graves takes the package and goes back inside.

Well, that was exciting!

Our hero decides it's time to get the hell out of this garbage can since his fucking legs fell asleep!

CRAAAAAAAAASH!

DOWN GOES THE GARBAGE CAN!

"OH FUCK!"

Our hero lays there in a pile of trash, scared shitless that the REAL Graves is gonna come outside and beat the piss out of him!

But he doesn't!

HA! STUPID ASSHOLE DIDN'T EVEN HEAR IT!

Our Graves crawls out of the garbage, picks something disgusting out of his hair, and sneaks over to the window.

And what's the REAL Graves doing?

FIGHTING WITH A FUCKING VCR!

"EAT IT!"

HAHAHAHA! WHAT A DUMBASS!

Our Graves writes that down too.

(Talks to machines. Possibly insane.)

Then some asshole appears on the television, and next thing you know, Graves is screaming about somebody slitting his fucking throat!

WHAT THE HELL!?

Then Graves disappears into the kitchen.

And comes back with a FUCKING BUTCHER KNIFE!

HOLY SHIT!

Our hero ducks down!

What kinda sick fucking maniac keeps knives in his kitchen!?

Oh.

Right.

Anyway!

He's beginning to think this whole thing might be a bad idea!

Especially since he's been sitting in cat shit for three hours and something is now crawling around inside his underwear!

But does he quit!?

HELL NO!

Because he's MICHAEL FUCKING GRAVES!

Well, not really.

BUT CLOSE ENOUGH!

And if the real Micheal Graves can survive twenty years of getting his ass kicked by every asshole in the wrestling business, then surely our hero can survive a little garbage and a fucking rash!

Although...

His balls ARE starting to burn.

Like REALLY fucking burn.

Maybe he should see a doctor?

NAH! FUCK THAT!

GRAVES don't need no doctor!

A FEW DAYS LATER...

And where is he now?

IN A FUCKING BODY BAG!

That's right! A BODY BAG! In the trunk of the REAL Micheal Graves' car!

Now you might be wondering how he got in there?

WELL, HE FUCKING CLIMBED IN! HOW ELSE!?

See, our hero figured the best way to follow the other Graves without getting caught was to hide somewhere nobody would think to look!

And what better place than a body bag!?

GENIUS!

Or at least it WAS genius until the REAL Graves opened the trunk!

THEN!

"What the fuck?"

OH SHIT! HE'S BEEN CAUGHT!

Our hero holds his breath!

"Huh... Don't remember puttin' that in there."

And with that, the trunk SLAMS shut!

Now!

HAHA! WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT!

And remember that rash?

WELL IT AIN'T GETTING ANY BETTER!

His balls are itching! His back is killing him! And he's gotta piss like a fucking racehorse!

Then the car hits a pothole!

THUD!

"OW! FUCK!"

OH SHIT! SHUT UP!

Luckily, the other Graves has the radio turned up so loud he probably couldn't hear a fucking bomb go off!

Then our hero feels something coming up his throat.

Oh no.

OH FUCK NO!

BLAAAAAAAAARGH!

HE JUST PUKED INSIDE HIS OWN MASK!

AND HE CAN'T GET THE FUCKING THING OFF!

Now he's choking on his own puke, swimming in his own sweat, and wondering if maybe he should've just taken a different job!

BUT WAIT!

THE CAR IS STOPPING!

The engine shuts off. A door slams. Footsteps crunch across some gravel.

Our hero unzips his disgusting little sleeping bag and finds the emergency trunk release!

CLICK!

FREEDOM!

He climbs out, nearly falls on his fucking face, and takes a look around.

Trees everywhere! No streetlights! No people!

And one BIG FUCKING HOUSE!

Well, ain't that some fancy shit!?

Our hero adjusts his puke-soaked mask and starts looking for a way inside.

AFTER ALL, HE'S GOT A JOB TO DO!

And apparently a bladder to empty.

He's about two seconds away from pissing himself!

And there's no fucking bathroom anywhere!

So what's a man to do!?

PISS ON THE HOUSE!

HAHA! TAKE THAT, RICH PEOPLE!

Our Graves finds a nice little spot beside the mansion and whips out his dick!

AHHHHHHH! SWEET RELIEF!

Except...

What's that fucking noise?

Something is MOVING in the bushes beside him!

A rat!? A raccoon!? SOME KINDA FUCKING BEAR!?

Our hero looks down just in time to see a big, disgusting, hairless THING crawling toward his exposed junk!

It's got six legs! No eyes! And a mouth that looks like somebody's infected asshole!

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"

HE'S STILL PISSING!

AND NOW HE'S PISSING EVERYWHERE!

On his boots! On the wall! ON THE FUCKING MONSTER!

The thing SCREECHES and runs off into the bushes!

"HA! THAT'S RIGHT, MOTHERFUCKER!

NOBODY FUCKS WITH MICHAEL GRAVES!"

Having successfully defeated whatever the fuck THAT was, our hero zips up and discovers an unlocked service door!

Well, ain't that convenient!?

Inside, there's a long, creepy hallway with some stairs, a bunch of old furniture, and a smell that makes the puke inside his mask seem almost pleasant!

Almost!

He can hear voices!

IT'S THE OTHER GRAVES!

Our hero sneaks down the hallway, pressing his ear against a wall to listen!

Something about Charlie Nickles! Something about Raccoon City!

BORING!

Then something cold and slimy drops onto the back of his neck!

WHAT THE FUCK!?

He jumps!

THUMP!

HEAD FIRST INTO THE FUCKING WALL!

OW! THAT'S GONNA LEAVE A MARK!

And wouldn't you know it, the REAL Graves heard that shit!

"What was that?"

OH FUCK! DON'T MOVE!

Our hero freezes!

Then something makes another noise!

THUMP!

But that one wasn't him!

That one came from UPSTAIRS!

And whatever made it sounds BIG!

Our hero looks toward the staircase!

Then back toward the wall!

Down here he's gonna get caught by a man carrying a butcher knife!

Upstairs?

Probably just some asshole moving furniture!

SO UPSTAIRS IT IS!

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG!?

UPSTAIRS...

So our hero makes his way up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible!

Which ain't easy when your boots are full of piss and your balls are on fucking FIRE!

But whatever!

He's MICHAEL GRAVES!

And Michael Graves ain't afraid of shit!

At the top of the stairs, our hero finds a long hallway! Lots of doors! Fancy carpet! Pictures of ugly rich people hanging on the walls!

One of the pictures is actually MOVING!

Wait...

WHAT THE FUCK!?

Oh, never mind! It's just a mirror!

HAHAHAHA! STUPID ASS!

Our hero continues down the hallway until he hears something coming from behind a door!

THUMP! THUMP! SCRAAAAATCH!

Hmm!

Somebody's having a rough fucking night!

Our hero puts his ear against the door!

Something on the other side is breathing!

REALLY FUCKING LOUD!

Then there's a gurgling noise!

Then somebody starts coughing!

Then something that sounds like a man trying to shit out a fucking bowling ball!

Well, ain't that disgusting!?

Our hero decides to check on the poor bastard!

After all, what would the REAL Micheal Graves do!?

PROBABLY KICK THE FUCKING DOOR DOWN!

So that's exactly what our hero does!

He takes three steps back! Charges!

BOOOOOOM!

RIGHT INTO THE FUCKING DOOR!

Which doesn't open!

"OWWW! FUCK MY SHOULDER!"

Turns out the door opens OUTWARD!

WHO BUILT THIS FUCKING HOUSE!?

Our hero grabs the handle and pulls!

And there, standing in the middle of the room...

IS THE UGLIEST MOTHERFUCKER HE'S EVER SEEN!

And that's saying something! HE'S BEEN IN XWF LOCKER ROOMS!

The thing is about eight feet tall! Its skin is all gray and slimy, and there's some kinda disgusting black shit pouring out of its mouth!

Our hero stares at it.

It stares back!

Then its stomach SPLITS OPEN!

AND THERE'S ANOTHER FUCKING MOUTH INSIDE!

WITH TEETH!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

OH COME ON!

WHAT WOULD MICHEAL GRAVES DO!?

Our hero remembers his training!

He straightens up! Sticks out his chest! Points right at the monster!

"LISTEN HERE YOU UGLY SON OF A BITCH! I'M MICHAEL FUCKING GRAVES! TWO-TIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! AND I'M GONNA KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS!"

YEAH! THAT'S THE SPIRIT!

The monster opens its mouth!

BLUUUUUUUUUUURGH!

A GALLON OF BLACK SHIT COMES FLYING OUT!

RIGHT IN OUR HERO'S FACE!

"OH GOD! IT'S IN MY FUCKING MOUTH!"

HAHAHAHA! FUCKING GROSS!

But our hero isn't finished!

He grabs the nearest chair!

TIME FOR SOME GOOD OLD-FASHIONED HARDCORE WRESTLING!

He swings!

AND OUR HERO SMASHES THE CHAIR INTO HIS OWN FUCKING KNEE!

"SON OF A BIIIIIIIIITCH!"

DOWN GOES GRAVES!

The monster grabs him by the throat and lifts him off the ground!

OH SHIT!

Our hero starts kicking! Punching! SCREAMING LIKE A LITTLE GIRL!

And then...

HE REMEMBERS ANOTHER ONE OF GRAVES' MOVES!

THE POISON MIST!

Our hero sucks up all that disgusting shit that's been collecting inside his mask since the car ride!

AND SPITS!

PFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

RIGHT INTO THE INSIDE OF HIS OWN FUCKING MASK!

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

THE STUPID FUCKER FORGOT ABOUT THE MASK!

Now he's choking! The monster's choking him! EVERYBODY'S FUCKING CHOKING!

In desperation, our hero grabs a big metal chain hanging from the ceiling!

AND PULLS!

KERRRRRRRRR-CRASH!

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

THE ENTIRE FUCKING CHANDELIER JUST FELL!

RIGHT ON TOP OF THE MONSTER!

Glass EVERYWHERE! Blood EVERYWHERE! Some kinda yellow shit squirting out of the monster's stomach!

ITS FUCKING ARM JUST FELL OFF!

AND IT'S STILL MOVING!

"OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!"

Our hero scrambles backward, slipping in monster juice and landing flat on his ass!

But WAIT!

The monster isn't getting up!

IT'S TRAPPED!

Our hero slowly gets to his feet!

Then throws both arms into the air!

"YEAH! THAT'S RIGHT MOTHERFUCKER! MICHAEL GRAVES WINS AGAIN!"

HAHAHAHA! WHAT A FUCKING BADASS!

Our hero even puts his foot on the monster's chest for a victory pose!

Well, where its chest USED to be!

Then teeth bite into his ankle!

OH SHIT!

THE FUCKING THING IS STILL ALIVE!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!"

Our hero kicks himself free and LIMP-RUNS LIKE HELL!

Down the hallway! Around the corner! INTO A FUCKING CLOSET!

SLAM!

He holds the door shut!

Breathing hard! Shaking! Covered in blood, puke, piss, and some kinda monster shit!

And wouldn't you know it...

HE JUST SHIT HIS FUCKING PANTS!

Well, ain't THAT just fucking wonderful!?

But hey!

HE WON THE FIGHT!

Sort of!

AND THAT'S ALL THAT FUCKING MATTERS!

Now, our hero is hiding in a closet, covered in more bodily fluids than a fucking porn studio!

And his balls STILL ITCH!

What a fucking night!

But wait! What's he doing now!?

HE'S TAKING OFF HIS MASK!

OH SHIT! THE BIG REVEAL!

And underneath that disgusting, puke-covered mask is none other than...

CRISPIN FUCKING GLOVER!?

YEAH! THAT CRISPIN GLOVER! FROM BACK TO THE FUTURE!

WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING HERE!?

Well, remember that job we mentioned!? Turns out our hero has been cast to play Micheal Graves in the VINNIE LANE BIOPIC, starring Lane'l Pennyfarthing and Michael Graves!

AND THIS ASSHOLE DECIDED TO GO METHOD!

WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT!

Suddenly his phone starts ringing!

IT'S HIS FUCKING AGENT!

"Crispin! How's the research coming along?"

"I believe I may have contracted several diseases."

"Fantastic! Really getting into character, huh?"

"Something attempted to consume me. I have also defecated in my trousers."

"HAHA! That's commitment! The producers are gonna LOVE this!"

"I no longer wish to participate in this picture."

"Crispin, buddy! You're under contract!"

"I fear I may die tonight."

"That's the spirit! Talk tomorrow!"

CLICK!

WELL, FUCK!

Our hero sits there staring at his phone!

Then something SCREAMS outside the closet!

OH SHIT!

TIME TO GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!

Luckily there's a window!

YES, in the closet!

Don't look at me like that! I didn't design this mansion!

Anyway, our hero opens it, climbs out, and drops straight into a fucking rosebush!

"AAAAAAAAH! MY PENIS!"

HAHAHAHA! FUCKING IDIOT!

But at least he's outside!

Now all he's gotta do is find a ride out of here!

HOW HARD COULD THAT BE!?

SOME TIME LATER... RACCOON CITY!

Well, would ya look at that!

OUR HERO MADE IT TO RACCOON CITY!

How!?

He stole a fucking truck!

Found it parked behind the mansion with the keys still in it!

HAHA! FINDERS KEEPERS, ASSHOLE!

Unfortunately, Raccoon City ain't exactly the tourist destination he'd hoped for!

Cars burning! Windows smashed! Dead bodies everywhere!

And there's some asshole eating another asshole in the middle of the street!

WHAT THE FUCK!?

Our hero stops the truck and rolls down his window!

"EXCUSE ME! WOULD YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW WHERE THE NEAREST HOTEL IS?"

The asshole looks up!

HALF HIS FUCKING FACE IS MISSING!

AND HE'S STILL CHEWING!

"Oh dear God!"

FUCK THE HOTEL!

Our hero floors it!

Unfortunately, there's a fucking roadblock ahead!

GREAT!

So he abandons the truck and start walking!

Well, LIMPING! Remember that fucking ankle!?

Anyway, after about ten minutes he spots something interesting!

A LITTLE SHOP!

And standing behind the counter is some creepy asshole wearing a trench coat!

"WELCOME, STRANGER!"

OH THANK GOD! A NORMAL PERSON!

"I require transportation out of this dreadful city!"

"WHAT'RE YA BUYIN'?"

"A ticket home! Preferably first class!"

"DON'T HAVE THAT!"

Well, FUCK!

The merchant shows him some guns, ammunition, a suspicious-looking green plant, and a map!

A MAP!

NOW WE'RE FUCKING TALKING!

"How much for the map?"

"FIFTY DOLLARS!"

"FIFTY DOLLARS!? FOR A MAP!?"

"STRANGER! THAT'S A MAP OF THE SERVICE TUNNELS THAT LEAD RIGHT OUT OF THE CITY!"

HOLY SHIT! THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT HE NEEDS!

Our hero pays the asshole and takes his map!

And what's that written across the bottom!?

WEST SERVICE TUNNEL — EMERGENCY EXIT

HAHA! TOO FUCKING EASY!

All these other assholes running around fighting monsters and killing zombies, and our hero has already figured out how to WIN THE FUCKING MATCH!

JUST LEAVE!

GENIUS!

He turns to thank the merchant when suddenly...

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

SOMETHING JUST BLEW UP DOWN THE STREET!

And there's something BIG walking through the smoke!

REALLY FUCKING BIG!

Then it speaks!

"S.T.A.R.S..."

Our hero looks at the merchant!

"What the fuck's THAT?"

"HEH HEH HEH! GOOD LUCK, STRANGER!"

The merchant slams his shop window shut!

WELL, THAT'S FUCKING RUDE!

Our hero turns around!

And comes face to face with...

OH.

MY.

FUCKING.

GOD.

S.T.A.R.S. ... AND ONE VERY UNLUCKY MOVIE STAR!

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THIS MOTHERFUCKER!

He's gotta be nine feet tall! Wearing some kinda leather garbage bag! And his face looks like somebody tried to make a fucking meatloaf out of roadkill!

AND HE'S GOT A FUCKING ROCKET LAUNCHER!

A ROCKET LAUNCHER!?

WHO THE FUCK GAVE THIS ASSHOLE A ROCKET LAUNCHER!?

Our hero takes a step backward!

The monster takes a step forward!

"S.T.A.R.S..."

OH! HE WANTS AN AUTOGRAPH!

Well, why didn't he fucking say so!?

"Yes! I'm a star! Crispin Glover! You may remember me from Back to the Future!"

The monster's head jerks toward him!

"S.T.A.R.S!"

SEE!? HE KNOWS HIM!

Our hero reaches out to shake his hand!

AND THE FUCKER GRABS HIM BY THE HEAD!

"OH DEAR GOD! PLEASE DON'T DAMAGE MY FACE! IT'S HOW I MAKE MY LIVING!"

The monster lifts him off the ground!

OH FUCK! NOT AGAIN!

Our hero kicks the bastard right in the balls!

Nothing!

HE AIN'T GOT NONE!

HAHA! WHAT A LOSER!

Then Nemesis throws him through a fucking store window!

KERRRRRRASH!

DOWN GOES GRAVES!

Right into a display of women's underwear!

Well, this is embarrassing!

Our hero staggers to his feet with a pair of panties hanging from his fucking head!

Then he hears it!

"S.T.A.R.S..."

OH COME ON!

Our hero looks through the broken window!

THAT ASSHOLE IS AIMING THE ROCKET LAUNCHER!

"I'M NOT EVEN A LEADING MAN! I'M A CHARACTER ACTOOOOOOOR!"

KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOM!

THE FUCKING STORE EXPLODES!

But our hero!?

HE'S ALREADY GONE!

HAHA! TOO SLOW, ASSHOLE!

He's hauling ass down the street, limping like a motherfucker, when he spots a construction site!

AND A PORTABLE TOILET!

PERFECT HIDING PLACE!

He jumps inside and slams the door!

Except...

SOMEBODY'S ALREADY IN THERE!

A FUCKING ZOMBIE!

SITTING ON THE SHITTER!

WITH ITS PANTS AROUND ITS ANKLES!

WHAT KINDA FUCKING APOCALYPSE IS THIS!?

The zombie lunges!

Our hero screams and kicks the door open!

AND THERE'S NEMESIS!

OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!

Nemesis raises his rocket launcher!

Our hero DIVES!

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

THE ROCKET HITS THE FUCKING PORTA-POTTY!

AND EXPLODES ABOUT FIFTY GALLONS OF HUMAN SHIT ALL OVER THE STREET!

ALL OVER NEMESIS!

BLUE WATER! TOILET PAPER! CORN!

SO MUCH FUCKING CORN!

Nemesis stands there dripping in shit!

And our hero!?

HE'S CRAWLING UNDER A PARKED CAR!

HAHAHAHA! WHAT A FUCKING COWARD!

But guess what!?

HE'S STILL ALIVE!

And that giant asshole is standing there looking like the world's ugliest fucking septic tank!

Our hero pulls out his map!

THE WEST SERVICE TUNNEL!

IT'S ONLY TWO BLOCKS AWAY!

All he's gotta do is get there before that gigantic shit-covered motherfucker finds him!

EASY!

Probably!

THE BETTER MICHAEL GRAVES!

So there he is! Our hero! Hiding underneath a fucking car!

And you know what!?

HE'S DOING PRETTY FUCKING GOOD!

Sure, he's covered in shit! He's probably got rabies! And his balls look like a couple of infected Christmas ornaments!

BUT HE'S ALIVE!

Our hero pulls out his phone and starts recording!

One last audition! One final chance to show Hollywood what a GREAT fucking Micheal Graves he is!

"LISTEN HERE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! I'M MICHAEL GRAVES! AND I'M THE BADDEST SON OF A BITCH IN THE XWF!"

OH YEAH! THAT'S THE SHIT!

"YOU THINK I'M SCARED OF JUDD HOLLOW!? FUCK JUDD HOLLOW!"

Easy there, buddy!

"THAT ASSHOLE ESCAPED FROM SOME FUCKING ROOM! AND A CAGE! BIG FUCKING DEAL! I JUST ESCAPED FROM A MAN WITH A ROCKET LAUNCHER!"

HE'S GOT A POINT!

Judd Hollow might be a big scary son of a bitch, but can HE survive being covered in fifty gallons of human shit!?

Probably!

BUT THAT'S NOT THE FUCKING POINT!

"AND JOHNNY BACCHUS!? WHAT KIND OF FUCKING NAME IS BACCHUS!? YOU SOUND LIKE A GUY WHO GOT FIRED FROM A WINE COMMERCIAL! I'M MICHAEL FUCKING GRAVES! I'VE GOT A REAL NAME! WELL, SOMEBODY ELSE'S REAL NAME! BUT THAT'S BESIDE THE FUCKING POINT!"

HAHA! NOW THAT'S A FUCKING STRATEGY!

"AND CHARLIE NICKLES! YOU CAN KISS MY ASS! I DON'T KNOW YOU! I DON'T WANNA KNOW YOU!"

HAHAHAHA! BEAUTIFUL!

"YOU ALL WANNA PROVE HOW TOUGH YOU ARE! YOU WANNA FIGHT MONSTERS! YOU WANNA FIGHT EACH OTHER! WELL, GO RIGHT AHEAD! I'LL BE AT HOME TAKING A FUCKING SHOWER!"

Our hero finishes his little speech!

FUCKING OSCAR-WORTHY!

Except...

WHY'S THE CAR MOVING!?

Our hero looks toward the front bumper!

TWO ENORMOUS FUCKING BOOTS!

Then the car starts lifting off the ground!

OH NO!

OH FUCK NO!

"S.T.A.R.S..."

HE FUCKING FOUND HIM!

NO TOUCHING!

WELL, ISN'T THIS JUST FUCKING WONDERFUL!?

Our hero is lying in the middle of the street, and some nine-foot-tall asshole is lifting a FUCKING CAR over his head!

WITH HIM UNDER IT!

"PLEASE! I'M AN ACTOR! I HAVE A FAMILY!"

Do you, Crispin!?

FUCK IF I KNOW!

Anyway, Nemesis lifts the car high enough for our hero to crawl out!

AND CRAWL HE DOES!

LIKE A FUCKING COCKROACH!

Nemesis throws the car!

KAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOM!

RIGHT THROUGH A FUCKING BUILDING!

HAHA! MISSED HIM, ASSHOLE!

Our hero takes off down the street!

ONE BLOCK!

TWO BLOCKS!

AND THERE IT IS!

WEST SERVICE TUNNEL

HOLY SHIT! HE FOUND IT!

Except there's a big fucking metal gate blocking the entrance!

OF COURSE THERE IS!

Our hero grabs the gate! SHAKES IT! KICKS IT!

"OPEN, YOU MISERABLE FUCKING THING!"

IT DOESN'T BUDGE!

Then, from behind him...

"S.T.A.R.S..."

OH, FUCK OFF ALREADY!

Nemesis comes lumbering around the corner with that GODDAMN ROCKET LAUNCHER!

And that's when our hero gets an idea!

A REALLY FUCKING STUPID IDEA!

He stands in front of the gate!

SPREADS HIS ARMS!

"THAT'S RIGHT, MOTHERFUCKER! I'M MICHAEL GRAVES! COME AND FUCKING GET ME!"

Nemesis raises the launcher!

Our hero waits!

AND WAITS!

AND THEN REALIZES WHAT A FUCKING TERRIBLE IDEA THIS WAS!

"OH JESUS CHRIST! I TAKE IT BACK!"

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!

THE ROCKET FIRES!

OUR HERO DIVES!

KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

RIGHT THROUGH THE FUCKING GATE!

HOLY SHIT! IT WORKED!

THE CRAZY BASTARD ACTUALLY DID IT!

Our hero scrambles to his feet and runs straight for the tunnel!

But Nemesis isn't finished!

OH NO!

The big asshole grabs him by the back of his pants!

"NO! NO! NO! NO TOUCHING!"

Our hero struggles!

The pants stretch!

AND THEN...

RRRRRRRRRIP!

HIS FUCKING PANTS COME OFF!

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

NEMESIS HAS HIS PANTS!

AND OUR HERO IS RUNNING DOWN THE TUNNEL WITH HIS ASS HANGING OUT!

BUT WHO GIVES A FUCK!?

HE'S ALIVE!

And for the first time tonight, our hero isn't wondering what the REAL Micheal Graves would do!

BECAUSE FUCK THE REAL GRAVES!

That asshole can do whatever the hell he wants!

BUT OUR GRAVES!?

HE'S BEEN RUNNING AWAY FROM SHIT ALL FUCKING NIGHT!

SCREAMING!

CRYING!

OCCASIONALLY SHITTING HIMSELF!

AND LOOK WHERE IT'S GOTTEN HIM!

While Judd Hollow, Johnny Bacchus, Charlie Nickles, and every other asshole in Raccoon City are getting ready to beat the living piss out of each other...

OUR HERO HAS ALREADY FOUND THE FUCKING EXIT!

AND HE DIDN'T HAVE TO WIN A SINGLE FUCKING WRESTLING MATCH TO DO IT!

He looks ahead!

There's daylight at the other end of the tunnel!

FREEDOM!

And wouldn't you know it, our hero's phone starts ringing again!

IT'S HIS FUCKING AGENT!

"Crispin! Great news! The producers loved your audition! They want to sign you for THREE MORE MOVIES!"

Our hero stops dead in his tracks!

"Three... more?"

"YEAH! And they want you to keep doing whatever you're doing! You're absolutely NAILING this Micheal Graves character!"

Our hero looks down at his bare ass!

Then at the daylight ahead!

"FUCK MICHEAL GRAVES! I'VE BEEN KICKED IN THE FUCKING HEAD! BEATEN HALF TO DEATH! FOUGHT A GODDAMN VAMPIRE! AND NOW I'VE GOT A NINE-FOOT MONSTER TRYING TO SHOVE A ROCKET UP MY ASS! ALL BECAUSE I HAD TO PLAY YOU! WELL, I'VE GOT NEWS FOR YOU, MOTHERFUCKER! BEFORE THIS IS OVER, I'M GONNA MAKE YOU WISH I'D NEVER HEARD THE NAME MICHEAL GRAVES!

I'M GONNA TAKE THE ONE THING YOU CAME HERE FOR!"

Our hero turns back toward Raccoon City.

"I'M STEALING YOUR FUCKING WIN!"

HAHAHAHAHA!

NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL GETTING INTO CHARACTER!

THE END!

]]>

Probably!

BZZZZZZZZZZT!

(Doesn't trust mailman. Says ain't. Remember to say ain't.)

The REAL Graves takes the package and goes back inside.

Well, that was exciting!

Our hero decides it's time to get the hell out of this garbage can since his fucking legs fell asleep!

CRAAAAAAAAASH!

(Talks to machines. Possibly insane.)

A FEW DAYS LATER...

And where is he now?

IN A FUCKING BODY BAG!

THEN!

"What the fuck?"

OH SHIT! HE'S BEEN CAUGHT!

Our hero holds his breath!

"Huh... Don't remember puttin' that in there."

And with that, the trunk SLAMS shut!

Now!

THUD!

BLAAAAAAAAARGH!

CLICK!

THUMP!

UPSTAIRS...

THUMP! THUMP! SCRAAAAATCH!

BOOOOOOM!

BLUUUUUUUUUUURGH!

PFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

KERRRRRRRRR-CRASH!

SLAM!

CRISPIN FUCKING GLOVER!?

CLICK!

SOME TIME LATER... RACCOON CITY!

WEST SERVICE TUNNEL — EMERGENCY EXIT

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

SOMETHING JUST BLEW UP DOWN THE STREET!

And there's something BIG walking through the smoke!

REALLY FUCKING BIG!

Then it speaks!

"S.T.A.R.S..."

S.T.A.R.S. ... AND ONE VERY UNLUCKY MOVIE STAR!

KERRRRRRASH!

KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOM!

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

THE BETTER MICHAEL GRAVES!

NO TOUCHING!

KAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOM!

RIGHT THROUGH A FUCKING BUILDING!

HAHA! MISSED HIM, ASSHOLE!

Our hero takes off down the street!

ONE BLOCK!

TWO BLOCKS!

AND THERE IT IS!

WEST SERVICE TUNNEL

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!

THE ROCKET FIRES!

OUR HERO DIVES!

KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

RRRRRRRRRIP!

THE END!

]]> <![CDATA[RE:STRAINT]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50604 Mon, 26 Oct 2026 20:53:26 -0700 (Gravy_Xtreme_5000)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50604 [Image: LzqmY0x.png]

Location: Graves Boneyard

A delivery driver stood outside, holding a padded envelope.

BzzZZzzzzt!

After a moment, Graves opened the door.

"Package for Micheal Graves?"

"I ain't order nothin'..."

"Sign here."

Graves studied the envelope while the driver waited with his scanner extended.

No name or return address.

"You hear it tickin'?"

"Uh? No..."

Graves shook it beside his ear.

"Sir, I need a signature."

Graves signed with his finger.

"Don't sell that."

The driver was already walking away.

Graves tore open the envelope. Inside was a VHS tape and a folded piece of paper.

He turned the tape over.

A white sticker on the front read:

FOR MICHEAL.

He unfolded the paper. An address was printed under a short handwritten message.

It's been long enough.

Sean

"Well, look who remembered he's got a brother."

Twenty minutes later, Graves knelt in front of an old TV/VCR combo.

"Hope this fuckin' thing still works."

He pushed the tape into the slot, but the machine spat it back out.

So he pushed it in harder.

"Eat it!"

The VCR reluctantly accepted its meal as static rolled across the television, followed by Sean Graves sitting in a leather chair with a drink in hand.

Micheal leaned closer, watching as Sean looked past the camera.

"Is it recording?"

Several seconds passed before somebody answered.

"The recording is presently recording, sir."

Sean smiled as his attention turned to the lens.

"Micheal. Look at you. Universal Champion. Hall of Legends. A daughter who'll admit you're her father in front of people."

Sean raised his glass.

"Hell of a year, brother."

"Been enjoyin' the part where you weren't in it."

"I watched the induction. The whole thing. Figured if you could wait that long to get in, I could sit through the speech."

He chuckled into his drink.

"Got there before you."

"I'm fucking with you. You earned it. Took the scenic route, but you got there."

"And you took the scenic route around an apology."

"Found the camera while clearing out some old shit. Thought it'd be fun. Like cutting promos back in the day.

Besides, you would've hung up on me."

"Could still mail this back up your ass."

"I hear you're coming out this way for a show. Come over. Have a drink."

"Got somethin' else in mind."

"Look, I know. Last time we saw each other, things got a little out of hand."

"YOU SLIT MY FUCKIN' THROAT!"

Sean took another sip.

"Then come say your piece..."

A thin line of something dark ran from Sean's nose.

He wiped it with his thumb, looked at it, then reached out of frame.

The picture jumped.

Sean was sitting back again. His glass was once again full.

"Address is in the envelope.

Come see your brother."

He looked past the camera and nodded.

The television screen turned blue.

Graves waited.

"Motherfucker didn't even apologize."

He rubbed the old scar beneath his jaw as he

stood and headed into the kitchen.

He opened the cutlery drawer and took out a carving knife, only to put it back and select a larger one.

He then wrapped it in a dish towel and stuffed it into his bag.

"Have a drink. Catch up. Slit your fuckin' throat.

See how much of a hurry you're in to put it behind us when you're lookin' at it from my end."

A few days later...

Graves hadn't passed another car in twenty minutes. His headlights stretched down an empty road, trees crowding both sides.

A narrow turnoff led him deeper into the woods. Branches scraped the car as his tires crunched over dirt and stone.

Graves pulled up outside the mansion and checked the address.

Then he looked at the house.

"Asshole can build this house, but not install a driveway?"

He killed the engine, grabbed his bag, and climbed the steps to his brother's front door.

A thin man in a black suit stood inside the doorway. His white gloves stained at the finger tips.

"Mr. Graves."

"Yeah. The other one. The one who has to knock. Where's my brother?"

The man stepped aside.

"Ah, you have arrived just in time for your arrival."

Graves stopped halfway through the doorway, getting a good look at the man's gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes.

"You alright?"

"It is a bug, sir. I have survived it upto this moment."

Graves looked him over again.

"Yeah? Well, keep fightin' it, pal... you look half past dead already."

Graves stepped into the entrance hall.

The butler reached for his bag.

"Allow me to relieve you."

"How about you buy me dinner first?"

"The relief I offered was luggage related, sir."

Graves pulled his bag in close.

"Yeah? Well, that stays with me."

The butler's hand remained extended as a door opened across the hall.

"Micheal! Holy shit. You actually came."

Sean approached with his arms spread. Micheal tightened his grip on the bag.

His brother stopped in front of him.

Same height. Same age.

Sean looked him up and down.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"Traffic."

"Your face, asshole. We used to look identical."

"Ain't like I carry a picture of you around so the doctor knows where to put everything."

Sean laughed and patted his brother's stomach.

Micheal caught his wrist.

For a moment, neither would let go.

Then Sean's grin widened.

"Look at us. Five minutes together and you're already working a wristlock. Come on. Have a drink."

"We gotta talk first."

"We can do both. Big night. My brother finally comes to visit, and he's the Universal Champion. Hall of Legends, too. Fuck, I should've had a cake made."

"Already brought somethin' to cut it with."

Sean glanced down at the bag.

Then he slowly pulled his wrist free.

"Still can't take you anywhere."

He turned toward the study. Graves followed, leaving the butler standing beside the door with his hand still out.

"Your comfort is our most comfortable concern."

"Get that guy a fuckin' chair."

Inside the study, Sean poured two drinks. Micheal sat his bag beside a chair.

A framed photo sat on the desk of Sean holding a championship above his head.

Graves flipped it facedown.

"I saw that."

Sean offered him a glass.

"So. This Raccoon City thing. You're really doing it?"

"That's why I'm out here."

Sean lowered his glass.

"You know, for weeks it's been weird shit out this way.

Missing hikers. Attacks in the woods. Cannibal stories all around Arklay.

Then news starts coming out of Raccoon City.

Roads blocked. Phones dead. People biting each other. Dead people getting back up. Cops barricading themselves inside their station.

And... I've heard there's something big wandering around out there."

"Something big?"

"Couldn't tell ya. Nobody agrees on what the fuck they saw. You know how rumors go.

Could all be bullshit...

Regardless, you're volunteering to go find out."

"Gotta date."

Sean laughed under his breath.

"Of course you do.

Christ, Micheal. Normal people hear stories like that and start looking for somewhere else to be."

"You worried about me now?"

"Don't flatter yourself.

I'm wondering how much thought you've actually put into walking into a city where half the population is supposedly trying to eat the other half."

"I know what I'm goin' there for."

"Which is?"

"Charlie Nickles."

Sean shook his head.

"Of course THAT'S the reason."

"Don't ask if you're just gonna get offended."

"You know? I thought maybe you'd say something about getting out alive.

Winning.

Draft position.

Anything that doesn't involve chasing one asshole through a city full of bigger problems."

"Charlie's my only problem."

Sean took another drink.

"So everybody else is looking for the way out and you're going deeper in because Charlie Nickles pissed you off."

"Charlie put his hands on Emily. That shit didn't happen by accident. Didn't happen because she was standin' in his way either.

He beat the shit outta her because HE wanted ME to hear about it."

"And you did."

"Now I make him wish I hadn't."

"Which means he got exactly what he wanted."

Micheal considered that for a second.

"What are you gettin' at?"

Sean exhaled through his nose.

"You're really willing to give up a match over Charlie Nickles?"

"Didn't say I'm givin' it up.

Once Charlie's handled, I'll still get out."

Something knocked against the wall behind Sean.

Sean didn't flinch.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

Another thump, from upstairs this time.

"That."

"It's an old house, Micheal. It makes noises."

"Bullshit."

Sean took another drink.

"Why'd you really ask me here?"

"I told you. It's been too long."

"Twenty fuckin' years."

"Exactly."

"Last time I saw you, you slit my throat. Left me for dead to run off with the Black Hand Circle Jerk. Now suddenly you're invitin' me out for drinks because we're gettin' old?"

"People change, Micheal. You should know that better than anyone."

Micheal reached down and unzipped the bag.

"Micheal—"

He crossed the room before Sean could finish and pressed the blade against his throat.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Your brother!"

"I know my brother. All of them. Try again."

Micheal pressed harder. A thin red line began to run under the blade.

"Me?"

Two arms wrapped around Micheal from behind.

The butler!

Graves didn't hesitate in driving the knife straight through the man's temple.

He went limp and Graves ripped the blade free as his corpse collapsed onto the carpet.

"Comfort that, motherfucker!"

The study door SLAMMED.

Micheal turned to find that Sean was gone.

"THE FUCK YOU ARE!"

He started for the door when something behind him began to snap, crackle, and POP!

Micheal slowly looked back.

The butler's elbows SNAPPED in the wrong direction. His spine CRACKLED until his chest lifted from the floor. Then four new limbs POPPED from his abdomen, making him look like some human insect hybrid.

Graves took a step back.

"Oh, what the fuck... SOMEBODY GET THE RAID!"

The butler's body bubbled and grew while his jaw opened so far that the skin tore at the corners as the lower half of his face split downward.

Then a slick black tail unfolded from inside him and slammed into a desk hard enough to split it in half.

The thing that had been the butler let out a death-squeal.

"Okay, yeah... fuck that."

He ran as the creature SCREAMED behind him.

Micheal blasted through the study door as the enormous monster crashed through the wall on his heels.

"SEAN! WHEN I FIND YOUR ASS, I'M KILLIN' YOU TWICE!"

Graves didn't make it far before something wrapped around his ankle and sent him flying through the air and crashing through a wall. Micheal rolled to his back and caught a glimpse of the creature towering over him.

"Wait—"

Its massive limb came down and everything went black.

Micheal's eyes snapped open.

Restraints held him down on a medical table.

Micheal struggled against them.

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

A man sat several feet away.

Late fifties. Expensive gray suit. Silver hair.

"Still remarkably quick to regain consciousness."

"Lemme loose and I'll show ya how quick I can put you to sleep."

The man finally looked at him.

"Director Elias Voss. DWR."

Micheal stopped pulling.

"DWR..."

"So you do remember us."

"I remember enough."

"We remember everything."

Voss walked toward the table.

"You were never supposed to survive outside the program this long, Micheal."

"Been disappointin' people my whole life."

"Quite the opposite."

Voss tapped the tablet.

Medical scans filled the screen.

"Your healing has slowed. Your endurance has declined.

And you weren't our only subject."

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"Others were more obedient.

They became what they were designed to become.

Weapons."

"I ain't your fuckin' weapon."

"No. You were impossible to control. The conditioning never took.

Our successful subjects are deteriorating rapidly.

But you lasted decades longer than any of them."

"So you wanna know why?"

"Precisely."

"And Sean? Was that my brother?"

"Would it change anything if I said yes?"

"Yeah. I'd only kill him once."

"Perhaps you should ask him yourself."

"Where is he?"

"We'll have plenty of time for family matters later."

Two technicians entered pushing a cart covered with syringes, vials and surgical tools.

"Oh good. Arts and crafts."

"Blood. Tissue. Bone marrow. We need to understand why your deterioration has progressed differently."

One technician pressed a needle into his arm.

Micheal shifted his weight onto the thumb of his other hand.

"Whatever made you resistant to our conditioning may also be responsible for your longevity."

"So bein' fucked in the head saved my life?"

"In simplified terms."

*POP*

"Finally. A medical opinion I can get behind!"

Micheal slipped his hand out of the restraints.

The technician barely had time to look up.

Micheal grabbed him by the back of the head and SMASHED his face into the metal cart.

Voss stumbled backward.

"SECURITY!"

"Little late for that!"

The second technician reached for an alarm.

Micheal grabbed a surgical tray and cracked it across his face.

He snatched a scalpel and cut through the restraint across his chest and other wrist.

Alarms erupted throughout the facility.

Micheal sat up and looked at Voss.

"Don't run."

Voss ran.

Micheal sliced through the restraints around his ankles and dropped from the table and stepped into the corridor.

A pair of security guards rounded the corner.

The first guard charged.

Micheal sidestepped him and drove his face into the wall.

The second caught a boot to the knee before Graves grabbed him by the back of the vest and launched him into the first guard.

Graves kept moving until a sign on the wall caught his attention.

HUMAN DEVELOPMENT ARCHIVES.

Another arrow pointed toward the EXIT in the opposite direction.

He considered heading to the archives for a moment.

Maybe he could find something on what they did to him.

Why this deterioration was happening.

How long he had...

But Charlie waited at the EXIT. So he chose the exit.

A voice crackled over the speakers.

"You don't want answers?"

Voss.

Micheal kept moving.

"Don't you want to know what we did to you? What you are?"

"Already know what I am."

"Do you?"

A steel door was lowering ahead.

Micheal broke into a full-sprint and dove under it as it crashed down behind him.

"Yeah."

Micheal turned the corner to find Sean standing at the end of the hallway.

Micheal stopped and the two brothers stared at each other.

There was black leaking from Sean's nose again.

He wiped it away with his sleeve.

"You look like shit."

"Been a rough visit."

"You gonna kill me now?"

Micheal started toward him, but Sean didn't flee.

Micheal grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed Sean against the wall, putting the scalpel to his neck.

"Tell me who you are."

"Sean Graves."

"Bullshit."

"Maybe."

Micheal pushed the blade tighter.

"You remember mom?"

"Yeah."

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"The orphanage?"

"You used to crawl into my bed when it thundered."

"Fuck you. You crawled into mine."

"That's not how I remember it."

For a moment, they were eight years old again.

But then suddenly—they weren't.

Micheal stared into his brother's eyes.

Or something wearing them.

"I don't think I'll be killin' you today."

"No?"

"No... Mostly because I ain't sure who I'd be killin' or what you might turn into if I did."

The blade lowered.

Sean looked surprised.

"Twenty years of wanting revenge and you're walking away?"

"Don't try 'n make it sound healthy."

Micheal released him.

"Maybe you're Sean. Maybe you're some shit they grew in a fuckin' tank and filled up with his memories.

But I came here wanting to kill my brother.

Not whatever the hell you are."

"Well, don't let them say you haven't matured."

"Keep talkin'. I can still relapse."

Sean laughed exactly like Sean and that somehow made all this worse.

"What about Charlie? You can walk away from a twenty year grudge with blood, but you're going into Raccoon City looking for HIM?"

"You sound jealous. Our shit happened twenty years ago. Charlie put his hands on Emily NOW."

"No, I get that.

What I don't get is how DWR spent years trying to make you do what they wanted and couldn't...

But let Charlie Nickles hit your daughter once and suddenly he's got you marching exactly where he wants you."

"Charlie ain't controllin' shit."

"That's not the point, Micheal. DWR couldn't make you do what they wanted. They couldn't control you, then Charlie comes along and does it with one fucking attack."

"Fuck you."

"Tell me I'm wrong.

You were ready to walk into that city, forget everybody else in the match, and hunt him down because that's exactly what he knew you'd do."

"I didn't say forget everybody else."

"You said you didn't give a shit about getting out first."

"Winner gets to choose his draft position.

Couldn't care less."

"And that's why people keep gettin' your ass."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't fuckin' 'excuse me' me.

You know what I'm talkin' about.

Somebody pisses you off and—BOOM—that's it. Whatever the fuck you were doing before?

Fuck it.

Now it's all about them.

Gotta hit 'em. Gotta prove somethin'. Gotta make sure they know Micheal Graves ain't the guy to fuck with.

Meanwhile somebody else is actually winning the goddamn match."

"So what? I see Charlie, I'm supposed to just let him walk?"

"I didn't say that. Break his fucking jaw if you get the chance.

Just don't hand him the match while you're doing it."

"I ain't handin' him shit. If anything, I'm beating his ass while somebody else takes it!"

"You really think you're only fighting for a draft order?"

"Uh... yeah?"

"Alright, genius.

What about the people you're supposed to Captain?

You think they don't notice this shit?

Their Captain gets one chance to walk into Raccoon City and make everybody else chase HIM...

And instead he's off somewhere chasin' Charlie because Charlie knew exactly which nerve to hit."

"Don't call me genius like that."

"Then stop acting like a dummy!

You've had good Captains.

You've had shitty ones.

Don't sit there and tell me it felt the same."

"I fought hard either way."

"Yeah, because you're you.

But you know damn well there's a difference between showin' up because you're supposed to... and showin' up thinkin' the asshole beside you might actually know what he's doing."

"Oh, so now I gotta inspire people?"

"You're the Captain, it kinda comes with the job."

"Fuck."

"And this whole not caring about draft position thing?

Do you want scraps, or do you want warriors?"

"...warriors, duh."

"Then earn the advantage!

Walk into Raccoon City with Judd Hollow, Johnny Bacchus, Charlie Nickles and whatever the hell else is waiting in there...

And come out first, then when you point at somebody and tell them they're fighting for Micheal Graves, they know their Captain already did his fucking job."

"Okay—FUCK!

I get it.

Still knockin' Charlie's fuckin' teeth out if I see him."

"Nobody said you couldn't. I'm just saying Charlie isn't the match."

"No... he ain't."

"You've got a city full of problems to escape and Judd Hollow recently proved he knows how to escape. Found the keys to that room, then put Oz face-first through that cage and walked right out."

"Yeah, I'm aware of our Xtreme Champ, fought him once already."

"Beat him too."

"Yeah, and I'd love to say I had him figured out.

I looked at Judd and thought...

Fuckin' lamb.

Big one, sure, but still a lamb.

Then the bell rang and I found out I missed about every fuckin' clue there was."

"You still won."

"Barely."

"Barely counts."

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you.

Ain't makin' that mistake twice.

One thing I did get right? Judd likes to hurt.

Raccoon City's supposed to be full of shit that wants to kill us.

So maybe I just need to give Judd somethin' more interesting to hurt.

Something big, mean, and hard to kill.

Shit! That sounds like me...

Eh?

I'll figure somethin' out.

Always do."

"And Johnny Bacchus, are you familiar?"

"I know enough to know that he's a different kinda problem.

I've seen that motherfucker put somebody through a table so hard he knocked his own ass out... still kept the belt because he happened to land on top of 'em and stay there long enough for someone to count to three.

That's an A-plus in survivin'!

But ain't no time for nappin'.

At some point, he's gotta get his ass up and find his way out before I do."

"Those are the guys trying to beat you, and Charlie's just the guy hoping you'll beat yourself."

"No, you made your point. I ain't watchin' Judd or Bacchus hit that exit because Charlie got me runnin' in circles."

"Good, you've spent your whole career bitching about people calling you impulsive, unreliable, easy to bait.

Stop giving 'em the evidence."

"Two-time Universal Champion. Hall of Legends. War Games Captain.

Think I changed a few minds."

"How long did that take?"

"Long fuckin' time."

"How long would it take to lose it?"

"..."

"Exactly."

"Know what the funny part is? Charlie's gonna be expectin' me."

"Of course he is."

"Nah, I mean expectin' me to start tearin' through that city screamin' his fuckin' name."

"You were just ready to do exactly that..."

"Yeah?

So let him think I still am.

Let him spend the whole night lookin' over his shoulder waitin' for Micheal Graves.

And if we do happen to cross paths, he finds out he was right to keep lookin'."

"That's restraint?"

"For me? That's practically fuckin' enlightenment."

"...Fair."

Micheal stepped through the exit. A ladder led up to a hatch.

"Micheal, you know they'll come looking for you again."

"Fuck 'em. They know where I live."

Micheal climbed.

Sean remained alone in the corridor.

Black goo ran from his nose again.

This time, he didn't wipe it away.

Shortly later...

An old country song played quietly through Micheal's speakers.

The mansion shrank in the rearview as Micheal drove, not knowing whether he just spared his brother...

Or if his brother was even alive.

The old country song played quietly through the speakers.

Then—

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

The music cut out.

"We interrupt this regularly scheduled programming for an emergency bulletin affecting Raccoon City and the surrounding Arklay County area."

"Ah, shit."

"Residents are advised to remain indoors. Several major routes into and out of Raccoon City have been clo—"

Static.

"—individuals displaying extreme aggression, confusion, or symptoms of serious illness."

"That's awfully fuckin' specific."

"If you encounter an injured individual who appears unresponsive, do not attempt to—"

Suddenly the signal broke apart and a different voice cut through that was less composed.

"—repeat, do NOT approach them. Several police checkpoints are no longer responding. There are unconfirmed reports of attacks near Raccoon General Hospital and the Raccoon Police Department—"

More static.

"Anyone still within city limits should shelter in place. Do not attempt to leave through blocked roadways. Do not stop for stranded motorists. Do not—"

The transmission died.

A few seconds later, the country song returned.

His headlights stretched across the empty highway—"Well... guess we're gonna find out first hand how much of it's bullshit..."—until they caught a road sign.

]]>

Location: Graves Boneyard

A delivery driver stood outside, holding a padded envelope.

BzzZZzzzzt!

FOR MICHEAL.

He unfolded the paper. An address was printed under a short handwritten message.

It's been long enough.

Sean

A few days later...

Graves hadn't passed another car in twenty minutes. His headlights stretched down an empty road, trees crowding both sides.

A narrow turnoff led him deeper into the woods. Branches scraped the car as his tires crunched over dirt and stone.

Graves pulled up outside the mansion and checked the address.

Then he looked at the house.

"Asshole can build this house, but not install a driveway?"

Restraints held him down on a medical table.

Micheal struggled against them.

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

A man sat several feet away.

Late fifties. Expensive gray suit. Silver hair.

*POP*

HUMAN DEVELOPMENT ARCHIVES.

Shortly later...

An old country song played quietly through Micheal's speakers.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

]]> <![CDATA[Not A Jobber]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50592 Sat, 17 Oct 2026 23:08:24 -0700 LiamRoberts]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50592 Holy shit I actually won a match, I cannot fucking believe it I won a match, I can't remember the last time I won a match. Sure, it was on the pre-show against someone that seems to be the new me when it comes to jobbing, but still a win is a win and maybe this is the first of many, who am I kidding I am my father's son and while my Dad was once a talented member of the XWF family he is more known for his last few years with the company when he stop caring about winning and more about just getting a paycheck and sadly my last few runs here that has been my mindset too, but then I saw a posting backstage that changed everything. You see the current XWF Tag Team Champions The Art Foundation is down a member so when remaining member Korvayne issues a challenge to anyone on the XWF roster to take part in a Korvayne on Olympus match at Warfare with the prize of become one half of the tag champions on the line, I decided why the fuck not, even if I know nothing at Korvayne or The Art Foundation other than that she is hot and that is more than enough for me. I have the chance to hold a title that actually matters. A title that my father once held, I think at least 20 years ago when he was one half of the tag champions with his stablemates in Dangerous By Design.

Fun fact did you know that XWF Hall of Legend member Zach Rizza was a member of that stable and that people thought my father was going places and the better wrestler, and also that my father turned away another Hall of Legend member Daniel Malcolm better known as Boondock Saint from joining the stable because he thought he wasn't good enough. Just proves how much my father threw away his career for money. I am getting sidetrack again, where was I?

Right, yes, I know that even if I win the match that there is going to be people that are like Liam what makes you think you deserve to be champion? You have done nothing in your career other than half asses his way through every match you been in or that you are a part timer that will only stick around for a few months before quitting and that all I will do is let Korvayne down and force her to have to look for another partner or worse cost her the titles but guess what this fucking jobber finally got the taste of victory again and I actually like that way it tastes, so XWF it is time for you all to take notice because this jobber is about to become XWF Tag Team Champion and prove to you all that I have what it takes to make a name for myself and this time I fucking mean it.

]]> Holy shit I actually won a match, I cannot fucking believe it I won a match, I can't remember the last time I won a match. Sure, it was on the pre-show against someone that seems to be the new me when it comes to jobbing, but still a win is a win and maybe this is the first of many, who am I kidding I am my father's son and while my Dad was once a talented member of the XWF family he is more known for his last few years with the company when he stop caring about winning and more about just getting a paycheck and sadly my last few runs here that has been my mindset too, but then I saw a posting backstage that changed everything. You see the current XWF Tag Team Champions The Art Foundation is down a member so when remaining member Korvayne issues a challenge to anyone on the XWF roster to take part in a Korvayne on Olympus match at Warfare with the prize of become one half of the tag champions on the line, I decided why the fuck not, even if I know nothing at Korvayne or The Art Foundation other than that she is hot and that is more than enough for me. I have the chance to hold a title that actually matters. A title that my father once held, I think at least 20 years ago when he was one half of the tag champions with his stablemates in Dangerous By Design.

]]> <![CDATA[Gentlemen, This is Democracy Manifest]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50591 Sat, 17 Oct 2026 22:00:28 -0700 Ennui Clown]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50591

MEANWHILE ON CSPAN!

(which stands for “Clown Seriously Puerile Antics Network”!)

Political Pundit Clown straightens his notecards at his podium.

”Welcome, Clown folks and Folk Clown…”

Folk Clown blows into the harmonica strapped to his neck, and strums his banjo to confirm his appreciation at being acknowledged.

”Welcome to this year’s Clown King of Television Debate!”

HONK HONK HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK

There’s a fucking absurd cacophony of honking all over this massive arena… Even more honking than you should usually imagine when picturing Clown City…

(which is a planet!)

”Before we begin, please join me.”

Builder Clown takes a disconnected arm and slides it into Political Pundit Clown’s empty arm socket.

”Thanks, Builder Clown. And here I thought no one in Clown Washington actually did work…”

”Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” Smarms Enjoys-Political-Humor Clown. He pushes his clown spectacles up his clown nose. ”Got ‘em.”

”Mmm, that’s just not my style.” Shrugs Prefers-the-Classics Clown.

The glasses slide down off the nose of Enjoys-Political-Humor Clown. When they do, it’s clear that his glasses leave two black circles around his eyes.

”Haha! Now, THAT’s a classic.”

”Now, let’s welcome all the candidates at tonight’s debate.”

The spotlight shines on the righthand side of the stage.

”Our first candidate tonight, representing the Red Clowns Party… It’s Acts-Likes-a-Vampire Clown!”

Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown waves to his constituents, drawing his blue cape (blue to show his intention to unite all clowns, even those across the political aisle) below his fangs in a very vampiric way.

”Bleh!” Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown says, before shaking his hand. ”Haha, just kidding. Great to be here, PPC!”

The spotlight moves over the lefthand side of the stage.

”And his opponent, representing the Blue Clowns Party…!”

”It’s Behaves-Like-a-Vampire Clown!”

Behaves-Like-a-Vampire Clown waves to his constituents, before taking a handkerchief and wiping away a bit of leftover blood from his teeth.

(The blood is red to show his intention to unite all clowns, even those across the political aisle.)

”Thanks, PPC! Hey, how’s Misses Political Pundit Clown?”

”I don’t know! We keep missing each other.” PPC grins.

…The clown crowd collectively slaps their knee once at a well-executed wife joke.

Somewhere on the Clown City internet, there’s a blog devoted to how Political Pundit Clown’s wife hasn’t been seen in public in seven years, since they went on a cruise associated with Scien-clown-ogy.

But, put that out of your mind, that’s not what this story is about.

Don’t think about L. Clown Hubbard, either.

That is officially established Clown City lore, but also not what this story is about.

”Alright, now that we’ve introduced the candidates, we may begin th-

”HEY!”

The spotlight shifts right and left, before falling onto the very edge of the stage.

”I’m ALSO in this race, by the way!” Television Clown straightens his tie irritatedly, which is polka dot colored, because he’s a clown and that’s pretty typical clown shit. ”In fact! I’m the reigning King of Television! I’m the incumbent!”

”Really? I thought I was the only one who came in bent?” Groans Spine-Born-Bent-At-A -170-Degree Clown. His entire spine is bent over the back of his chair.

His life is a fucking nightmare.

”Oh right, yes.” Political Pundit Clown waves politely at Television Clown. ”Sorry, I just remembered the candidates that actually have a chance.”

”Hey!”

”First question!” Political Pundit Clown clatters his notes against his podium. ”Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown! Currently, there’s a dangerous surplus of compliments and fawning in Clown City. Supposedly, all these compliments are having a smugness impact on our planet’s atmosphere. What will you do to address that issue?”

”Thank you, Political Pundit Clown. What a handsome and well-conceived question.”

”Oh, well, it takes handsome to recognize handsome, I suppose.”

PPC and ALAVC laugh in unison.

The global temperature of the Planet of Clown City increases by one degree.

Somewhere on the planet’s North Pole, a Penguin Clown slides off a melting glacier into the arctic waters.

When it hits the water, its penguin body honks.

”Behaves-Like-a-Vampire Clown!” PPC turns, raising his notecard. ”You’re a sexual panther whom I can’t stop thinking about. You arouse me sexually in ways that, frankly, chill me to my core. And…”

…

PPC double-checks the card.

He turns over the card.

…He shrugs, returning the card to his pile.

”Sorry, I thought there was going to be a question at the end of that.”

”I have a question. What are you doing after this?” BLAVC winks at PPC.

PPC blushes.

(When a clown blushes, their face actually turns flesh tone.)

”Haha, Behaves-Like-a-Vampire Clown, you casanova!” PPC swats away that comment bashfully. ”I’m married!”

”Bring her along. I do not give a shit. I will fuck both of you.”

Behaves-Like-a-Vampire Clown gyrates his hips once to emphasize his point.

”...I will… stop by your dressing room after the debate.” PPC clears his throat. ”She’s… washing her hair tonight.”

The last time Misses Political Pundit Clown was seen was in Twenty-clown-teen.

Pictures were taken of her looking despondently upset, as Political Pundit Clown dragged her by the arm onto the deck of a cruise ship owned by L. Clown Hubbard.

”And…” PPC groans, flipping through his cards. ”Ugh, right… You.” PPC turns toward Television Clown.

”You’re ugly, you shouldn’t have your job, and the two vampires are more handsome than you are. I don’t like looking at you.”

…Television Clown adjusts the mic.

”I don’t think that’s a question either.”

”My mistake.” PPC clears his throat. ”I don’t like looking at you?” He nods, adding an upwards inflection.

”Much better.” Television Clown holds his microphone under his big blue nose.

”Clown ladies! Clown germs!”

A single amoeba in white facepaint slips on an atomically small banana peel and subsequently undergoes mitosis.

“The King of Television should be well-aware of recent trends in Television! Be able to keep up with what the young folks are into!”

”Hear-hear!” Nods Columbo Clown, before gently elbowing All-in-the-Family Clown.

“How the hell is a vampire supposed to keep his finger on the pulse when he doesn’t even have a pulse?!?”

”Look at my opponents! It’s the same guy!”

Television Clown opens his arms towards both Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown and Behaves-Like-a-Vampire Clown!

”These two dorks aren’t entertaining! They don’t deserve to be the King of Television!”

ALAVC and BLAVC both simultaneously hiss at Vampire Clown.

”They’re both deep in the pockets of the Vampire Council!”

”That’s not true! If anything, they’re in MY pockets!”

That moment, a vampire creeps onto the stage and slips a check into ALAVC’s pocket.

”See?”

”This is the problem! Clown City has a major vampire infestation! Our High-LARIOUS political structures are being influenced and made more serious by the Vampire Council (which is actually a panel)! And these two aren’t going to do a THING about it!”

”Now, that’s not true!” Dismisses Political Pundit Clown, before turning back to Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown. ”Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown, would you like to address your opponent? How will you handle the Vampire issue?”

”See, I don’t like the word ‘issue’. Because ‘issue’ implies there’s a problem that needs addressing. I prefer to think of the increased influence of vampires in Vampire City as a solution!”

”...You mean Clown City?”

”Of course, that’s what I said.”

”He said Vampire City! Which is a Vampire PLANET!”

”Alarmism!”

”Actually, THAT’S alarmism!”

A group of Monk Clowns bow to a buzzing alarm clock in worship.

”We do not know why our God, Alarminos, is going off. We only know it must be time for something.”

”Hmm.” PPC shakes that mystery off, before spinning toward BLAVC. ”Behaves-Like-a-Vampire Clown! Same question! What will you do about the Vampire Issue? How will you handle those bloodsuckers?”

BLAVC gasps.

Gasp Clown gasps at his whole clown deal being infringed upon.

”Political Pundit Clown, I’m surprised at you! Using an insensitive term like bloodsuckers! And with a HARD R!”

”I mean… but you do suck blood, right?”

”Offensive! Your words are a VIOLENCE!”

”Isn’t draining the blood from clowns violence?”

”Baseless accusations, built on harmful stereotypes!”

”...But, you did drain all of the third-party candidates before the debate, right? All the clowns around me, lying on the stage with fangmarks in their necks!”

The spotlight tilts down… Oh man, that’s… That’s a LOT of dead clowns.

Libertarian Clown could never pull himself up by his bootstraps now.

Reform Party Clown is incapable of reforming his life.

Green Party Clown is a dead guy.

And, as a corpse, he has the exact same chance of winning this race as when he was alive.

”Oh! So, just because the stage is covered with dead clowns, drained of their blood, with fangmarks in their neck, you ASSUME that it’s the clowns that have fangs and drain their victims of blood, huh?”

”...Yes?”

”RACIST!”

”DENOUNCE ANTI-VAMPIRE CLOWNS RIGHT NOW!”

Television Clown rolls his eyes. ”Oh my God! And this shit! All this bullshit about Vampire rights and Vampire equality! About whinging and complaining about how management is out to get you!”

”Everyone IS out to get us!”

”We’re hated and feared and misunderstood!”

”You’re hated and feared… BECAUSE you’re understood! No one likes that you kill and eat clowns!” Television Clown barks at his microphone. ”You’re immortal killing machines with superstrength… that also want everyone to be really mindful of your feelings and how their words can huuuuuuurt you!”

Television Clown reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief to dab at his eye.

”Oh boo hooooooo! Management books me in matches where I might be harmed as a vampire! Discrimination! Hardship!”
Television Clown pulls more and more of the handkerchief out as it unravels down beside him in a pile at his feet.

”Could you have the fucking BALLS not to hide behind this softie, political-protest bullshit! Cry me a river of bloody tears, you bitches! You think you’re the only ones getting booked in fucked-up matches? They used to book GUILLOTINE matches WEEKLY around here! Last year, they booked a kid whose mom died in a bathtub in a BATHTUB-THEMED HORROR MATCH! How do you think this show even works?”

CUTAWAY

Booker Clown strokes his chin.

”Hmm, two solid hands, fresh match-up… Now, to pick the stip.”

…

Booker Clown takes out a dart and throws it at a board.

It hits a slice on a board labelled ‘TRAUMA’.

…

All the slices on the dartboard are labelled ‘TRAUMA.’

”Hmm…” Booker Clown opens up his notebook. ”Looks like a Sophie’s Choice match…”

“I got booked last week against a feral wolf lady, when I’m just a clown whose whole deal is being loud and bombastic! Everyone and their mom clown thought I was going to get literally eaten.”

Television Clown taps the belt on his shoulder.

”But I got the job done.” Television Clown grins ear-to-ear. ”So, maybe don’t whine every time you have to get your perfectly manicured vampire nails dirty, Edward Cullens.”

”How dare you!” ALAVC hisses furiously, his rage barely contained behind his podium!

”We Vampire Clowns are not afraid of a fight, you loudmouth punk!”
”Except for Uberviolent Psychopath Clown, right?”

…

”Pardon?”

[Image: 0f731245f4187f7167d1f023351300bb.jpg]

[Image: 0f731245f4187f7167d1f023351300bb.jpg]

”Uberviolent Psychopath Clown? You know, the one that’s been murdering and fucking every clown!”

”Uberviolent Psychopath Clown was, most recently, the Average Voter Clown’s #1 concern going into the ballot box!”

Average Voter Clown nods, his jaw chattering terrified! ”I ain’t goin’ in that booth! What if Uberviolent Psychopath Clown is in there?”

”Ah, well…” Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown clears his throat. ”Look, no one has a better track record standing against Uberviolent Psychopath Clown than I do!”

…Television Clown squints skeptically.

”Aren’t you *literally* the clown that used to call yourself the Herald of Uberviolent Psychopath Clown?”

”That was a long time ago!” ALAVC takes out a clicker and points it at the screen behind him. “Since he and I parted ways… which was a mutual break-up and not him dumping me, bee-tee-dubz… I’ve stepped up multiple times at the scene where Uberviolent Psychopath Clown has murdered people!”

ALAVC presses his clicker. The screen behind him switches…

It’s a picture of Uberviolent Psychopath Clown…

…

WARNING: What Uberviolent Psychopath Clown is doing in this image cannot be described without giving anyone who reads the description explosive vomiting, diarrhea, and orgasm. The person who wrote this description actually had to receive it third-hand from someone who observed a person receive the information secondhand, and that person broke into tears, dry-heaved, and came juuuuust a little bit. The person who watched the scene first hand immediately burst into flames.

Nearby Clown Medical Personnel attempted to put out the fire with a fire extinguisher.

Unfortunately, Clown City fire extinguishers shoot fake snakes.

More unfortunately, fake snakes are incredibly flammable.

MEANWHILE ON CSPAN!

(which stands for “Clown Seriously Puerile Antics Network”!)

CUTAWAY

The Clown crowd collectively vomits uncontrollably at the sight of Uberviolent Psychopath Clown doing what he’s doing, with whom he’s doing…

He’s even doing it at a gross time, which adds to the crowd’s nausea!

”No, no, look, stop throwing up! Look!” AVAPC points a laser pointer at the corner of the screen!

”See, that’s me in the corner of the image!”

“Vigorously wagging my finger at him!”

…

”Uh huh. And?”

”What do you mean ‘AND?’ I’m condemning him publicly! And to his face!”

”Riiiiiight. BUT… He’s still murdering those clowns, right?”

”The loss of any clown life is hilariously tragic.” BLAVC nods forlornly. ”Which is why I changed the background on my Twitter profile to a gravestone."

”...Gravestone?"

”In solidarity with those lives lost.” BLAVC somberly raises a fist. ”Dead lives matter!"

”...Okay, so... a lot of lip service and... questionable social media activity."

But, to be clear, neither of you are *actually* going to fight Uberviolent Psychopath Clown?”

”Heyyyyyy!” grunts Political Pundit Clown disapprovingly! ”Pretty sure, I’M the Asking Questions Clown around here!”

Sitting at home, watching the debate on Clown TV, Asking Questions Clown stews angrily, wondering why the Clown Hell he didn’t get a call about working this gig.

”Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown, what are YOU going to do to fight Uberviolent Psychopath Clown?”

”...Um…” Acts-Like-a-Vampire Clown shuffles his notecards. ”I was actually hoping we could talk about the M.A.T.T.Y. initiative… Making All Things Taste Yummy. Did you know that Pastrami--on-Rye Clown hasn’t enjoyed his pastrami-on-rye sandwich with mustard, because it keeps winding up on his shirt?”

”...Behaves-Like-a-Vampire Clown, same question to you.”

”Psssh! My opponent’s priorities are misplaced! I would instead put forth the M.A.T.T.D.I.E. initiative! Making All Token-Taking (Devices) Input Egrets. Have you ever stood in front of a vending machine that only took quarters and you had a pocket that was filled to the BRIM with leftover sea birds?”

”Oh man, now you’re speaking my language!” Political Pundit Clown nods in agreement, patting his pocket which coos with the majestic call of forty-three very scrunched together egrets.

”GO BACK TO TALKING ABOUT MUSTARD!” Calls out Pastrami--on-Rye Clown from the crowd!

His shirt is… just absolutely COVERED in mustard.

The crowd breaks into loud rabble and bickering!

”Everyone!” Television Clown sighs frustratedly, before reaching into his pocket.

He pulls out a remote.

He points it at the crowd.

And he presses the mute button.

Suddenly, the bickering goes silent.

”That’s right. I’ve had television powers this whole time.”

Television Clown cracks his knuckles.

”Listen! Both of you schmucks had every opportunity to stop Uberviolent Psychopath Clown! But you both just skulked around in the background… And when he was at his worst, you were intentionally hiding! Because your MATTY/MATTIE bullshit was more important than actually stopping the Uberviolent Psychopath Clown!”

”So, what are you saying, you ugly loser clown?” Political Pundit Clown itches his clown nose disinterestedly. ”Are you saying YOU would have stopped Uberviolent Psychopath Clown yourself? He’s an uberviolent psychopath!”

”I’m saying I would have TRIED! I would’ve gone out there… and, yes, probably gotten my ass kicked… But I wouldn’t have laid low with my clown tail between my clown asscheeks! Which is more than you can say about either of these two bland, boring, vaguely sexy, ethnically ambiguous NERDS!”

”NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERDS!” Echoes Ogre-From-Revenge-of-the-Nerds Clown, shaking his fist furiously

”Are any of you actually excited about this? Or does it just feel inevitable because I’m a clown facing down a better-funded, better-resourced machine designed to return things to the status quo? To take things out of the hands of the absurd clown bullshit and back to your regularly scheduled mundanity?”

“Well, don’t touch that dial yet, folks! Cuz if you want this remote, you’re gonna have to pry it out of my cold, clammy hands!”

Television Clown takes off one of his cartoon gloves and touches the podium. It freezes to ice on the spot!

”Is this fight gonna be tough? Hell yeah!”

“That’s part of being the King of Television! Part of being MR. MONDAY ENTERTAINMENT. I don’t take only the easy fights! I’m going to fight the biggest names and take the biggest ass kickings until my ass literally departs from above my thighs and below my belly button!”

“Why? Because facing the biggest, baddest opponents out there is what makes this show ENTERTAINING, BAY-BEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“Last Monday, I could have half-assed it, quarter-assed it, eighth-assed it against that feral hound dog Judd Hollow keeps as a pet, taken my lumps, got chewed up and spit back out like a chew toy.”

“But I scratched and bit and… I’m pretty sure I gave that dog lady rabies… but I ended up infecting all of the Television Title division with a whole new brand of fun! And I ain’t letting the clown show stop just because the odds say a boring buttondown vampire who feels like his personality got sucked out through a straw would be a ‘better’ champion.”

“You know what makes a good Television Champion?”

“The will to fight.”

“Week in.”

“Week out.”

“Any given Monday.”

“And that’s what I’m doing tonight.”

“Taking on the biggest, baddest, blood-suckiest, mother-fuckiest vampire in the clown prison.”

“And if he thinks he’s gonna have an easy time just because I’m a clown.”

“Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

“But on Monday.”

“The joke’s gonna be on him.”

“Hardy.”

“Har.”

“Haaaaaaaaaar.”]]> <![CDATA[Deacon St. John presents: Baltimore Love Thing]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50590 Sat, 17 Oct 2026 20:51:46 -0700 Deacon St. John]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50590 Baltimore Love Thing]]> Baltimore Love Thing]]> <![CDATA[Terminator Clown 2: Honkment Day]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50589 Sat, 17 Oct 2026 09:43:00 -0700 Kristoffer "Vamp" Arroyo]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50589
Corey Smith.

With a sigh Kristoffer made his way over and slid into the booth with an awkward “Hey.”

Corey was nursing a mug of coffee, which he was looking at instead of Kristoffer. “Hey yourself.”

A stark pause rose up between them until Kris broke it.

“So….”

“You’re going to make up for getting Lux killed by helping me find Samael.”

Kris snorted. “Wow, so right into it like that, huh?”

“Yeah.” Corey looked up at Kris pointedly. “Like that.”

This was going to be one long cup of coffee.

ELSEWHERE, NOT FAR AWAY….

A children’s birthday party was in full swing. Parents watched their little ones enjoying various games and entertainments. A clown was in the midst of it all twisting balloon animals together and offering them to waiting little hands.

But then, something in the air changed. A spark. An electricity. A young girl’s hair went straight up, and when a boy started looking at her, and then pointing and laughing, she mean mugged him and slapped him on the shoulder. But before an over protective parent could intervene, someone, or someTHING, appeared in the center of the room amidst a cage of arcing electricity. Parents scooped up their children in fear. The clown backed off, looking shocked.

The pops and strikes of electricity soon died down and the being that had suddenly appeared before them stood erect. And erect was certainly the word for it. Because he was also naked, and a number of prying eyes went straight to his genitals. Noticing the glares, the well muscled and very nude clown spat out, “What, you’ve never seen a clown penis before?!”

“Mommy I’m scared of it!” a child wailed.

One mother tilted her head to the side in confusion as she beheld the clowny ding dong. “I…I don’t understand…”

“Bah! You there! Give me your clown suit!” the hulking clown ordered. The party clown started to strip down without delay as the party guests made for the exits in terror!

BACK TO THE CAFE…..

“You know, you’re leaving a heaping pile of shit at my doorstep for somebody who himself wasn’t even with Lux when she died!” Kris retorted, lowering his voice towards the end as he started to take note of prying eyes.

Corey grimaced. “I would have been right there with her if she’d allowed me to be. I wanted to help her, but she left without me knowing.”

“Oh, so it was okay for the vampire to go on the suicide attack against Samael and all his goons, but not the great Corey Smith. I gotcha.”

“She picked YOU because you worked for him for years, not because you were expendable, you idiot.” Corey spat back.

Kris sat back in his seat, shooting a look to the side before refocusing on Corey. “Look, maybe we should lower the temperature here a bit.” A pause. “I’m sorry Lux died. Truly. But that demon or whatevere the fuck went after Matty, and I couldn’t jeopardize his life anymore than I already had. Surely you understand that?”

Corey’s eyes flicked down to the table as Kris’ words hit home. It was tough to argue against the impulse to protect a child. He returned his glance to Kris, but it was something just beyond their booth and the cafe itself that ultimately stole Corey’s attention.

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “Is that….?”

Kris shook his head, a tad irritated that it seemed like his point was going to be ignored. “Is what?”

“Is that a big beefy clown hanging out just outside the cafe….?”

“A…clown?” A shiver ran down Kris’ spine. A fucking clown? What was a fucking clown doing….

Kris turned around in his seat, just in time to see the muscular clown raise a massive rainbow colored minigun and aim it through the large glass window of the cafe. Kris eyes shot open, wide as saucers. “Jesus Christ! EVERYBODY TAKE COVER!”

The minigun roared to life just past the window and Kris grabbed Corey by the collar and dragged him behind their booth. Corey, babbling something about not knowing what the fuck was going on, complied nonetheless. However, many of the other patrons hadn’t yet noticed the clown, so Kris screamed again, “GET DOWN!”

The massive gun started spitting a hail of bright red bullets through the glass, shattering it and turning the cute cafe into an instant war zone. The bullets struck both flesh and wood with an inexplicable playful HONK on impact. But the ammunition was no joke! Blood splattered everywhere as the rounds seared through bodies, dropping patrons where they stood. But no sooner had their bodies hit the ground than did cute pastel flowers spring up from the wounds. The clown unleashed a second torrent of bullets and Kris forced Corey’s head towards the ground as the onslaught chipped away at the booth they were hiding behind, showering them with shards of wooden shrapnel.

The clown finally stopped firing and stepped through the broken glass and into the cafe.

“Kristoffer Arroyo, are you still alive?” the clown asked.

Kris at first said nothing. The clown then leveled the massive gun at a huddling pile of survivors just across the way. “If I find out you're alive and not answering me, I’ll shoot these people instead!”

Corey looked up at Kris with an expression rife with shock and despondence. Kris gulped and spoke up. “Yeah….yeah….I’m still alive. Look man, if you want me you can have me. Just don’t hurt anyone else, okay?”

“Stand up!”

“Kris, don’t!” Corey hissed. But Kris ignored him, raising his hands above his head and vacating his hiding spot. Corey watched him go, still looking shocked.

“Ah, there you are!”

“This isn’t very clowny of you. I thought clowns were supposed to make people happy?”

“Well, I’m not like other clowns. I’m the clown they send in when we need to take care of business. TERMINATOR CLOWN!”

Kris stood stock still, hands still in the air as he spoke. “If this is about me beating up those clowns in the past I have to say this seems like a bit of an overreaction.”

“It’s not just that!” Terminator Clown hollered. “I come from the future!”

“Of course you do.”

“Shut up!” the mad clown jangled his minigun.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. So you come from the future. Talk to me. What’s your story?”

“I come from a future where you defeated Television Clown for the TV Championship, a future where you beat clowns in combat three times! THREE TIMES!”

“So I gather you’re upset about that.”

“Upset? UPSET?! You turned all of clown society on its head, beating us over and over again. Our clown government became obsessed with studying you, trying to figure out how you keep winning. We became so obsessed that everything else fell by the wayside! EVERYTHING! Clown society crumbled! Clown children starved in the clowny streets, forced to eat their own whoopie cushions just to survive! Have you ever heard a clown child let out a BRONX CHEER as a death rattle?! HAVE YOU?! Because God knows I have!”

“Wow…okay….this is a lot to unpack. You’re saying I caused the downfall of clown civilization just by beating you guys over and over?” Kris paused. “I don’t know what to say, man. I certainly don’t want clown children dying by choking on whoopie cushions. How do we make this right?”

“WE don’t make anything right. YOU make this right….BY DYING!”

The clown levels his minigun at Kris again. The nearby survivors start screaming in terror! Kris winces and closes his eyes, knowing the end must be near.

“Hey bozo, suck on this!” Corey stands up from behind the cover, leveling a handgun at Terminator Clown. He pops off a few shots, all of which hit their clowny target!

“OW! HONK! SHIT! HONK! THAT HURTS!” Terminator Clown bellows (and honks) juking backwards as the bullets thunk into his torso. He drops the minigun and plunges back out the busted cafe door. Kris wheels around to face Corey.

“You’re armed?!”

“Concealed carry motherfucker. You think I wouldn’t be given the craziness of our lives?”

“Geez, do you vote Republican too?”

Corey flips Kris off as Kris looks back towards the door and the escaping Terminator Clown.

“I’ve gotta finish this.”

“Go. I’ll do what I can to help here.”

Kris stepped through the shattered door of the cafe, following Terminator Clown’s blood trail into the street. There, traffic has ground to a halt as the massive clown stands in the middle of the street brandishing two machetes! Kris breaths a sigh of relief when he hears the sound of emergency responder sirens in the distance as well.

The vampire steadies himself and steps up to the clown.

“You’ve hurt enough people! Stand down!”

“I’ll stand down after you die choking on your own blood vampire scum!”

Kris eyes the massive machetes and knows there’s no way this ends well for him. I have to stall for the cops. “We don’t have to fight. We can handle this peacefully.”

Terminator Clown puts on his clowny thinking face. For about 5 seconds. “Nah. You’re dead!” The clown takes a menacing step towards Kris.

Fuuuuuuuck!

Suddenly, in a flash of arcing electricity, another form appears in between them! It’s a nude clown with a lean chiseled torso. Pretty attractive by clown standards, Kris had to admit. The nude clown stands up and levels a futuristic looking gun at Terminator Clown, firing off a shot that imbeds itself in Terminator Clown’s skull. The bullet then makes a slide whistle sound before exploding, popping the killer clown’s head like a gore filled water balloon! Kris stands in shock for a moment, before calm washes over him. He turns to the nude newcomer clown.

“Holy shit that was close. I owe you my life! (Never thought I’d be saying that to a clown).”

The naked clown turns to Kris, and despite himself Kris’ eyes settle on the clown’s dong.

“I’m Kyle Reese Clown. I’ve come from the future to stop Terminator Clown. And I….uhhhh….have.” A pause. “Are you looking at my junk?”

“I’m sorry man I’m just trying to figure out your situation down there, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What, you’ve never seen a clown penis before? Get over it.”

Kris forces himself to meet Kyle Reese Clown’s gaze. “I really appreciate your help. But I still have a problem. According to Terminator Clown me beating Television Clown at Warfare destroys your entire society. And my personal feelings about clowns aside, I don’t want to be responsible for clowny children starving to death.”

“Oh that?” Kyle Reese Clown scoffs. “That was all bullshit.”

Kris looks askance at Kyle Reese Clown before speaking. “I….I’m sorry….WHAT?”

“Cyberclown Industries made all that up. It was all a joke, a funny, a game, a jape!”

Kris points a shuddering hand back at the cafe. “BUT PEOPLE DIED! I ALMOST DIED! And you’re telling me it was all for a gag?!”

“Cyberclown Industries has a very dark sense of humor. That’s why I’m leading the resistance against them. They really make us look bad. I mean, dark humor has a place and all, but….”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

Kris collapses into a seating position in the middle of the street holding his head in shock and anger.

“Hey, would you be interested in helping me produce a new chosen one to lead the resistance against Cyberclown Industries in a dark, foreboding future? We just have to boink, but don’t worry I’m a gentle lover.”

“We’re both men! How would that even work?!”

“Huh. And I thought you vampire types were more forward thinking than that.” Kyle Reese Clown looks up as the police sirens sound like they’re getting closer. “Hey man, I gotta scoot. But if you ever change your mind, give me a call.” He pulls out a toy phone from….Jesus, I don’t even want to think about where….and hands it to Kris.

“Yeah, I’m not touching that.”

“Suit yourself.”

With that, electricity sparkles around Kyle Reese Clown and he disappears into the future once more.

…..

“Goddammit I hate clowns!”

A LITTLE LATER….

We see Kris and Corey sitting on the back of an ambulance, each with a blanket draped around them as EMT’s and cops race about trying to make sense of the chaos.

“Goddammit I hate clowns!” Kris mutters again.

“Yes, we’ve established that with the last 13 times you’ve made that statement.” Corey watches the EMT’s for a moment. “Although I can’t really say that I blame you.”

“But I really, REALLY hate clowns! Did you know that fucker asked to mate with me?”

“You mean the killy clown or the vaguely sexy clown?”

“The sexy one! I mean, the NOT sexy one! No clowns are sexy!”

“You know, minus the make up he might not have been that bad.”

“He wanted to put a clown baby in me.”

“SNRKT!” Corey hides his face as he chokes back a laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Kris retorts. He then turns his gaze to the all seeing eye of the camera. “Corey might think this is funny, but I don’t! Clowns have been running roughshod all over my life lately. First a vampire clown threatened Matty (no apparent relation to the vampire clown I beat some months back). And now I almost just got gunned down by a Terminator Clown from the future! I am SICK to DEATH of clowns. And to make matters worse now I have to fight a clown for the THIRD TIME if I want to win the Television Championship.

Although, I have to admit, this is partially my fault. I demanded opportunities and now I’ve got one. And all I had to do was brutalize that half pint mush mouth Deena Hixx to do it. Which kinda says more about the XWF than it does about me, if you think about it.

But at any rate, I got the title opportunity I demanded. And maybe it’s not the XWF’s fault that Garisha went wolf tits up against the latest joke competitor du jour.

Seriously though Garisha…what the FUCK?!”

Kris pauses and takes a breath, shrugging off his blanket and tossing it back into the ambulance.

“So I imagine I’m dealing with a particularly confident clown right now. After all, homeboy just took out a legit werewolf. To say nothing of the fact that werewolves are completely inferior to vampires in every way. Check it.

Werewolves are only werewolves when there’s a full moon. Whereas vampires are vampires all the time.

Werewolves stink like wet dog, whereas vampire grooming is utterly impeccable.

Werewolves talk like stilted Eurotrash hillbillies no matter where they’re from but vampires talk in the most sultry, dulcet tones imaginable.

Okay, I might have made that last one up and maybe it was just Garisha who spoke like an illiterate hick but come on, it has SOME plausibility."

“You’re being very mean to werewolves.” Corey cuts in.

“So what?”

“I was one hundo percent Team Jacob I’ll have you know.”

“Great, so you pined after a steroid addled 17 year old. Good for you.”

“Hey back then we were both underage!”

“Save it for the hidden cameras on To Catch A Predator.”

Corey scowls and sticks his tongue out at Kris, who naturally pays him no mind.

“You know what though, I’ve got a deceptively high amount riding on this match. After all, like I said, I told the XWF and the world that I deserved more. That I deserved better than the doldrums of being some night two/match one curtain jerker. That my Anarchy Title win wasn’t just because of my War Games team and that my Anarchy Tag Title reign wasn’t just because I was paired with a veteran.

I told the world that I EARNED that shit and earned the respect put on my name that came with it.

Of course, the other side of the coin is that I need to back it up….or look like a colossal asshole in the process.

That’s where you come in Television Clown. Not the asshole part. Okay, well, kind of the asshole part. But moreover the part where you drew the short straw after I spent the last two weeks dropping my nuts on the table and telling management I wasn’t some jabroni they could dick around with at their leisure. In short, I have something to PROVE this week. I need to put my money where my mouth is and show the powers that be that I have the talent and staying power to be a future legend in this company.

And nowhere in that scenario does losing to a literal fucking clown factor in.

So yeah, there’s pressure. And yeah, I’m feelin’ it for sure. But I’m over 300 years old, clown. I don’t wilt under pressure. It ENLIVENS me. It motivates me. It….”

“I think it’s funny that you said something enlivens you when you’re not technically alive.”

Kris shot Corey a deadpan stare. “Are ya done?”

“I’ll think about it!”

Kris looks back to the camera. “Anyway, as I was saying, the pressure I put on myself is all the motivation I need to rip that red clown nose off your face and shove it so far up your ass you choke on it.”

“But if allllll that wasn’t enough motivation, you yourself gave me EVEN MORE. You love doing that hacky shit where you directly quote your opponent so hey, back at ya!”

Quote:”Because Clowns only win when winning is funny.”

“Remember that? Yeah, well, I wholly admit that you beating me would be pretty goddamn funny. A true bon mot for the ages. I mean, beating the guy who has gone on record multiple times as saying he hates clowns, right after he demanded a title shot and told the world he was hot shit? That’s a good one!

And that’s why it ain’t gonna happen.

Because I outright refuse to be the butt of some gimmick in its eleventh hour’s idea of a fucking joke.

I’m just better than that. I’ve stood toe to toe with outright legends. That pretty new Top 50 we just got? I’ve got dubs over numbers 3 and 25, and a pinfall on 14 at War Games. And the reason the pain train stops at just those three is because I never had the pleasure of breaking my foot off in any of the others.

But hey, you still got that win over the B-tier of monsterdom, so that’s pretty good, right?”

Kris laughs. Ohhhh, you HATE IT.

“You’re a hack. You’ll probably come at me with some tired vampire jokes like everybody else hasn’t already barked up that tree and still gotten their shit pushed in. Like that’s all that defines me. Like that’s the sum total of who I am when you’re literally named after the title you just won. Talk about a shtick with a limited run time. What happens when Television Clown is sans Television Title? Answer! You piss off back to clown planet or what the fuck ever like all those grease painted failures who preceded you. Heh, and you had the gall to say Garisha was one note? Oh hunty, apparently clowns don’t believe in mirrors!

Face it, with this title around my cute little waist I am perfectly poised to prove that my talents didn’t leave me when I walked from Anarchy around the corner to Warfare. Guys with multiple more years of dedicated ring time than me would give their right nuts up rather than face me, but I’m the one eating a loss from a fucking clown? Not in this or any other life time. This match is CLUTCH for me. That kind of integral moment in a man’s career that defines what dreams may come henceforth. And for anyone to think that I’m giving that up to some bow tie tugging, seltzer water spraying, one match into his “career” having paragon of absolute zip dip NOTHING is absolutely psychotic.

You’re the goddamned Television Clown?

WELL I’M GODDAMNED KRISTOFFER ARROYO!

The man who stuffed Charlie Nickles down a chimney.

The man who beat legend in training Dickie Watson.

The man who barely two months into his tenure beat out most of the roster in War Games.

The man who in over a year has just four losses to his name.

And I’ll be GOD FUCKING DAMNED if you make number five.

So in conclusion, I’d tell you to shine the shit up for me but I really don’t want your greasy hands on it. So kindly put on those kid gloves when you hand me what is rightfully mine and then proceed henceforth to fuck off back to whatever circus backwater you call a home and leave Warfare in the confident hands of people who actually belong there!”

Kristoffer looks back at Corey.

“You got anything else?”

Corey, wide eyed, shakes his head “no”.

“Nah man, that was pretty good. Strong. Real strong. Kinda hot too if we’re being honest….”

Kris narrows his eyes.

“Not sure if serious….”

Corey chuckles. “Kidding! Kidding.” But something about his tone suggests that maybe he wasn’t. Kris cants his head a bit but decides not to plunge down that rabbit hole. “Look man, I don’t hate you…..I just….just….” Corey trails off, looking away again as his eyes start to mist over.

“She was your friend.”

“She was my BEST friend. Hell, we shared the same body. How does it get any closer?”

Kris nods. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Thank you.” Corey runs a forearm across his eyes, dispelling that tears that were threatening to drop. He looks back at Kris. “But I gotta ask, will you help me with this? Will you help me track down Samael?”

Kris pauses to consider the query for a moment before answering. “Samael has earned my anger a thousand times over. He deserves a final death. But I gotta make sure Matty is safe first. I’m not putting him in danger again.”

“Of course. I’d never ask you to do that.”

“Do you have any idea where Samael is?”

Corey lets out a short sardonic bark of a laugh. “Heh. No clue. But assholes that big can’t be THAT hard to find.”

“Right.” Kris playfully leans over and runs a shoulder into Corey’s. “We’ll get it done.”

The shot pans up and away from our duo, and travels miles and miles away, across the country until it lands in an office set deep within the confines of a rival pro wrestling company. A man named Hardkore Jonnie Valentine slides a contract across a table, into the waiting grabby hands of none other than Samael Dyson.

Samael reads the name splayed out at the top of the document.

Hardkore World.

With a sinister leer he clicks the pen in his hand and puts it to the paper, signing his name in lavish swirling strokes.]]> <![CDATA[(insert promo here)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50585 Thu, 15 Oct 2026 19:15:58 -0700 John_Black]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50585

[One day, it was a measly Monday morning. It was a cool 7am and JB was taking a walk around the block, then he noticed a crime scene not too far from the area he was heading towards. He noticed bullet casings on the ground and a few bodies on the concrete, so the police arrived to tape up the scene.]

[Then the same woman whom he had slight issues with came up to scream up to crime scene. Time passes, and the lady opens up the white sheet and it was Plumboi shot up to the body and dome.]

Policeman: Is this your son ma'am

Mother: yes, he is…

Policeman: he was involved with a gang shooting at 5am, did you know where we were going to be that morning?

[Under the sobs and choking on her throat, shook her head no. Feeling defeated, then the Policeman asked if she knew her son had close ties to anyone. Then she saw me in the crowd, and brought me to her son's body.]

Woman: you did this!... you!

JB: I didn't do a thing to him ma'am, he made his own choice to be involved with a shooting.

Woman: You!.... you pushed him to the streets, you are scum!

[Then she proceeded to slap him in the face, instead of reacting he fell back into the crowd, trying to keep his cool. Then I see the last of Plumboi being wheeled off into the morgue.]

[Two weeks pass, and JB was at the club with Mikki and Jon Jon, who are dressed to flex on the hos, while JB was in sweater and jeans and a jacket, looking withdrawn from the scene. As his two peeps where on the dance floor getting curved by the said hos, they came up to him sitting alone of the club.]

Jon Jon: Man you've been sitting at this spot since we showed up, what's the matter with you?

Mikki: Yeah, what's up?.... you aren't your usual mack daddy self tonight!

JB: Just got lots of shit in my mind… this rent…car note…

[Mikki and Jon Jon laugh.]

Jon Jon: Bruh, aren't you doing that wrestling shit cuz?...i thought you be making dough!?

Mikki: You know full well that isnt cutting, and you been in it for what two decades now?... that's a lie, let me guess that shooting gang shit got in your head, the kid had it coming.

[JB slammed his glass down, and grabbed Mikki by his shirt ready to unload his fist on his dome, but Jon calmed him down as he let his shirt go. Suddenly, a Ving Rhymes looking man in a suit comes to the table and looks at Mikki and Jon. Those two were scared as JB looked in the dudes direction.]

Tuff Dude: You three need to leave this spot, this table is reversed for High rollers. You three aren't it…who you lookin at night?

JB: You, by the way you are dressed like a failed pimp from the 70s. You want your table you can have your table, you wannabe G.

[As he gets up from the chair the leader draws a gun out on em, and JB didn't balk he just stood there.]

JB: Feelings hurt?.... pull the trigger, let's end this night where you go to prison and I go to the morgue bitch.

Tuff Dude: You got a def wish or sumthin?...

[Suddenly the same woman who put his hands on him earlier, is the one to stop him. He realized something was twisted.]

Woman: Don't you dare put a bullet in this punk he's the one who made my son get killed.

Tuff Dude: That's low for you sucka, why do you do such a thing?

JB: I ain't got shit to explain, im out this place. Mikki and Jon, you both can suck this man dick im heading home!

[As he left the club, he was walking home since he left his hoopty at the apartment. As he was walking down the street, he kept on replaying the crime scene, his interaction with the kid. Then he starts to scream into the sky like a mad man being stressed. Some passersby run off thinking “wtf is up with dude”, then he decides to go to a 24/7 McDonalds to order a large fries, water and a cheeseburger. As he eats his junky meal, he decides to use his voice recorder on his cell phone to speak into it.]

JB: Here’s my deal, I kinda feel bad. I shouldn't because it isn’t my child, hell i had a wife and son once but… shit went sideways for them. I guess for me, losing that rec center made me realize that I needed to be able to be an important pillar for the community, but that ended up not being the case. I should have just made a choice to not be involved, let him be apart of my life knowing full well that I am not much a good influence, but what the fuck do i know?

Maybe, being a good person might not be in the cards for me, maybe that’s why when I saw his body on that sheet, it made me understand that tryin to be a good person can't be a thing at all in these streets. This is a callin, a callin 'to be withdrawn from the world of Baltimore and it’s hood bullshit, maybe I should move outside of it and live in a suburbia with the white folks with HOA being houndogs over grass not being cut, and all that shit.

Fuck that, give me landlord who’d be hollerin at me for not givin my rent at the first of the month, than to deal with letters in the mail from HOA. Speakin of letters in the mail, I ended up getting a check up to 100 bucks compared to whom I faced last Warfare ago, and I guess being number 32 in the rankings still means I'm low on the totem pole of getting my proper payment. Luckily my downside is till 3 to 4 racks a month, bonus if i put on a suit and be a “producer” of a match or two on the low, but that isn’t in my mind right now.

What is on my mind right now is this Deacon Saint John, who I guess is a deacon by day and wrestler by night…

Well it don’t matter if i shed my sins in a booth, or in a confessional its all going to fall on deaf ears to those whom may listen, so to be honest i guess being in the opener against him is ideal so i can fuck right off to my hotel, and mentally prepare myself to find my self in Raccoon City before a delay on the flight, or the umbrella corps decide to nuke that fucker up. From playing the 1st RE game on my PS1… to being in that city itself.

In a way, I'm the nemesis of the ring where no matter what bullets, knives, tampons, or even a rocket launcher can’t kill me off. I won’t or hope to god i don’t end up having mutant transformation, but if i do let it be against my own Jill sandwich eatin, E-001 fuckin, Saint John who don’t know who he is dealing as we reach to next monday. All i will say is that by the time im done with him, i won’t inject him with T-Virous, but what i will do is make suffer hard and make him feel so much pain that he’d end up as a guinea pig for that corp, turn himself away from God into being one who’d get killed off with a launcher to the chest.

Enough wit my Resident Evil boner, i want to go in that ring and beat that Deacon up in a way that it shows that i don’t fuck around, even if i don’t win or get the props…i need to let off my anger away from the streets from Baltimore for awhile.

JB out.

[He turns off his recorder, and finishes his meal, and cleans up his table and heads out to head home as the scene fades off.]]]>

[One day, it was a measly Monday morning. It was a cool 7am and JB was taking a walk around the block, then he noticed a crime scene not too far from the area he was heading towards. He noticed bullet casings on the ground and a few bodies on the concrete, so the police arrived to tape up the scene.]

[Then the same woman whom he had slight issues with came up to scream up to crime scene. Time passes, and the lady opens up the white sheet and it was Plumboi shot up to the body and dome.]

Policeman: Is this your son ma'am

Mother: yes, he is…

Policeman: he was involved with a gang shooting at 5am, did you know where we were going to be that morning?

[Under the sobs and choking on her throat, shook her head no. Feeling defeated, then the Policeman asked if she knew her son had close ties to anyone. Then she saw me in the crowd, and brought me to her son's body.]

Woman: you did this!... you!

JB: I didn't do a thing to him ma'am, he made his own choice to be involved with a shooting.

Woman: You!.... you pushed him to the streets, you are scum!

[Then she proceeded to slap him in the face, instead of reacting he fell back into the crowd, trying to keep his cool. Then I see the last of Plumboi being wheeled off into the morgue.]

[Two weeks pass, and JB was at the club with Mikki and Jon Jon, who are dressed to flex on the hos, while JB was in sweater and jeans and a jacket, looking withdrawn from the scene. As his two peeps where on the dance floor getting curved by the said hos, they came up to him sitting alone of the club.]

Jon Jon: Man you've been sitting at this spot since we showed up, what's the matter with you?

Mikki: Yeah, what's up?.... you aren't your usual mack daddy self tonight!

JB: Just got lots of shit in my mind… this rent…car note…

[Mikki and Jon Jon laugh.]

Jon Jon: Bruh, aren't you doing that wrestling shit cuz?...i thought you be making dough!?

Mikki: You know full well that isnt cutting, and you been in it for what two decades now?... that's a lie, let me guess that shooting gang shit got in your head, the kid had it coming.

[JB slammed his glass down, and grabbed Mikki by his shirt ready to unload his fist on his dome, but Jon calmed him down as he let his shirt go. Suddenly, a Ving Rhymes looking man in a suit comes to the table and looks at Mikki and Jon. Those two were scared as JB looked in the dudes direction.]

Tuff Dude: You three need to leave this spot, this table is reversed for High rollers. You three aren't it…who you lookin at night?

JB: You, by the way you are dressed like a failed pimp from the 70s. You want your table you can have your table, you wannabe G.

[As he gets up from the chair the leader draws a gun out on em, and JB didn't balk he just stood there.]

JB: Feelings hurt?.... pull the trigger, let's end this night where you go to prison and I go to the morgue bitch.

Tuff Dude: You got a def wish or sumthin?...

[Suddenly the same woman who put his hands on him earlier, is the one to stop him. He realized something was twisted.]

Woman: Don't you dare put a bullet in this punk he's the one who made my son get killed.

Tuff Dude: That's low for you sucka, why do you do such a thing?

JB: I ain't got shit to explain, im out this place. Mikki and Jon, you both can suck this man dick im heading home!

[As he left the club, he was walking home since he left his hoopty at the apartment. As he was walking down the street, he kept on replaying the crime scene, his interaction with the kid. Then he starts to scream into the sky like a mad man being stressed. Some passersby run off thinking “wtf is up with dude”, then he decides to go to a 24/7 McDonalds to order a large fries, water and a cheeseburger. As he eats his junky meal, he decides to use his voice recorder on his cell phone to speak into it.]

JB: Here’s my deal, I kinda feel bad. I shouldn't because it isn’t my child, hell i had a wife and son once but… shit went sideways for them. I guess for me, losing that rec center made me realize that I needed to be able to be an important pillar for the community, but that ended up not being the case. I should have just made a choice to not be involved, let him be apart of my life knowing full well that I am not much a good influence, but what the fuck do i know?

Maybe, being a good person might not be in the cards for me, maybe that’s why when I saw his body on that sheet, it made me understand that tryin to be a good person can't be a thing at all in these streets. This is a callin, a callin 'to be withdrawn from the world of Baltimore and it’s hood bullshit, maybe I should move outside of it and live in a suburbia with the white folks with HOA being houndogs over grass not being cut, and all that shit.

Fuck that, give me landlord who’d be hollerin at me for not givin my rent at the first of the month, than to deal with letters in the mail from HOA. Speakin of letters in the mail, I ended up getting a check up to 100 bucks compared to whom I faced last Warfare ago, and I guess being number 32 in the rankings still means I'm low on the totem pole of getting my proper payment. Luckily my downside is till 3 to 4 racks a month, bonus if i put on a suit and be a “producer” of a match or two on the low, but that isn’t in my mind right now.

What is on my mind right now is this Deacon Saint John, who I guess is a deacon by day and wrestler by night…

Well it don’t matter if i shed my sins in a booth, or in a confessional its all going to fall on deaf ears to those whom may listen, so to be honest i guess being in the opener against him is ideal so i can fuck right off to my hotel, and mentally prepare myself to find my self in Raccoon City before a delay on the flight, or the umbrella corps decide to nuke that fucker up. From playing the 1st RE game on my PS1… to being in that city itself.

In a way, I'm the nemesis of the ring where no matter what bullets, knives, tampons, or even a rocket launcher can’t kill me off. I won’t or hope to god i don’t end up having mutant transformation, but if i do let it be against my own Jill sandwich eatin, E-001 fuckin, Saint John who don’t know who he is dealing as we reach to next monday. All i will say is that by the time im done with him, i won’t inject him with T-Virous, but what i will do is make suffer hard and make him feel so much pain that he’d end up as a guinea pig for that corp, turn himself away from God into being one who’d get killed off with a launcher to the chest.

Enough wit my Resident Evil boner, i want to go in that ring and beat that Deacon up in a way that it shows that i don’t fuck around, even if i don’t win or get the props…i need to let off my anger away from the streets from Baltimore for awhile.

JB out.

[He turns off his recorder, and finishes his meal, and cleans up his table and heads out to head home as the scene fades off.]]]> <![CDATA[TAG TEAM LEGEND]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50584 Thu, 15 Oct 2026 05:59:41 -0700 Roger]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50584 “It's a Van Gogh,” Safari Stu said, spying his fellow Jupiter-Sized Jungle Jamboree-r studying a picture of seashore hanging in the den of The Hunting Lodge. “A real one too—I found a story about it in me dad’s notes about alien invasions. It was nicked from a museum by anthropomorphic alien ladders but me dad bashed ‘em up real good and sent those bastards back to Home Depot City (which is a planet). Apparently they couldn't return the paintin’ on account of some invisible alien secretions that would give away the truth about society so me old man hung it up here and concocted some sorta story about the Mafia that came out a few years after he died.”

His ANARCHY TAG TEAM LEGEND partner kept staring at the Beach at Scheveningen in Stormy Weather. “Hello Stu of the Safari, my name is Roger and I'm a wee bit of an expert on the Vincent from Goch because it is a large part about how I wooed my darling humongous Molly who is 34 months pregnant with my child. I hate to tell you that your daddy whose smile is so sweet was a fool but he was certainly tomfooled because even though this is as good a forgery as the time I pretended to be Micheal Graves and ruled over Anarchy for a year while tricking everyone, the layering on the painting is all wrong and so I think the real painting is still out there somewhere.”

“Wait… is the one they ‘recovered’ from the mob actually the real one?”

“No the blue is wrong on that one.”

Stu rubbed his hairless chin. “Maybe I need to have a smidge more of a gander at that then…”

“WE will,” Roger declared. “For WE are united in our war against evil aliens and also to save all of the Rogers and Josephs of the world to rescue my mummy from being turned into a thousand butterflies. In fact, we are the most united tag team champions in the XWF todag!”

“This Korvayne situation seems a bit sus though. Seems like she's right for the pickin’ for some sorta Nincompoop to swoop in and lure her astray.”

“Well we can't have that so in honour of your father's victory over the alien ladders that led to this alien-fluid-covered painting hanging in your home I will try really really hard to also conquer the ladders and force myself to go UP them even though I really really don't like going UP and then when I go UP I will be the first the first person to simultaneously be XWF AND Anarchy tag team champions and the Jupiter-Sized Jungle Jamboree will merge with the ART Foundation and bluebirds will sing!”

“You sure you wanna do that, mate?”

Roger finally broke his gaze from the painting and started Stu directly in the eye.

“I've never been more sure about anything in the forty-six minutes I've been awake.

Thank you for listening to my plan.”]]> “It's a Van Gogh,” Safari Stu said, spying his fellow Jupiter-Sized Jungle Jamboree-r studying a picture of seashore hanging in the den of The Hunting Lodge. “A real one too—I found a story about it in me dad’s notes about alien invasions. It was nicked from a museum by anthropomorphic alien ladders but me dad bashed ‘em up real good and sent those bastards back to Home Depot City (which is a planet). Apparently they couldn't return the paintin’ on account of some invisible alien secretions that would give away the truth about society so me old man hung it up here and concocted some sorta story about the Mafia that came out a few years after he died.”

His ANARCHY TAG TEAM LEGEND partner kept staring at the Beach at Scheveningen in Stormy Weather. “Hello Stu of the Safari, my name is Roger and I'm a wee bit of an expert on the Vincent from Goch because it is a large part about how I wooed my darling humongous Molly who is 34 months pregnant with my child. I hate to tell you that your daddy whose smile is so sweet was a fool but he was certainly tomfooled because even though this is as good a forgery as the time I pretended to be Micheal Graves and ruled over Anarchy for a year while tricking everyone, the layering on the painting is all wrong and so I think the real painting is still out there somewhere.”

“Wait… is the one they ‘recovered’ from the mob actually the real one?”

“No the blue is wrong on that one.”

Stu rubbed his hairless chin. “Maybe I need to have a smidge more of a gander at that then…”

“WE will,” Roger declared. “For WE are united in our war against evil aliens and also to save all of the Rogers and Josephs of the world to rescue my mummy from being turned into a thousand butterflies. In fact, we are the most united tag team champions in the XWF todag!”

“This Korvayne situation seems a bit sus though. Seems like she's right for the pickin’ for some sorta Nincompoop to swoop in and lure her astray.”

“Well we can't have that so in honour of your father's victory over the alien ladders that led to this alien-fluid-covered painting hanging in your home I will try really really hard to also conquer the ladders and force myself to go UP them even though I really really don't like going UP and then when I go UP I will be the first the first person to simultaneously be XWF AND Anarchy tag team champions and the Jupiter-Sized Jungle Jamboree will merge with the ART Foundation and bluebirds will sing!”

“You sure you wanna do that, mate?”

Roger finally broke his gaze from the painting and started Stu directly in the eye.

“I've never been more sure about anything in the forty-six minutes I've been awake.

Thank you for listening to my plan.”]]> <![CDATA[American Storm is back]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50583 Wed, 14 Oct 2026 21:42:07 -0700 Latoya Hixx]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50583 The Camera shows American Storm is in the back, talking to each other when Tig Collins steps in

taps them on the shoulders.

Tig Collins: I'm standing here with the team of American Storm. of Latoya,, and 2025 Star of the Month, The American Nightmare Razor Blade.

XWF Universe Cheers for both of Razor and Latoya.

American Nightmare | Razor: It's an honor to be here,, Ms Collins.

Tig Collins: So tell us, Razor. How does it feel to step back into the ring when you two are teaming up

against Main Event EdgeCrusher and Solomon Kline in an Elimination Tables match on Monday Warfare? Care to comment, Mr Blade.

American Nightmare | Razor: I got one question, Ms Collins. Charlotte, NC, what do you wanna talk about?

XWF Universe Cheers for Razor.

American Nightmare | Razor: Let's talk about our Elimination Tables, Edgecrusher and Solomon. Should work together as a team, I mean Latoya and me. We've been a team for almost a decade, and we still haven't won those tag team titles from Korvayne and Remi Storm. but unfornatley me

and Latoya are gonna earn the right to get our hands on those tag team titles if it's the last thing that we do right after we send Solomon Kline and Edgecrusher through those tables next week on Warfare.

Tig Collins: And what about you, Latoya? Do you consider yourself to be helping Razor eliminate Kline and Edgecrusher in your tables match at XWF?

Storm| Latoya Hixx: Cut The Sh*t, all right? It's not that very simple cause the last time that me and Razor reformed together,, I was partnered up with my sis Deena. And we also called our team name Storm Goddess, which means I have the best teams that I teamed up with alongside my sis

Deena Hixx, and former friend who I'm standing with today, is my tag partner who won Star of the

month last year. Our team name is The American Storm, and we will be in action next week when we take

out EdgeCrusher and Solomon Kline in an Elimination Tables match on Monday, Warfare at XWF.

Tig Collins: Do you think that you two can outrun Kline and EdgeCrusher on Warfare?

American Nightmare | Razor: Which depends on the Elimination Tables match, because Latoya and I aren't afraid of EdgeCrusher and Solomon Kline. But my best part is that if we end up winning the tables match next week,, then consider yourself lucky when The American Storm reunite

one final time, and she will partner up with her sis Deena Hixx. When they fight Remi Storm and Koryane. for their tag team titles right after me and Latoya handle our differences with EdgeCrusher and Solomon Kline. Next week on Monday Warfare.

Tig Collins: Can you even defeat Solomon and Main Event EdgeCrusher next Monday?

Storm| Latoya Hixx: EdgeCrusher. shouldn't call himself Main Event, but the only person that should

be called as Main Event is my old friend that I lost to several weeks ago is Main Event Jay Fetu.

He's the main one that he's supposed to be our true Main Event,, not some old-ass been Edgecrusher

. He didn't even come up with that nickname;; it was Jay Fetu. he was the only Samoan that should be

named as Main Event, not this wanna be who steals other people's nicknames, especially of Edgecrusher, so that's why Edgecrusher. will be fighting our friend, the actual friend who is Main Event material in that is Jay Fetu. he will take out none other than our Opponent for next week's Warfare in our Elimination Tables match: Edgecrusher and Solomon Kline. On XWF.

Storm| Latoya Hixx: Me and Razor. Will see you two idiots next Monday for our Elimination Tables match, and as for your Edgecrusher, you won't be calling yourself The Main Event, my friend Jay Fetu.

is gonna take back the rightful Main Event name that you actually took from him, which he had first since he signed to XWF, and now you wanna take his Main Event name, but it doesn't matter

though, cause once we defeat you two for our tables elimination match, then Jay Fetu. will be at Nightmare of Anarchy next week, right after Razor and I settle the score and put Kline and Edgecrusher through both tables, and we will be declared as the winners when we beat you two bitches next week at XWF.

American nightmare| Razor: American Storm. is.Coming to Charlotte, NC.

Hixx and Blade walk off when Tig Collins continues talking

Tig Collins: Thanks, Latoya and Razor. And good luck on Monday.

Tig Collins: We hope to see American Storm when those two reunite and take on Edgecrusher and Solomon Kline in a tables elimination and see which team will score a victory between Hixx and Razor teaming up against Kline and Edgecrusher on Warfare at XWF.

The scene would fade as Razor and Latoya Hixx head back to their separate locker rooms before their tables elimination match begins next Tuesday.

]]> The Camera shows American Storm is in the back, talking to each other when Tig Collins steps in