<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Thu, 07 May 2026 01:08:39 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Farewell Savage]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45295 Fri, 16 Dec 2022 23:54:43 -0800 Atara Raven]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45295 "Happy Holidays and Hello XWF Universe! Welcome to the Xtreme Wrestling Federations Saturday Solstice Christmas Extravaganza! I'm Pip Collins and I couldn't more excited to be here with you tonight at not only our year end Savage but the final Saturday Night Savage to air on XWF televisions. I'm joined of course by my lovely partner of the commentating table, Heather Halliwell!"

"Heather, looking festive as ever, I can tell you're excited at what we have in store for these fine people tonight!"

"Thank you Pip, and you couldn't be more right for once. I would be a little remiss however if I didn't say I was a little saddened by this being the last of Savage programming. It's a been a long time staple and quality show for the fans, a real backbone of our company and to see it go is a little....a little...."

"Heather, are you...are you crying?"

"It's just, it's an end of an era Pip! We've shared so many experiences together, seen so many historic moments at XWF on this show and to see it go is pulling a little on my heartstrings right now"

"Well we're not closing shop Heather. We're at a turning point here at XWF, a Solstice so to speak. Out with the old and in with new! We're going to share so many more experiences and moments at the XWF's newest program Weekend Warfare!"

"I know Pip, I know, it's just all catching up to me and....."

"And we're going to celebrate Savages history tonight with this Extravaganza! Going out in style and giving the fans a holiday gift only XWF can bring!"

"Oh my God, not nostalgic cameos and call backs to the Spirit of Savage past. I can't Pip..."

"Jesus fucking Christ Heather, pull it together...but anywho, speaking of gifts, we hope the fans haven't been naughty because we've got a special treat coming up next. A list that doesn't need checking twice because the gifts our first guest are surely to put a smile and win brownie points Christmas morning!"

"I don't know Pip. The XWF consumer is a very discerning and fastidious shopper. They won't take just any recommendation."

"No worries Heather! The lady we had put together this list always as her finger on the pulse on what's trending. A self made woman who's put her mark in every almost entertainment medium she's entered. She's her own brand Heather! A real power broker, an influencer...."

"Wait? A list of gifts?" At the end of the year? By a successful woman of the entertainment industry?"

"That's what I said Heather, lay off the egg nog we gotta whole lotta of show left."

"Holy shit Pip! Is Oprah unveiling her Favorite Things list tonight! On this show!"

"Better Heather! We got better than Oprah!"

"Who is more influential than Oprah?"

"It's not Oprah! Besides, after Relentless of 2021 and that little incident with Thaddeus Dukes, I don't think Op...it doesn't matter! We did better!"

"I don't know Pip. It's Oprah. Is this a Jenny Myst thing? I'd rather choke myself on cranberry sauce and egg nog to be honest...."

"I said influential Heather. I said she was game changer! A trend setter! She's headlined two of the businesses biggest shows in the Clash if Immortals and the Tara Fenix Charity Cruise and now everybody and their gerbil are throwing them!"

"I don't watch anything wrestling outside our own programming Pip. I'm a loyalist."

"Well we know you Netflix and Chill yourself every night Heather so you no doubt have seen her as the lead in multiple hit television shows and carried multiple major motion pictures! Actual shows, not two bit vanity segments during our broadcast."

"Definitely not Jenny Myst then."

"Exactly!" This lady helped bring about a whole new presentation style for wrestling and helped foster the success of Pro Wrestling Valor. She's a TIA calender girl! She's single handedly influenced a migratory shift in booking in many companies and we've gotten so many PPVs and tours in her home country! Hide Yamazaki Enterprises, CCPE, The Velvet Rabbit, WeAreSplat, Thaddeus Dukes production company....she's gotta claim in it all!"

"Yeah, we get it Pip. She's a female Midas and her existence makes the world better....you could have stopped at..."

I'm talking about Aphrodite Incarnate! The Goddess! Atara 'Got Oprah checking under own damn seat for a gift' Raven!"

"Well yippy ki-yay.....can't wait to see this list of favorite things...."

"Take it away Mrs. Raven!"


[Image: 2tVgMDP.png]

  Bookended by the powder coated evergreen branches of two heavily decorated fir trees is centered a mock holiday home. A frosted window sets framed in the dark wood interior of a log cabin stage with all the trappings of a warm and loving residence that have been meticulous placed as decor. In similar holiday fashion sets a table horizontally with all manner of XWF merchandise. It's a very Home Shopping Network aesthetic foretelling the coming proceedings
and the center piece of it all is of course, The Goddess.
   While not as wholesome as the setting around her, Atara Raven is dressed every bit as festive. A Santa inspired one-piece hugging her frame, the fat man's hat sat playfully atop her flowing mocha hair while black leather gloves kept hidden the slender fingers she would make heavy use of in her presentation. Curled Crimson lips had already parted into a soft smile as she peered from her temporary sanctuary into unseen cameras with trademark Aegean blue eyes that had always captivated the wrestling world every time she opened them.

"Thank you Pip, you are too kind. You are right, but too kind. My pussy does pop like the eh, like the fire. Like Yiayia's moussaka, you eat it if even if you no want it and loves it still because it's the best. It's a curse, ftou ftou, but what can I do eh?" Atara responded  joyfully. The honeyed rasp that was her voice was naturally coated in her native Mediterranean accent as the Goddess had long forgone trying to mask it for the sake of the viewers ears. Subtly shifting her eyes, it would seem Atara turned her attention from the hosts and focused on the viewers at home.

"Hello Doves and kalá Christoúgenna!" sauntering to the center of the table, Atara greeted the fans with her signature catch phrase and followed with Merry Christmas, unsurprisingly, in Atara's native Greek.
  "Tis the seasons of the giving and whose gifts are more beloved, more sought, most prized, than that of your Goddess? she posed with little pause for answer.

"That is right Doves, none." she put frankly.

"I know what you like. I know what you want. You need a special gift for thía, Atty knows what your thía wants. All the demo..all the demographics. All the trends and because this is the last Savage show ever, we have special deal on all the XWF Savage merch because eh... ella....we have to supplement income now that we are to carry the Warfares malakas now." fumbling around the table as she spoke, Atara's hands found whatever it was she was looking for and her hands rested on it until she was ready to present.
  "All these suggestions are things I personally use myself so you know they are quality. Greek made or Greek inspired because Atty only shops Greek...mostly but I will start with something comes handy during the Holidays season. For some it is a difficult time right now, specially for most wrestlers," rolling her eyes dismissively, Atara shook her head unsympathetic to the shit show most of her colleagues called lives.
  "Maybe you are blackship of the family, maybe you are unable to go higher than mediocre...what it's called now. Maybe your just Mid. Yeah, Mid. Maybe you are the uninteresting, over rated, repetitious stat sheet regurgitating try hard? Maybe you're just a fan of #1 best shitpaper, old white guy, derivative if not straight stolen self help philosophical bullshits. Well your Goddess as just thing." Atty concluded with a air hostess smile and lifted in her hands a fresh copy of.....

[Image: PeEVsXt.png]

"Your Optimal Path.......straight to the toilet when the poops start turtling because if your in the Mark Flynn demo I am one hundo percent sure you're an engorged on cheese and grease constipated simp fatty from Florida. Those poops don't come often and trust me I know that feeling let me tell you." with a shrug Atara flippantly tossed the book to the floor or wherever and props herself on an elbow to look into the camera like she was about to drop some serious life advice.
  "When I was pregnant I couldn't skata to save my life, I'm talking about trying to push dry as fuck, ten day stale, and hard convenience store loukoumades out my butthole. I mean, I was drinking olive oils by the gallons, had James massaging my belly one minute and playing Mike Honcho the next, spreading my cheeks like a poop pirate and with a heave hoe on my assho....I think I even fist fought my perinatologists but anywho, long story short." Atty paused to dig her around for her cellphone and once in hand those gloved fingers tat tat tat'd across the screen in record setting speed. She would nod satisfied in whatever it was she had done, Atara hid the phone away and returned her attention back to camera.
  "Yeah, so long story short I go on Twitter about it right, and everybody is getting on the Atty Ass Jam topic when Yiayia Themis comes into the bathroom and throws an effin foot stool at my feet!" Atty exclaimed wide eyed at the screen in what appeared to be disbelief but not at the fact her grandmother had thrown something at a pregnant and defenseless squatting Atty.
   "Doves, I had no idea elevating your knees helped make pooping easier so now I'm always knees to chest on the toilet and it makes it so much quicker! I've eliminated minutes off my bathroom time, reduced the strain on my body, and empty more of my bowels with each trip. Thats some next level Yiayia Life Hack stuff. She showed me the optimal path and I wish there was book abou....ooooh right, right, right, right, the book. I'm rambling." she said disappearing behind the table and reappearing book in hand.
  "Honestly, the book is a good and inexpensive thrift store donation item. Highly unlikely it'll get picked up at Barnes & Noble because look that generic ass cover. ‘Se grafo sta palia mou ta papoutsia,  it isn't calling anyone's name, but what can you expect from a man that took a lifetime and decade long career to figure out what every philosopher from her to Japan has repeated for thousands of effin years already. I mean, you could find the same concepts in 5 minutes on a fucking inspirational Instagram quote, but Mark Flynn wouldn't know that because it probably didn't come in his online Google search marketing class." Atty gave it a final unimpressed glance over before shrugging and tossing it right back to the ground in exchange for the glossy yellow sheen of of her next gift idea.
 
"But! Speaking of quotes, that segways us to the next item on the Atty's Favorite Things list!"


[Image: 7j4Miv6.png]

"For that special malaka in your life who thinks himself important enough to be the most hated man is his company, but not really, who is about to have his whole world come crashing down this holiday season because he's been dropping duds and titles since 2014," pausing her pitch, Atty repeated the whole book toss with the Calender and planted her hands on the table. Aegean blue orbs stared into the camera in disbelief.
  "Like seriously guys, did you know Mark Flynn lost his tag team titles AND....and his what was it, elaaaa, Television title in the same effin week back before the birth of Christ. I mean, I would show a clip but I'm not gonna insult my product or my viewer by assuming it wasn't good enough or you weren't capable enough of retaining that information for a gazillion years. Maybe if it had just happened a few months ago at a major PPV. Ya know, like Relentless. Were Mark Flynn lost. But anywho, talk about a fucking choke artist, that was enough of a doozy to trigger even my non existent gag reflex snd Doves.. my throat game is the stuff of legend. Like every other day I got a fling coming to me like, Hey Att, We smashed, remember? I mean right on Twitter and everything like it's a cot damn achievement badge and I'm like whooooa....." Atty gave an exaggerated whoa and slow done gesture with her arms.
  "...I don't bring that shit up at your front door sweety. I'm married now, this is Slut Era Atty. The past is the past and people change. It's not an effin W/L record to flex about. You don't need that memory to boost the ego nor does my husband appreciate you casually dropping the sex convo on me on Twitter! If you need a boost, I got just the thing," frantically Atty sputtered around and retrieved the thrown calender.
  "Get this awesome inspirational calender from the XWF. It features quotes from the King of the Mid-Carders Mark Flynn. It's got all the hits he uses to remind himself he can achieve anything because he's done the imaginable to achieve everything!" She paused and flipped open the calender reading aloud.
  "Like this masterpiece of self validation for June, I threw my friend through an electrical box!."

She flipped the page again.

"And this one for September, I threw my best friend through an electrical box! And this one for the next month, I threw my best friend through an electrical box! I mean, there is so many good ones but my personal favorite is..... Atty thumbed through the rest of the pages quickly before again tossing it over her shoulder.
  "MARK FLYNN DON'T GOT NO DICK!"
  There was an extended pause as stood arms wide and jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief.
  "Like seriously, how the eff are we not talking about this! This Malaka is suppose to be the baddest mother effin trash talker on the roster, a former Federweight Champion....by the way an accolade I also have claim to....but he actually beat the guy the belt was named after! Mark Flynn, King Ding-A-Ling of the pissing contest! The yard stick by which all Dick measuring contest are compared! And he comes to the fight without the actual effin tool!" she exclaimed still obvious shock.
  "I'm not yanking your...um...Your chain about this either. It's by his own admission, I forget the promo but he definitely said he was eunuch which is kind of admirable being this is one of the most testosterone filled misogynistic rosters in wrestling, but in the spirit of trash talk he hand delivered us dick joke gold! Or rather a fucking clown that stole his crotch honk honk horn."
  "Yes, I said clown. Mark Flynn was McEffin robbed of his dollar menu McNuggets by Ronald McDonald and we've just glossed over that fact for months now. Like, the most dick Flynn has held in his hands was when he faced Dick Powers and like a prepubescent boy just discovering his penis, he beat old dick to death. Believe me, we all know, because Flynn hasn't let us forget in each of his masturbatory trash monologues. So I thought to myself, it makes sense Mark wants everyone to emulate him and follow his Optimal Path bullshit...it means having your genitals cut off so he's not alone!" Atty said stopping for a breathe and to chop at her crotch for emphasis.
   "I mean, I guess the Optimal Path ripped off some naked yogi dick twisting eliminate the vices bullshit but don't worry XWF! Atty has you covered this Christmas! I know how much you pride yourselves in your masculinity and you don't have to be an ornery old dickless twat like Flynn! Just wait til you find your very own Big Black...." Atty dipped behind the table again only to reappear seconds later with an ecstatic smile and holding in her hands.

[Image: 7ehyKKU.png]

"COLANDER!" doing her best Vanna White or Price Is Right girl impression, Atara twisted and turned the colander for the viewers perusing.

"Now I know what you're thinking Doves. How is a colander, a common kitchen item going to prevent my péos from being cut off?" she paused for effect.
  "It won't, not literally anyway, but since my opponent can only swing a metaphorical dick to garner those coveted haha promo points and everyone thinks their metaphorical dick is the size of a tree! A colander is the perfect gift to prevent those serial dick thieving crotch goblins from showing up to steal what you hold most precious. Especially a Universal Title if that's your replacement phallic symbol of male vitality!" Atty paused again to Price is Right her colander before setting it down.
  "We have a Christmas tradition in Greece you see, where a colander is set out at night to prevent a creature we call the Kallikantzaroi from causing all kinds of mischief and havoc. There are all kinds and with different names and traits but to protect yourself you place this colander at your door step. These little demons are stupid you see and consider the number three holy. So they get caught up trying to count the holes of the colander and always stop at two because if they reach three....poof! They die." Atty stopped and placed a finger on her lips and gave a seemingly in thought expression.
   "That's a lot like wrestling actually. Three means poof. Actually no, no, this gift idea is no longer available and I'm keeping it for myself. Flynn's crotch is gone already anyways...sooooo for my final gift idea," fidgeting around the table, Atara repositioned a plethora of items before spinning round a laptop for all to see. On the screen in all it's glory was Atara's XWF profile page

"This is for Flynn specifically. The most viewed and traffic generating roster page on the XWF website. All things Atty. All the little facts and tidbits he likes to proudly claim he troubled himself to dig up all packaged into aesthetic perfection for his browsing. Every win, every loss, every title, every accolade. Divided by show, by company, an almost complete dossier of my career for him to pick apart. The same information that's been there for everyone, almost as if I wanted someone to put all their focus there. I'm really hoping you make use of it Dove. Don't be another crotch goblin focused solely on my poulaka....because I'm bringing the colander this Christmas and you'll be the idiot I get to three." Atara's voice trailed off and she mouthed poof for dramatic effect before going bubbly again.

"Back to you Pip!"


The scene transitions back to the studio booth Pip and Heather are sitting, both visibly stunned not having expected fully what they saw. A few moments pass before Pip begins to stammer.

"Um...well that was certainly interesting. Not exactly what I thought...."

"How does Flynn pee Pip?!?"

"You know what Heather, let's not get into that right now. This is our Holiday Farewell so let's get into our next segment. We've seen a lot of in promos during the course of Savage's run and one theme we never get enough of is the Game show set up."

"No seriously Pip, like does he squat. Does he use one of those pee...."

"Goddamit Heather!"

"What?! I want to know!"

"Just segway us into this fucking game show thing please...."

"Ok...ok....whatever Mr. Grinch. Next up, we have a gameshow inspired bit with a special Saturday Night Savage persona playing host in what we're calling....."

NAME THAT UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!


Scene transitions to a Jeopardish type setting all Christmas themed and stuff with the one and only Atticus Black at the famous podium.

Welcome ladies and gentleman, children, aliens, wizards, animals, non sentient but somehow sentient vehicles, space clowns, time travellers, potheads, meth heads, big heads, and no heads, and and the dickless to Name That Universal Champion with me, former General Manager of a once decent fucking show now getting canceled surprise surprise under the Championship reign of Mark fucking Flynn, your host Atticus Gold!"
  "In Saturday Night Savages illustrious history we've seen quite a many Universal Champions come and go through the years. Some of the best performances of wrestling in the ring and outside. It's with a saddened heart I, possibly the best GM the brand ever seen watch it go, but tonight we revisit those historic Champions that graced the Savage ring by way of a quiz a show and who better to quiz on the history of that title than the XWF's very own history fluff.....er...buff. And the current challenger for the Universal Title....

[Image: 35WL7hs.png]
...ATARA RAVEN!"

A more conservatively dressed Atara smiled from her lone podium jeopardy styled podium. Sweat beads could see. Across her face from a hastened wardrobe change due to Pip and Heather's fuck up of the whole stage transition, whatever TV calls it change.

"Yasas Atticus, I'm so glad to be here!"

"The pleasure is all mine darling. Now as you know all the questions you'll be asked tonight pertain to the Universal Title and only the Universal Title.  You'll be asked questions about past and current champions and if at the end of the night you have answer half or more of them right a special fan will receive a prize to be announced at the end of this show. Are you ready?"

"Of course Dove! Fire away!"

"Alright, this first set of questions will pertain to the current Universal Champion Mark Flynn and only Flynn. Question One....

Mark Flynn has won one of these....

"A MATCH!"

"Correct! Very good!"

Atty jumps and down in mock glee clapping over enthusiastically.

"Next Question, Mark Flynn during his XWF has lost one of these?"

"A MATCH!"

"Bloody Hell, you're off to a good start"

Atty repeats her Katy Perry Sesame Street SNL schtick

"True or false, Mark Flynn has died and came back to life?"

"TRUE!"

"True or False, Mark Flynn is a self confessed former drug addict?

"TRUE!"

["True or False, Mark Flynn has done in his promo a choose your own style theme, rpg game?"[/gold]

"TRUE!"

"Tickle my titties woman! You're getting that s fan a prize most definitely! Next Question! Mark Flynn used a divisive and overly political soundboard best friend that died both in his promo work and in the ring?"

"TRUE!"

True or False, Mark Flynn is or was allegedly apart of some super secret government bullshit?"

"TRUE!"

"Holy shit Atara, we may have to skip this round and advance to the harder stuff! Are you ready for round 2?"

"TRUE! I mean Yes!"

"Well we won't keep you and the fans waiting! For round two, let me introduce another former Savage GM and my replacement. ATTICUS WHITE!" Atticus Black introduces his replacement for the second to the grand sound of a single solitary clapping Grecian Goddess.

"Alright Atty, this next round of questions pertains to all Universal Champions. Are you ready?"

"You bet Dove! We miss you!

"I'm sure you don't, but anyways. This Universal has won a match?"

"Mark Flynn!"

"Correct, but we would have accepted any Universal Champions name. Next Question, this Universal Champion has lost a match?"

"Um....Mark...Flynn?"

"Correct again Atty! But, we would have accepted any Universal Champions name again. Next Question, this Universal Champion has died and returned in some fashion?"

"Ummm...uuuuh...any of them?"

"Ooof wrong. We were looking for Universal Soldier, The Engineer/Corey Smith, and or Alias.

"Wait...what?"

"This Universal Champion is a self confessed former drug addict?"

"Uuuuh...uuuuh....um, Mark Flynn?"

"Wrong again! The answer we were looking for was Shawn Warstein. You really should have nailed that one.

"I....I....don't want to play this game anymore."

"Tough shit toots, it's the bed you made and we're rolling with it. This Universal Champion used a choose your own style adventure rog theme in his promo?"

"Anny....any of the..."

"Wrong again! We were looking for Alias specifically! Pick it up Atty, your falling short as you typically do when it comes to the Uni title"

"That's kinda...that's kinda hurtful, this my prom..."

"THIS Universal Champion and I'll give you a hint, you faced them, had a divisive overly political soundboard best friend that died in his or her promo and ring work?"

"OH OH! I know THIS ONE! THE ENGINEE"

"WRONG! No wait...The Engineer is right. Good job.[ Alright, you should see were this going Atty. Final question, and for the win. This Universal Champion is or was allegedly apart of some super secret government bullshit and a hint.

Ya fucked him"
"Oh that's easy. Thaddeus."

[Yellow]"Ding ding ding! CONGRATS ATTY! Atticus Gold, get out here and tell that special fan what he's won!

An ecstatic Atty is once jumping and clapping in glee has confetti and balloons fall around and from the Atticus Black, another GM of the now defunct Savage product comes out the back microphone in hand.

"Congratulations goes out to one Joseph Montouri...Monteeri, Mounty, whatever. Thanks to your favorite XWF starlet you have won the realization that like you, Mark Flynn is the most derivative, unimaginative, overrated, last week's news regurgitating title holder in the history of wrestling! That like you whole ass brands fold around him because contrary to his bullshit he's carrying absolutely notta goddamn thing!

Before Atticus Gold can finish Atty approaches and snatches the mic

"You're so welcome J. Mont for 15 more minutes but seriously Mark Flynn. Your absolutely delusional if you think anything you've experienced is anything different that 88% of wrestlers in existence or that gives you anykind of competitive edge. I've lived through an economic collapse, being a foreigner in a country in a time it wasn't a good idea to be a foreigner in that nation and have sat through countless Mark Flynn ESPN statistic promos."

"I mean let's face it, you only got that belt off Raion because he went through me first and got a little more than he thought he was gonna get. Just like you're gonna a little more than you expect and honestly it still isn't gonna be my best effort. I'm a wife, I'm a mother, I'm a global fucking commodity Dove and even with all the distractions I'm a threat to each and every person across from me each and every time I step in the ring.

You know I'm a threat and you're sweating your dickless nutsack off right now hoping you got enough in the tank to scissor sister with Atty! Well I hope you do because it's the last Savage in history and these fans deserve one good showing from you before you tank the rest of this company.



[Image: RtV4kmR.jpg]]]> "Happy Holidays and Hello XWF Universe! Welcome to the Xtreme Wrestling Federations Saturday Solstice Christmas Extravaganza! I'm Pip Collins and I couldn't more excited to be here with you tonight at not only our year end Savage but the final Saturday Night Savage to air on XWF televisions. I'm joined of course by my lovely partner of the commentating table, Heather Halliwell!"

"Heather, looking festive as ever, I can tell you're excited at what we have in store for these fine people tonight!"

"Thank you Pip, and you couldn't be more right for once. I would be a little remiss however if I didn't say I was a little saddened by this being the last of Savage programming. It's a been a long time staple and quality show for the fans, a real backbone of our company and to see it go is a little....a little...."

"Heather, are you...are you crying?"

"It's just, it's an end of an era Pip! We've shared so many experiences together, seen so many historic moments at XWF on this show and to see it go is pulling a little on my heartstrings right now"

"Well we're not closing shop Heather. We're at a turning point here at XWF, a Solstice so to speak. Out with the old and in with new! We're going to share so many more experiences and moments at the XWF's newest program Weekend Warfare!"

"I know Pip, I know, it's just all catching up to me and....."

"And we're going to celebrate Savages history tonight with this Extravaganza! Going out in style and giving the fans a holiday gift only XWF can bring!"

"Oh my God, not nostalgic cameos and call backs to the Spirit of Savage past. I can't Pip..."

"Jesus fucking Christ Heather, pull it together...but anywho, speaking of gifts, we hope the fans haven't been naughty because we've got a special treat coming up next. A list that doesn't need checking twice because the gifts our first guest are surely to put a smile and win brownie points Christmas morning!"

"I don't know Pip. The XWF consumer is a very discerning and fastidious shopper. They won't take just any recommendation."

"No worries Heather! The lady we had put together this list always as her finger on the pulse on what's trending. A self made woman who's put her mark in every almost entertainment medium she's entered. She's her own brand Heather! A real power broker, an influencer...."

"Wait? A list of gifts?" At the end of the year? By a successful woman of the entertainment industry?"

"That's what I said Heather, lay off the egg nog we gotta whole lotta of show left."

"Holy shit Pip! Is Oprah unveiling her Favorite Things list tonight! On this show!"

"Better Heather! We got better than Oprah!"

"Who is more influential than Oprah?"

"It's not Oprah! Besides, after Relentless of 2021 and that little incident with Thaddeus Dukes, I don't think Op...it doesn't matter! We did better!"

"I don't know Pip. It's Oprah. Is this a Jenny Myst thing? I'd rather choke myself on cranberry sauce and egg nog to be honest...."

"I said influential Heather. I said she was game changer! A trend setter! She's headlined two of the businesses biggest shows in the Clash if Immortals and the Tara Fenix Charity Cruise and now everybody and their gerbil are throwing them!"

"I don't watch anything wrestling outside our own programming Pip. I'm a loyalist."

"Well we know you Netflix and Chill yourself every night Heather so you no doubt have seen her as the lead in multiple hit television shows and carried multiple major motion pictures! Actual shows, not two bit vanity segments during our broadcast."

"Definitely not Jenny Myst then."

"Exactly!" This lady helped bring about a whole new presentation style for wrestling and helped foster the success of Pro Wrestling Valor. She's a TIA calender girl! She's single handedly influenced a migratory shift in booking in many companies and we've gotten so many PPVs and tours in her home country! Hide Yamazaki Enterprises, CCPE, The Velvet Rabbit, WeAreSplat, Thaddeus Dukes production company....she's gotta claim in it all!"

"Yeah, we get it Pip. She's a female Midas and her existence makes the world better....you could have stopped at..."

I'm talking about Aphrodite Incarnate! The Goddess! Atara 'Got Oprah checking under own damn seat for a gift' Raven!"

"Well yippy ki-yay.....can't wait to see this list of favorite things...."

"Take it away Mrs. Raven!"


[Image: 2tVgMDP.png]

  Bookended by the powder coated evergreen branches of two heavily decorated fir trees is centered a mock holiday home. A frosted window sets framed in the dark wood interior of a log cabin stage with all the trappings of a warm and loving residence that have been meticulous placed as decor. In similar holiday fashion sets a table horizontally with all manner of XWF merchandise. It's a very Home Shopping Network aesthetic foretelling the coming proceedings
and the center piece of it all is of course, The Goddess.
   While not as wholesome as the setting around her, Atara Raven is dressed every bit as festive. A Santa inspired one-piece hugging her frame, the fat man's hat sat playfully atop her flowing mocha hair while black leather gloves kept hidden the slender fingers she would make heavy use of in her presentation. Curled Crimson lips had already parted into a soft smile as she peered from her temporary sanctuary into unseen cameras with trademark Aegean blue eyes that had always captivated the wrestling world every time she opened them.

"Thank you Pip, you are too kind. You are right, but too kind. My pussy does pop like the eh, like the fire. Like Yiayia's moussaka, you eat it if even if you no want it and loves it still because it's the best. It's a curse, ftou ftou, but what can I do eh?" Atara responded  joyfully. The honeyed rasp that was her voice was naturally coated in her native Mediterranean accent as the Goddess had long forgone trying to mask it for the sake of the viewers ears. Subtly shifting her eyes, it would seem Atara turned her attention from the hosts and focused on the viewers at home.

"Hello Doves and kalá Christoúgenna!" sauntering to the center of the table, Atara greeted the fans with her signature catch phrase and followed with Merry Christmas, unsurprisingly, in Atara's native Greek.
  "Tis the seasons of the giving and whose gifts are more beloved, more sought, most prized, than that of your Goddess? she posed with little pause for answer.

"That is right Doves, none." she put frankly.

"I know what you like. I know what you want. You need a special gift for thía, Atty knows what your thía wants. All the demo..all the demographics. All the trends and because this is the last Savage show ever, we have special deal on all the XWF Savage merch because eh... ella....we have to supplement income now that we are to carry the Warfares malakas now." fumbling around the table as she spoke, Atara's hands found whatever it was she was looking for and her hands rested on it until she was ready to present.
  "All these suggestions are things I personally use myself so you know they are quality. Greek made or Greek inspired because Atty only shops Greek...mostly but I will start with something comes handy during the Holidays season. For some it is a difficult time right now, specially for most wrestlers," rolling her eyes dismissively, Atara shook her head unsympathetic to the shit show most of her colleagues called lives.
  "Maybe you are blackship of the family, maybe you are unable to go higher than mediocre...what it's called now. Maybe your just Mid. Yeah, Mid. Maybe you are the uninteresting, over rated, repetitious stat sheet regurgitating try hard? Maybe you're just a fan of #1 best shitpaper, old white guy, derivative if not straight stolen self help philosophical bullshits. Well your Goddess as just thing." Atty concluded with a air hostess smile and lifted in her hands a fresh copy of.....

[Image: PeEVsXt.png]

"Your Optimal Path.......straight to the toilet when the poops start turtling because if your in the Mark Flynn demo I am one hundo percent sure you're an engorged on cheese and grease constipated simp fatty from Florida. Those poops don't come often and trust me I know that feeling let me tell you." with a shrug Atara flippantly tossed the book to the floor or wherever and props herself on an elbow to look into the camera like she was about to drop some serious life advice.
  "When I was pregnant I couldn't skata to save my life, I'm talking about trying to push dry as fuck, ten day stale, and hard convenience store loukoumades out my butthole. I mean, I was drinking olive oils by the gallons, had James massaging my belly one minute and playing Mike Honcho the next, spreading my cheeks like a poop pirate and with a heave hoe on my assho....I think I even fist fought my perinatologists but anywho, long story short." Atty paused to dig her around for her cellphone and once in hand those gloved fingers tat tat tat'd across the screen in record setting speed. She would nod satisfied in whatever it was she had done, Atara hid the phone away and returned her attention back to camera.
  "Yeah, so long story short I go on Twitter about it right, and everybody is getting on the Atty Ass Jam topic when Yiayia Themis comes into the bathroom and throws an effin foot stool at my feet!" Atty exclaimed wide eyed at the screen in what appeared to be disbelief but not at the fact her grandmother had thrown something at a pregnant and defenseless squatting Atty.
   "Doves, I had no idea elevating your knees helped make pooping easier so now I'm always knees to chest on the toilet and it makes it so much quicker! I've eliminated minutes off my bathroom time, reduced the strain on my body, and empty more of my bowels with each trip. Thats some next level Yiayia Life Hack stuff. She showed me the optimal path and I wish there was book abou....ooooh right, right, right, right, the book. I'm rambling." she said disappearing behind the table and reappearing book in hand.
  "Honestly, the book is a good and inexpensive thrift store donation item. Highly unlikely it'll get picked up at Barnes & Noble because look that generic ass cover. ‘Se grafo sta palia mou ta papoutsia,  it isn't calling anyone's name, but what can you expect from a man that took a lifetime and decade long career to figure out what every philosopher from her to Japan has repeated for thousands of effin years already. I mean, you could find the same concepts in 5 minutes on a fucking inspirational Instagram quote, but Mark Flynn wouldn't know that because it probably didn't come in his online Google search marketing class." Atty gave it a final unimpressed glance over before shrugging and tossing it right back to the ground in exchange for the glossy yellow sheen of of her next gift idea.
 
"But! Speaking of quotes, that segways us to the next item on the Atty's Favorite Things list!"


[Image: 7j4Miv6.png]

"For that special malaka in your life who thinks himself important enough to be the most hated man is his company, but not really, who is about to have his whole world come crashing down this holiday season because he's been dropping duds and titles since 2014," pausing her pitch, Atty repeated the whole book toss with the Calender and planted her hands on the table. Aegean blue orbs stared into the camera in disbelief.
  "Like seriously guys, did you know Mark Flynn lost his tag team titles AND....and his what was it, elaaaa, Television title in the same effin week back before the birth of Christ. I mean, I would show a clip but I'm not gonna insult my product or my viewer by assuming it wasn't good enough or you weren't capable enough of retaining that information for a gazillion years. Maybe if it had just happened a few months ago at a major PPV. Ya know, like Relentless. Were Mark Flynn lost. But anywho, talk about a fucking choke artist, that was enough of a doozy to trigger even my non existent gag reflex snd Doves.. my throat game is the stuff of legend. Like every other day I got a fling coming to me like, Hey Att, We smashed, remember? I mean right on Twitter and everything like it's a cot damn achievement badge and I'm like whooooa....." Atty gave an exaggerated whoa and slow done gesture with her arms.
  "...I don't bring that shit up at your front door sweety. I'm married now, this is Slut Era Atty. The past is the past and people change. It's not an effin W/L record to flex about. You don't need that memory to boost the ego nor does my husband appreciate you casually dropping the sex convo on me on Twitter! If you need a boost, I got just the thing," frantically Atty sputtered around and retrieved the thrown calender.
  "Get this awesome inspirational calender from the XWF. It features quotes from the King of the Mid-Carders Mark Flynn. It's got all the hits he uses to remind himself he can achieve anything because he's done the imaginable to achieve everything!" She paused and flipped open the calender reading aloud.
  "Like this masterpiece of self validation for June, I threw my friend through an electrical box!."

She flipped the page again.

"And this one for September, I threw my best friend through an electrical box! And this one for the next month, I threw my best friend through an electrical box! I mean, there is so many good ones but my personal favorite is..... Atty thumbed through the rest of the pages quickly before again tossing it over her shoulder.
  "MARK FLYNN DON'T GOT NO DICK!"
  There was an extended pause as stood arms wide and jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief.
  "Like seriously, how the eff are we not talking about this! This Malaka is suppose to be the baddest mother effin trash talker on the roster, a former Federweight Champion....by the way an accolade I also have claim to....but he actually beat the guy the belt was named after! Mark Flynn, King Ding-A-Ling of the pissing contest! The yard stick by which all Dick measuring contest are compared! And he comes to the fight without the actual effin tool!" she exclaimed still obvious shock.
  "I'm not yanking your...um...Your chain about this either. It's by his own admission, I forget the promo but he definitely said he was eunuch which is kind of admirable being this is one of the most testosterone filled misogynistic rosters in wrestling, but in the spirit of trash talk he hand delivered us dick joke gold! Or rather a fucking clown that stole his crotch honk honk horn."
  "Yes, I said clown. Mark Flynn was McEffin robbed of his dollar menu McNuggets by Ronald McDonald and we've just glossed over that fact for months now. Like, the most dick Flynn has held in his hands was when he faced Dick Powers and like a prepubescent boy just discovering his penis, he beat old dick to death. Believe me, we all know, because Flynn hasn't let us forget in each of his masturbatory trash monologues. So I thought to myself, it makes sense Mark wants everyone to emulate him and follow his Optimal Path bullshit...it means having your genitals cut off so he's not alone!" Atty said stopping for a breathe and to chop at her crotch for emphasis.
   "I mean, I guess the Optimal Path ripped off some naked yogi dick twisting eliminate the vices bullshit but don't worry XWF! Atty has you covered this Christmas! I know how much you pride yourselves in your masculinity and you don't have to be an ornery old dickless twat like Flynn! Just wait til you find your very own Big Black...." Atty dipped behind the table again only to reappear seconds later with an ecstatic smile and holding in her hands.

[Image: 7ehyKKU.png]

"COLANDER!" doing her best Vanna White or Price Is Right girl impression, Atara twisted and turned the colander for the viewers perusing.

"Now I know what you're thinking Doves. How is a colander, a common kitchen item going to prevent my péos from being cut off?" she paused for effect.
  "It won't, not literally anyway, but since my opponent can only swing a metaphorical dick to garner those coveted haha promo points and everyone thinks their metaphorical dick is the size of a tree! A colander is the perfect gift to prevent those serial dick thieving crotch goblins from showing up to steal what you hold most precious. Especially a Universal Title if that's your replacement phallic symbol of male vitality!" Atty paused again to Price is Right her colander before setting it down.
  "We have a Christmas tradition in Greece you see, where a colander is set out at night to prevent a creature we call the Kallikantzaroi from causing all kinds of mischief and havoc. There are all kinds and with different names and traits but to protect yourself you place this colander at your door step. These little demons are stupid you see and consider the number three holy. So they get caught up trying to count the holes of the colander and always stop at two because if they reach three....poof! They die." Atty stopped and placed a finger on her lips and gave a seemingly in thought expression.
   "That's a lot like wrestling actually. Three means poof. Actually no, no, this gift idea is no longer available and I'm keeping it for myself. Flynn's crotch is gone already anyways...sooooo for my final gift idea," fidgeting around the table, Atara repositioned a plethora of items before spinning round a laptop for all to see. On the screen in all it's glory was Atara's XWF profile page

"This is for Flynn specifically. The most viewed and traffic generating roster page on the XWF website. All things Atty. All the little facts and tidbits he likes to proudly claim he troubled himself to dig up all packaged into aesthetic perfection for his browsing. Every win, every loss, every title, every accolade. Divided by show, by company, an almost complete dossier of my career for him to pick apart. The same information that's been there for everyone, almost as if I wanted someone to put all their focus there. I'm really hoping you make use of it Dove. Don't be another crotch goblin focused solely on my poulaka....because I'm bringing the colander this Christmas and you'll be the idiot I get to three." Atara's voice trailed off and she mouthed poof for dramatic effect before going bubbly again.

"Back to you Pip!"


The scene transitions back to the studio booth Pip and Heather are sitting, both visibly stunned not having expected fully what they saw. A few moments pass before Pip begins to stammer.

"Um...well that was certainly interesting. Not exactly what I thought...."

"How does Flynn pee Pip?!?"

"You know what Heather, let's not get into that right now. This is our Holiday Farewell so let's get into our next segment. We've seen a lot of in promos during the course of Savage's run and one theme we never get enough of is the Game show set up."

"No seriously Pip, like does he squat. Does he use one of those pee...."

"Goddamit Heather!"

"What?! I want to know!"

"Just segway us into this fucking game show thing please...."

"Ok...ok....whatever Mr. Grinch. Next up, we have a gameshow inspired bit with a special Saturday Night Savage persona playing host in what we're calling....."

NAME THAT UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!


Scene transitions to a Jeopardish type setting all Christmas themed and stuff with the one and only Atticus Black at the famous podium.

Welcome ladies and gentleman, children, aliens, wizards, animals, non sentient but somehow sentient vehicles, space clowns, time travellers, potheads, meth heads, big heads, and no heads, and and the dickless to Name That Universal Champion with me, former General Manager of a once decent fucking show now getting canceled surprise surprise under the Championship reign of Mark fucking Flynn, your host Atticus Gold!"
  "In Saturday Night Savages illustrious history we've seen quite a many Universal Champions come and go through the years. Some of the best performances of wrestling in the ring and outside. It's with a saddened heart I, possibly the best GM the brand ever seen watch it go, but tonight we revisit those historic Champions that graced the Savage ring by way of a quiz a show and who better to quiz on the history of that title than the XWF's very own history fluff.....er...buff. And the current challenger for the Universal Title....

[Image: 35WL7hs.png]
...ATARA RAVEN!"

A more conservatively dressed Atara smiled from her lone podium jeopardy styled podium. Sweat beads could see. Across her face from a hastened wardrobe change due to Pip and Heather's fuck up of the whole stage transition, whatever TV calls it change.

"Yasas Atticus, I'm so glad to be here!"

"The pleasure is all mine darling. Now as you know all the questions you'll be asked tonight pertain to the Universal Title and only the Universal Title.  You'll be asked questions about past and current champions and if at the end of the night you have answer half or more of them right a special fan will receive a prize to be announced at the end of this show. Are you ready?"

"Of course Dove! Fire away!"

"Alright, this first set of questions will pertain to the current Universal Champion Mark Flynn and only Flynn. Question One....

Mark Flynn has won one of these....

"A MATCH!"

"Correct! Very good!"

Atty jumps and down in mock glee clapping over enthusiastically.

"Next Question, Mark Flynn during his XWF has lost one of these?"

"A MATCH!"

"Bloody Hell, you're off to a good start"

Atty repeats her Katy Perry Sesame Street SNL schtick

"True or false, Mark Flynn has died and came back to life?"

"TRUE!"

"True or False, Mark Flynn is a self confessed former drug addict?

"TRUE!"

["True or False, Mark Flynn has done in his promo a choose your own style theme, rpg game?"[/gold]

"TRUE!"

"Tickle my titties woman! You're getting that s fan a prize most definitely! Next Question! Mark Flynn used a divisive and overly political soundboard best friend that died both in his promo work and in the ring?"

"TRUE!"

True or False, Mark Flynn is or was allegedly apart of some super secret government bullshit?"

"TRUE!"

"Holy shit Atara, we may have to skip this round and advance to the harder stuff! Are you ready for round 2?"

"TRUE! I mean Yes!"

"Well we won't keep you and the fans waiting! For round two, let me introduce another former Savage GM and my replacement. ATTICUS WHITE!" Atticus Black introduces his replacement for the second to the grand sound of a single solitary clapping Grecian Goddess.

"Alright Atty, this next round of questions pertains to all Universal Champions. Are you ready?"

"You bet Dove! We miss you!

"I'm sure you don't, but anyways. This Universal has won a match?"

"Mark Flynn!"

"Correct, but we would have accepted any Universal Champions name. Next Question, this Universal Champion has lost a match?"

"Um....Mark...Flynn?"

"Correct again Atty! But, we would have accepted any Universal Champions name again. Next Question, this Universal Champion has died and returned in some fashion?"

"Ummm...uuuuh...any of them?"

"Ooof wrong. We were looking for Universal Soldier, The Engineer/Corey Smith, and or Alias.

"Wait...what?"

"This Universal Champion is a self confessed former drug addict?"

"Uuuuh...uuuuh....um, Mark Flynn?"

"Wrong again! The answer we were looking for was Shawn Warstein. You really should have nailed that one.

"I....I....don't want to play this game anymore."

"Tough shit toots, it's the bed you made and we're rolling with it. This Universal Champion used a choose your own style adventure rog theme in his promo?"

"Anny....any of the..."

"Wrong again! We were looking for Alias specifically! Pick it up Atty, your falling short as you typically do when it comes to the Uni title"

"That's kinda...that's kinda hurtful, this my prom..."

"THIS Universal Champion and I'll give you a hint, you faced them, had a divisive overly political soundboard best friend that died in his or her promo and ring work?"

"OH OH! I know THIS ONE! THE ENGINEE"

"WRONG! No wait...The Engineer is right. Good job.[ Alright, you should see were this going Atty. Final question, and for the win. This Universal Champion is or was allegedly apart of some super secret government bullshit and a hint.

Ya fucked him"
"Oh that's easy. Thaddeus."

[Yellow]"Ding ding ding! CONGRATS ATTY! Atticus Gold, get out here and tell that special fan what he's won!

An ecstatic Atty is once jumping and clapping in glee has confetti and balloons fall around and from the Atticus Black, another GM of the now defunct Savage product comes out the back microphone in hand.

"Congratulations goes out to one Joseph Montouri...Monteeri, Mounty, whatever. Thanks to your favorite XWF starlet you have won the realization that like you, Mark Flynn is the most derivative, unimaginative, overrated, last week's news regurgitating title holder in the history of wrestling! That like you whole ass brands fold around him because contrary to his bullshit he's carrying absolutely notta goddamn thing!

Before Atticus Gold can finish Atty approaches and snatches the mic

"You're so welcome J. Mont for 15 more minutes but seriously Mark Flynn. Your absolutely delusional if you think anything you've experienced is anything different that 88% of wrestlers in existence or that gives you anykind of competitive edge. I've lived through an economic collapse, being a foreigner in a country in a time it wasn't a good idea to be a foreigner in that nation and have sat through countless Mark Flynn ESPN statistic promos."

"I mean let's face it, you only got that belt off Raion because he went through me first and got a little more than he thought he was gonna get. Just like you're gonna a little more than you expect and honestly it still isn't gonna be my best effort. I'm a wife, I'm a mother, I'm a global fucking commodity Dove and even with all the distractions I'm a threat to each and every person across from me each and every time I step in the ring.

You know I'm a threat and you're sweating your dickless nutsack off right now hoping you got enough in the tank to scissor sister with Atty! Well I hope you do because it's the last Savage in history and these fans deserve one good showing from you before you tank the rest of this company.



[Image: RtV4kmR.jpg]]]> <![CDATA[An XWFmas Carol II]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45287 Fri, 16 Dec 2022 23:48:18 -0800 Doctor Louis D'Ville]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45287 We return once again to the dampest, darkest reaches of the XWF. Here, within these moaning and tormented walls, just as last time, sits the good doctor. The flame as high and bright as it ever was burning behind him. The book from which he was reading to us sat on his lap closed as he held out a glass of bourbon to toast towards us.

Welcome back, my friends! Welcome back, indeed! I'm glad you've all decided to return to hear the conclusion of the untold tale, an XWFmas Carol. I hope to have stricken some of your interests, thus far! I hope to have a stranglehold on your attention! I hope to be choking you with fascination and adventure! But, before we dive in, though, let's think about what else we have in store for you all in the much near future.

In one day, the Nickleman and I will meet for the second and a half time on a rooftop for the XWF classic, Rooftop Clatter Spectacular! It appears, just as expected, that Charlie is a lot more excited about this than he should be. He did sign up for this, mind you, which is basically signing yourself up for a lobotomy (tee-hee!), but we all know that Charlie has a few screws loose if not completely missing up in that bird nest of a brain of his.

I'd like to think that the ol' Nickleman is coming into this match with a new attitude. I'd like to think that he's grown as not just a person, but as a fighter in the last year or so, as well. Unfortunately, history has a bad tendency of repeating itself. It's been proven in the past that Charlie only has so much room before he hits the ceiling, pops his balloon, and falls hard to the ground. It's a process, known and seen by all, that's happened over and over again. I'm not saying the poor guy doesn't ever gain any steam. We've all seen the Nickleman go on a hot streak before, but there seems to be only so much the man can take before he loses control of the wheel and drives straight into a wall or, in a worse case, simply run out of steam.

He's had a decent year. I can hardly speak on the matter, I haven't been around to have anything to brag about, myself. It's not filled with a list of failures, either, though. Charlie came out like typical Charlie and gave us all a full list of his wonderful accomplishments, didn't he? How he ran several people off, like Jimmy and Miss Granger… Was it the Nickleman's sheer dominance that drove those folks away? Was it his overbearing skill? His main eventing ability? His incredible work ethic and talent?? I'm not so sure about that. I knew Jim for a long time and no matter what day of the week it was or whatever punch he was drinking that day, Jim wasn't scared or intimidated by anyone or anything. Except for me, of course, which he's openly admitted before. As for Betsy? Again, I don't recall Betsy Granger getting beaten so badly by Charlie Nickles that she packed her bags the same night and hit the road. The young lady is a free spirit, has lots of friends and networks, being the traveler that she is, I'm sure she just found a different place to run amok for a while. Again, hehe, way too much credit. But, I guess no one else, even his bastard buddies, aren't handing out too many pats on his back these days. You'll have that when you drop half your prized gold in one night across several platforms. I'm not even sure how it's possible, but when it comes to Charlie and losing…. Anything is possible, right? I've seen Charlie lose in ways no other XWF'r has managed to. I've seen the crosshairs lined up, the stars align, the moon and sun crossing, and everything land perfectly in the palm of his hand for him to just carelessly drop it. When life gives Charlie lemons, he makes chicken noodle soup.

Who would have guessed that Charlie would bring up ALIAS? Boy, that fruit wasn't just hanging low, there was a whole bushel lying there just for the taking! Why wouldn't Charlie come after me about the only person in existence to have wins over me like he does? I mean, it is basically the only artillery the poor boy has! Which is kind of funny, seeing how Mister Nickleman has failed to do anything else himself when going head to head against him. Like 99.8% of us. Didn't it sound strange or absurd to him as the words came out, running me into the ground like he did?

I'm guessing it didn't.

Doc begins flipping through the pages and fidgeting with the book on his lap. He chuckles quietly to himself as he pours more bourbon down his throat.

Too much credit, Charlie… hehe…. I wish I was at a place where I could have heard the whole world choke when the Nickleman took credit for the absence of ALIAS… Just as much as I laughed when he said ALIAS was responsible for mine. To be perfectly honest, ALIAS was one of the only reasons I was still hanging around! It was years and years before a true, beyond tough challenger emerged. It was a long time, if not ever, that the heads and fans of this fine federation compared anyone to the likes of me! It intrigued me. It fascinated me! How could I not give the world what it was begging for? And when it was all said and done, after falling to him at May Day as well as Relentless, what happened to me? Nothing. Losing to ALIAS meant absolutely nothing for me. No one looked at me differently, well… aside from the Nickleman, apparently! No one thought I was any less of a threat I already was. I am still Doc and Doc IS Doc. What did ALIAS beating Doc do to ALIAS, though? The same thing that Charlie hopes with all of his might happens to him. Like getting shot out of a cannon to the peak of everyone's Top 100. Charlie knows that beating me stands for more than any title or victory he could have over nearly anyone else. He strives for it every waking moment of his day. He trains all year for it, hoping for the chance that I poke my head out for one last go before he never has the chance again.

I think he should invest in some copies of some old XWF films, as well. There was never a time during my stay in this fine federation that I was ever at a Charlie Nickles Level. My toes have never felt the cold depths of that cesspool that Charlie dwells in. Never once, after I claimed my place here, have I ever fallen to any less than a headliner. I think the only reason we're not on the poster for this one is because of Charlie and the odds of the result. Even if I'm involved, I don't even have the star power to bring Charlie any higher than pre-main event status. Maybe if we attached a Universal Title to the match or, maybe, if he still had "Connie" on his hips…. But that's all a loss now, isn't it? As much as everyone surely loves to see a Charlie beat-down, it is nothing that anyone hasn't seen before. It's a rerun that's played over and over again. Like we established before, when he's hot, he's hot. But when he's not…. He crawls. Losing streaks are not something in my record book. I've never succumbed to such a thing and I never will, my friends. Charlie has seen days brighter than the sun and reached heights that, I admit, not a lot of folks have managed to, but that doesn't hide his lowest points either. We've all had the pleasure of watching a broken Charlie Nickles. We've all seen a Nickleman at the end of his rope. We all witnessed Charlie about to quit on everything. Tomorrow night, the cycle restarts again. Whatever high Charlie is feeling going into Savage Solstice, whether it's a drug high or just high on the fact he's locking horns with one of the best again, it will be quite sobering when he's Lobotomized and shoved down that chimney.

Doc finds his place in the book and rests both hands folded together on top of its open face.

It will be different this time, though. As much joy as it brings me to shatter the Nickleman's dreams each and every time we face, I think I will add an extra kick to it this time. A little more for the money, I guess. Charlie thinks I cowered away from this place and am nearly a shell of what I used to be, let him think it. The mountains I scale are far higher than he's ever been able to reach and I'm still climbing. What everyone expects out of this match will come to fruition two fold. The beat-downs, agonizing defeats, and lows that Charlie thought he knew before will compare nothing to the new low that I will be shoving him down to. When the smoke clears and the snow settles, it will not surprise me if it takes another entire year for Charlie to even dream of another session with the good doctor. Now, before I go on too long here and lose your ear over talking about boring old Charlie, let's continue with our story, shall we?


THE HAUNTED CHRONICLES OF DOCTOR LOUIS D'VILLE
An XWFmas Carol
TWO - THE THREE BASTARDS


The doctor opened his eyes and quickly caught his breath.  Was it a nightmare?  Was it trickery?  Sorcery?  He found himself sitting upright in an armchair next to a fireplace that's barely smoldering under a single charred log.  Shifting himself around in the chair, he peered around the room for any suspicious activity or anything out of place.

It was dark, but he could see the room looked as it did when he first laid to rest for the evening.  The door was in place and locked tight, there was no debris scattered about, and certainly no sign of Unknown Soldier anywhere.  Or what(who)ever that was. 

Doc pushed himself from the chair and slowly made his way toward the door, grabbing a candelabrum and lighting three candles on it along the way.  He thought about going back to bed, if he was ever there to begin with, but things just weren't lining up right.  All he remembered after returning home was turning in; never lighting a fire or being in the chair.

It was nothing really.  He wasn't concerned or panicked by this phenomenon.  It was just odd is all.  Perhaps the drink didn't sit well from earlier?  Was it a bad pickled egg, maybe?  It would be difficult not to notice if it was, wouldn't it?  Even so, would he succumb to hallucinations or blackouts?

"Bah…"  Doc mumbled to himself, "Humbug…"

As he reached for the latch on the door, the clock on the wall began to chime.

"Ding!  Dong!"  Said the clock.

It caught the doctor off his guard and nearly caused him to drop the candle.  He looked up to the clock and saw that the two hands are pointed straight up to the Roman numeral twelve.

"Ding!  Dong!"  The clock repeated and it did so ten more times, completing its twelve chimes for midnight.

Doc stood still, staring at it as it sang to him.  Once it finished, he shook his head, mumbled some more humbug nonsense and reached for the door again.  As he opened it, he heard a crash once again coming from outside his room somewhere in his home.

EUREKA!

He thought to himself.

A CLATTER FROM DOWNSTAIRS!

Perhaps none of it was a dream or hallucination, after all!  Doc and Soldier, or the ghost of, must've tied one on extra tight after reuniting and the ghostly ghoul (more like ghastly fool!) is downstairs doing ghostly (or ghastly!) things in the middle of the night.

Doc headed for the stairwell and stopped at the top when the sweet aroma of a cigar filled the air and tickled his nostrils.  With his curiosity now peaked, he followed the smell down the stairs and noticed the den a few rooms away fully lit up.  He entered the room and, to his surprise, there was no Unknown Soldier.  Instead, Thunder Knuckles stood in the center of the room, gnawing on a lit cigar, and tinkering with a film projector while he cussed at it.

"Come on you God damn piece of shit," said TK, "No fucking clue why we couldn't spring for a DVD player or at the fucking least a God damn VCR…"

TK looked over and noticed Doc standing in the entrance of the room watching him.

"What up, Doc?"

A confused doctor placed the candelabrum down and slowly approached his most recent unwelcome visitor.  At least this one was announced beforehand, whether Doc took the warning seriously or not.

"Hello, my friend," the doctor reluctantly replied, "What is the meaning of this?"

"FUCKING THING!"

TK screamed out at the projector and slammed his fist down against it.  It clicks then clacks then kicks on! 

"FINALLY!"

He flipped it back off again and dug through a box behind him full of reels of film.

"I beg your pardon!"  Doc shouted over the now silent projector, "To whom do I owe the credit for these late night intrusions?!"

"Chill, Doc!  I got this!"

TK pulled out a reel, read it, then threw it back in.  He pulled out several more until he must have found the one he wanted and began loading it in.

"Got what exactly?"

"I got THIS SHIT!"

TK slammed the film cartridge closed and snapped his fingers which seemed to cause a film screen to unroll from the ceiling.  He clicked the two switches on the side of the projector which sent some gritty moving images across the room.

"I'm really not up for a movie night, my friend.  Perhaps another time?"

"Sorry, Doc.  No can do!"  said TK as he snuffed out the cigar on the bottom of his boot.  "You see, I'm one of the Goddamn bastards that were dropping by tonight.  I'm the Bastard of XWFmas Past and supposed to show you some shit about your past to help you remember what a badass you are or some damn thing."

"Bah…  If you're suggesting, just like everyone else has been doing, that I come back for another reign of terror…  I'm not interested."

"I don't give a fuck what you do, Doc.  I know you're a badass, but I can't leave until you see this shit.  So, pour a glass and pull up a chair."

Doc had already convinced himself that he was dreaming.  Everything was far too strange tonight and there was no way that a member from the once notorious Brotherhood of Baddies, a true bastard, would've convinced him to stay up late and watch home movies.  However, since he was dreaming, why not humor the situation and see where it goes?

"And keep in mind, Doc, I wasn't around through the first part of this, so you'll have to fill me in on some details."

So, Doc took a seat and watched closely the film TK was so insistent for him to see.  It opened with his very first couple of sessions in the XWF.  It showed the doctor making his debut at Relentless '14 and winning a battle royal.  Oh, yes, you heard right.  Doc made his debut at Relentless.  He then turned around and won another battle royal on Madness, solidifying a Television Championship shot in the near future in only his second XWF appearance.

"Who the hell was booking this shit back then?"

"I don't recall," Doc shrugged, "Something on your mind?"

"Nah, just wondering.  You apparently kicked some heads in the first couple of weeks, aye Doc?"

"Oh, I suppose saying I made an impact would be an understate–"

The film goes wonky for a few seconds then switches to Gator versus Doc for the Television Championship…


Dr. D’Ville turns around and looks at the screen. It reads 0:54. Dr. D’Ville begins freaking out. He lifts up Gator and stares him right in the mask. He smiles largely and then picks him up for the LOBOTOMY and nails it! Gator’s neck bends weirdly as he comes down. D’Ville covers quickly and the referee begins the count.


1…



2…



3!


Winner: Docto-

WAIT! The referee is calling that off due to noticing Gator’s foot beneath the rope. Doctor D’Ville looks at the referee with anger as he looks up at the time that reads 0:17. He runs over to Gator and lifts him up.

Dr. D’Ville picks up Gator, but Gator catches him with a punch to the jaw. Gator picks up Dr. D’Ville and nails the DISASTER DROP for a second time! He covers Dr. D’Ville.


1….



2…



3!


WINNER AND STILL XWF TELEVISION CHAMPIONS - GATOR

And with that, this action packed edition of Monday Night Madness, fades out.



That reel of film finished and the end of it flapped around as it continued to spin.

"You were saying?" TK asked as he began swapping out the expired reel.

"That was hardly into the first chapter of the story, my friend.  Move on, move on!  You will see!"

"Goddamn it, Doc!  You don't have to preach to me!  When Bobby gets drunk he has a tendency to bring up one of your chapters.  He likes to reminisce, I guess."

TK started the next film and it went straight into highlights of other matches featuring Doc taking down foes.  He defeated XWF Owner Vinnie Lane, long before Vinnie traded his wrestling boots for suits.  He was crowned King of the XWF for the first time.  He defeated former UFC Heavyweight Champion Brock Lesnar, XWF Legend and fellow King John Samuels, just to name a few.  The film skipped around to a few more chopped up highlights from matches that Doc walked away victorious and ended with him defeating Mastermind for the Xtreme Championship.

"You see!  This is where the true fun began!"  Doc said excitedly.

Scenes of Hysteria, Doc's right hand man, abducting eventual recruits to the Asylum after their matches.  The Asylum all served a Higher Power, which everyone believed was current Universal Champion, Morbid Angel, until Doc cashed-in after Gator defeated him for the title.

"So, how fucked off was Gator when you cashed-in?  He was champ for what?  Five minutes?"

"The entire thing lasted between five and ten."

"Goddamn."

"And of course he was angry!  BUT!  Gator and I could be tipping our glasses in one hand and strangling each other with the other.  We've had that kind of relationship from the start.  He's been one of my greatest patients."

The film continued.  It showed a series of Doc's Universal TItle reign including a rematch against Gator and more title defenses against Vinnie Lane at Bad Medicine, Jonathan Heartsford, and others; until dropping the title to Lane at Relentless in a heart-stopping barn burner also featuring Gator.

"I don't know who half those fuckers are, Doc," said TK scratching his noggin.

"Another time.  A different era.  People come in and phase out.  Not all can be as eternal as, well…  Me."

That reel of film ended and, without missing a beat, TK switched it out for another one.  He seemed to have only a couple more stacked up that he dug out of the box.  The next film started and went straight through the storm that was Doctor SATAN!, the team of Unknown Soldier and the doctor, ravaging through the roster and sparing no teams.  It went on

I do recall all of this, you know.  Why are you showing me this?"

"I told ya, Doc, I can't leave until I do."

"Yes, and you claimed it's to give me some sort of revelation, am I right?"

The next film started and it went straight into Doc and Unknown Soldier storming through a Tag Team Title tournament and defeating Arby Beef, the team of Robbie Bourbon and Scully, in the end to win the championships.

Doc became visibly irritated watching the matches with his former partner. 

"We would still be champions today…"

TK, being a former champion himself, bites on his tongue a bit.

"Damn Doc, if you were STILL champ…  Bobby and I would have never beat YOUR team for the titles.  Remember?  Cuntinuum?"

"Bah!  Doctinuum would have never existed had myself and Theo Pryce not relinquished them either!"

The film of Doc's past continues.  It went onto Doc working with the fellow Kings, mainly Theo Pryce, and defending those Tag Team TItles until they relinquished them at a Shove-It hosted by Doc, himself.

"That was probably the most Goddamn selfless thing I've ever seen anyone do around here, Doc.  Why'd you give them up?"

"Heh," Doc scoffed, "The environment just needed a change.  It may not appear this way through some folks' eyes, but I've always placed this fine federation above all else.  I would do whatever it would take to keep the wheels turning here."

"Whatever it would take, huh?"

The projector made a funny noise and the picture flickered.  TK beat on the side of it with his fist and straightened it out.

"Goddamn thing!"

The film started skipping around now and jumping around the timeline.  It went from the doctor winning matches with Thaddeus Duke and Corey Smith and back and forth to being crowned King of the XWF a second time.  TK started beating on it again when it let out a loud POOF of smoke and quit.  A gust of wind blew through the room blowing out each candle making the room pitch dark.

"Now you did it," said Doc through the darkness.

There was no reply from Thunder Knuckles though.  The reels on the projector started to spin again and the light came back on to show a dark picture on the screen.  Doc stood up from the chair, seeing he is now alone in the room, and walked across the room toward the screen.

Suddenly, ALIAS's big head entered the scene smiling at the doctor.  Doc, in turn, smiled right back at him.

"I figured you'd be showing up soon enough," Doc said to the image staring back at him.

He took another look around for Thunder Knuckles, turning his back to the image, and reached in his pocket for a cigar.  ALIAS's smile slowly transitioned into a scowl and the image projected out from the screen and, with a wide mouth, swallowed him up.

Doc fell and fell through the void.  No walls, no ceiling, no floor.  Doc wasn't even 100% sure if he was falling until he landed hard on a grassy knoll.  The landing took the wind out of him, so once he caught his breath he stood up and looked around.  There was no sky, just the darkness as if this piece of rock where he stood was floating within the void.  He appeared to be in a field where in the distance he heard the din of a chanting crowd of people.  He walked until he crossed the top of another hilltop and saw the old mansion that Corey Smith inherited from Madison Dyson.  The entire property is filled with fans that surround an XWF ring in the backyard.  This was May Day.

He worked his way through the crowd and can see himself standing alone in the center of the ring staring at him.  The fans around him all go silent and turn and look at him.  Doc laughed to himself then felt a hard tap on his shoulder.  He turned around and there stood ALIAS!

"Boo."

ALIAS reached back and punched Doc square in the face sending him flying back into the void!  ALIAS flew and followed him, landing several punches to Doc along the way!  With each hit, they switch through different dimensions and times, from deep space to the moon to underwater to inside a volcano until one final blow sends Doc back to his den and into a chair!

He sat for a few moments, gathering his thoughts after that ass beating rollercoaster ride.  The projector was gone and the place was as if there was never a visit.

Was it all just a dream?

Doc laughed to himself.  Perhaps, but he thought the same last time and wasn't about to be fooled again.  It was then he smelled an amazing aroma coming from his kitchen.  He slowly stood and made his way there.  Walking into the kitchen, he found a long wooden table filled with an entire feast of delicious looking food!  There was a deep fried turkey, a large pig, a goose, giant steaks and prime rib!  Fruits!  Veggies!  Desserts!  Doc looked in amazement, wondering where in the world all of this food came from.  His pantry certainly didn't contain a single one of these things.  Standing with his back turned at the stove stirring something in a large pot was Bobby Bourbon.

"Ahem!"  Doc coughed loudly from across the room.

Bobby turned, waving his wooden spoon and smiling.

"What up, Doc?"

The doctor sighed and slowly strolled around the large table of food.

"Ya hungry?  I made enough for both of us!"  Bobby said with a loud, echoing voice.

"I've actually lost my appetite, good sir."

Bobby's large glowing smile turns upside down into a frown.

"That's too bad.  All business tonight, huh?"

"I suppose you're my second visitor?"

"That no good bastard, I am."

Bobby took a short bow then started rubbing his hands together.

"Well, here we go!"

Bobby stretched his arms out and clapped his hands together poofing Doc and him to another place.  They were standing in XWF Headquarters where Vinnie Lane, Theo Pryce, and all the other XWF Officials sat around a large table within a conference room.

"What's this all about?"

"A meeting of the minds!  A lot changed in the XWF in 2022, so there's a lot to discuss!"

"What are they talking about?"

Bobby motioned for Doc to move and get a little closer so he could hear.

"They can't see or hear ya, Doc.  Go ahead and jump in there."

Doc walked over and stood between Atticus White and Smokin' Bob.  Vinnie had everyone's attention as he shuffled through a pile of papers.

"Things just aren't like they were, dudes.  We've had dark times before and even made money through the pandemic.  But times have changed, I guess."

"Are we closing?"  Smokin' Bob interjected.

"No, no," Vinnie quickly replied.

"We've come up with a plan to beat this to the curve, " Theo said, "We'll simply cut back on production and touring to maintain revenues and devote all of our talent to a single show."

"We're cutting a show?  Which one?"  Smokin' Bob seemed concerned.

"Think of it less as 'Cutting a show' and more as 'Merging the shows'.  We'll be keeping Saturday as our day, but we'll be calling it Weekend Warfare."

"Weekend Warfare?"  Doc said under his breath.  He turned to Bobby who was standing, smiling behind him.  "Have things slowed down that much?"

"Some weeks are better than others," Bobby shrugs, "I guess we have to do what we have to do?  You aren't the only pillar the XWF has lost in the last couple of years, Doc."

The XWF Officials continued to chat, but their voices started to fade and the environment became wavy and woozy.

"Ugh, what's going on?"  Doc asked and held out his arms to keep his balance.

"Time to move on," replied Bobby.

The bastard opened up his arms again and clapped his hands together, poofing him and the doctor again.  This time, they appeared in the crowd at an XWF event.  The ring apron and the signs showed that they're at a Savage apparently around Halloween.  In the ring, the current XWF Tag Team Champions, the Midnight Dolls, were taking on the new team of John Madison, Jr. and Angelica Vaughn.

"Well, would you look at that!  Dolly Waters, a Tag Team Champion!"

"Oh yeah, her and Vita are great!"

Before Doc could even start enjoying the match, it was over and they were crowning new champions.

"That was short-lived," Doc said, disappointed.

"It was.  Dolly's heart has always been in the right place, but you know what would really get her invested?"

"Yes.  Yes, I do.  I've been through enough tag teams in my day, though, Mister Bourbon.  She needs to understand that I have no interest in such ventures any longer.  If I do anything, at all, it will be solo."

"Heh!  It sounds like we're making some progress…  A couple hours ago you didn't humor the idea of a return at all!"

"Don't put your wagon ahead of the pony, sir…  If anything, that more solidifies my future of never teaming with anyone again."

"If you say so!"  Said Bobby as he, without warning, reached out and clapped his hands together again!

Now, they appeared backstage at an XWF event.  Crew and staff members bustled around, getting everything ready for the upcoming show.  XWF talent were scattered about, some congregating and others minding their own businesses and going about their own regime of psyching themselves up.

"Are we attending another show?" Asked Doc.

"Nah!  I just want you to see the line-up."

Bobby led him over to the wall where the card was posted for everyone to see.  The Main Event featured Mark Flynn defending the XWF Universal Championship against Micheal Graves.  They were at the most recent XWF premier event, Bad Medicine.

"Mark Flynn finally achieved his boyhood dream, I see."

"He sure did!  And it looks like he'll be holding it for a long, long time, Doc.  I mean, unless you or I step in and have anything to say about it!"  Bobby laughed and nudged Doc with his elbow.

"Bah..  Humbug!"  Doc moaned.

"Look further up the card."

Doc did just that and saw Jenny Myst defending the Xtreme Championship.

"Oh, Jenny.  Still scraping and clawing her way to nowhere?"

"Hmm..  Not so much, Doc," Bobby said with concern, "They're not 'Merging' shows just because of small shows…  There's just not a lot of talent out there anymore.  If Jenny plays her cards right, she could finally end up with a briefcase."

"Pfft!"

If Doc was drinking a glass of milk it would've spewed from his nose.

"Impossible!  It could be raining briefcases from the sky and Jenny wouldn't get hit with one.  It's not the first time she's held the title, probably won't be the last, but she'll do what she and her idiot on again-off again boyfriend always do and screw it up."

"I like your optimism, doctor."

Further up the card, Charlie Nickles is defending the Supercontinental Championship against Ned Kaye.  Doc basically ignores it and continues up to the top.

"Doesn't look terrible.  I'm not sure what everyone is so upset about."

"It's only a matter of time…"

"What is?"

"It's only a matter of time until Charlie gets that one Universal Title shot, Doc."

"Oh, NOW you're really stretching, Mister Bourbon!  You just said that Mark Flynn is the next unbeatable, long-standing Universal Champion we will have?  Unless, of course, you or I have something to say.  How is it you see Charlie succeeding where only you or I could?"

"Flynn won't be around forever.  Charlie, on the other hand, I think will be.  I think he'll wait around long enough or die trying, Doc.  The guy is obsessed."

"He's obsessed with beating me.  I think the Universal Championship is just closer within his grasp, and we all know Charlie…  That low hanging fruit is just too hard to pass up."

Doc looked over the card for another moment then turned around to see that another one of his bastard companions had vanished and he was standing alone in the street.  It's the same street through town that he walked through earlier, only it's wrecked.  The filth was piled up more than usual, as if it hadn't been cleaned in months.  Most of the buildings were abandoned with the windows and doors boarded up, "Danger!" tape surrounded some of the buildings, warning those to stay out in case the building collapsed.  The Drunken Barney, the town's single pub, is no longer standing.  All that was left was the rubble from a fire that burned the place to the ground.

"What?  What happened here?!"

Doc spun in place, looking at the dystopian-like scene around him.  Mid-turn, he walked right into a tall hooded fellow in a dark cloak.  They had no face and no true form to their figure.  They did not speak and only stood motionless before Doc.

"And let me guess?  You're a bastard.  Which one of you is hiding under that hood?"

Doc attempted to peer under the hood, but was unable to see nothing in the face.  Just the ever so familiar void.

"Hmm.  Very well, then.  So, what is it that you have to show me?"  Doc inquired.

The cloaked-being pointed up the road to a small house on the corner.  Doc made his way towards it and looked through the window.

"What do we have here?"

Inside, Doc saw a large wooden table surrounded by all the XWF Officials he had seen at headquarters before, minus Vinnie Lane and plus Mastermind.

"Where's the Loverboy?"

Doc put his head close to try and listen through the window.  Mastermind was speaking.

"I believe this could possibly be the greatest year in the XWF, ever.  After purchasing the XWF from Vinnie Lane for 1 trillion dollars, I'm proud to call myself the new owner of the Xtreme Wrestling Federation."

Doc took a step back.

"You're kidding?"  He said, looking up to the ghostly figure beside him.

Theo sat across the table, pouring himself another stiff drink and throwing it to the back of his throat.  Atticus White slept in his chair, drooling off to the side of his mouth.  Jonathon Barrows, Liam Desmond, and Smokin' Bob were all playing cards.

"Where the—  Where is Lane?"

The bastard pointed through the window at a small cupboard where a postcard hung of Vinnie and Roxy living on some island in the south Pacific.

"It's hard to believe Mister Lane would walk away from all of this.  Him and I, we've been part of this for a long time.  Together, and not just us, but Gator, Theo, even Mastermind…  So many others!  So many pillars!  This place has lost the support it needs!"

Doc continued to hold his face to the window, but fell to his knees.

"Tell me, you bastard…  This isn't really happening, is it?  There's a chance to change this, is there not?"

The bastard said nothing.  It turned its back on the doctor and slowly walked back the way they came.  Doc rose back to his feet and followed it.

As they approached the center of town again, Doc can hear a lot of indistinguishable rabble.  It sounded like it was someone yelling through a megaphone, but it did more distortion than amplifying to whoever's voice it was through it.  They eventually got close enough to see that the stage at the center square in town was occupied with a handful of people, and one obnoxious fellow yelling up on the stage.  It didn't take much longer for Doc to realize who it was.  It was the Nickleman.

And around his waist was the XWF Universal Championship.

"No…"  Doc muttered.  "It can't be."

They reached the stage and the doctor's eyes did not deceive him at all.  It's true.  Charlie Nickles was the Universal Champion.

"Ladies and gentlemen!  Boys and girls!  Milfs of all ages!  The XWF presents to you…  The UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!!!!  THE NICKLEMAN!!!!"

Charlie shouts his distorted message through the megaphone.

"Eunice and I couldn't be happier together!  Of all the beauties I've had in the past…  Connie…  Goldie….  Eunice definitely takes the cake!  She is the prettiest!  The smartest!  The boldest!  And thuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh seeeeeeeeeeeeexxxxxxxiesssst!!  We're getting married and we're going to be together fore—"

Before Charlie could finish, Jenny Myst jumped on the stage with a 24/7 Briefcase and smacked Charlie in the back with it!  An XWF referee slid onto the stage in waiting, but Charlie took the blow like a true champion!  He turned around and plowed Jenny square in the face with a hard fist, knocking her back off the stage!

"KNOCK IT OFF JENNY YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!"

"This can't be true….  Jenny with a case?  Charlie with the…"  Doc's voice squeaks, "Charlie with the Universal TItle?!  What nightmare is this?"

Doc looked up to the bastard.

"You no good bastard…  You bastard!  Tell me!  Tell me there's a way to stop this!  Tell me that Charlie will never be Universal Champion!"

The bastard said nothing and Doc became more and more angry with it.  He fell to his knees and grabbed the bastard's cloak.

"You bastard!  I'll do whatever it takes!  Please!  Please tell me!  Please!  Oh, you bastards!  You're all bastards!"

Doc shook the cloak more, closing his eyes, weeping into it.  He wept until he no longer felt the cold chill of the wind outside or smelled the rotten smell that lingered in the streets.  He opened his eyes and was no longer in the dirty street.  He was back in his cozy bed, within his home that appeared unbothered by the visits he had the night before.

He rushed out his bedroom door, threw on an overcoat, and stormed the streets!  There was Mark Flynn, doing his normal thing in the center of town to his normal crowd of people, and yes, while holding and flailing about his Universal Championship.  Barney Green was just opening the tavern for the day as the Drunken Barney stood, in as good condition as it has ever been.  Mastermind continued selling his high collared, white "I Mastered Your Mind" shirts just outside, apparently making a killing in sales today already!  Doc rushed down the street to Theo Pryce's home.  He looked through the window to see Theo sitting with his family and also Vinnie Lane and Roxy Cotton all enjoying a wonderful XWFmas morning.  Doc changed his face from the bright, glowing smile to his normal dark scowl before burstin in through the door!

"Doc?"  Vinnie said as he took a chooch from his vape pen.

Doc grumbled.

"What's up, Doc?"  Vinnie asked.

"Wondering where Mister Pryce is this fine morning.  He's several minutes late."

"Holy man, Doc!"  Theo shouted.  "I told you!  I'm not coming in today!  I don't work on holidays!"

Doc stood silent for a moment, but could no longer hold it in.  He burst into a smile and gleeful tears and wrapped his arms around everyone within reach!

"Why, of course not!  Why would any normal person work a holiday?!"  Doc cheerfully said.

"Call an ambulance…"  Vinnie quietly said leaning into Roxy.

"What a fine day, my friends!  What a fine day, indeed!  And we shall celebrate it together!  Tell me, Mister Loverboy…  You are still running the show here, correct?"

"Uhh..  Yeah, dude.  I'd never let this place go."

Doc stretched his smile further than he ever had this day.  And some even say that his heart even grew three sizes…  And a new fire sparked.

Was it all a dream?

It all seemed like one, but Doc felt different.  He came-to with a different attitude.  Seeing what could become of the place that he adored so much without him, or anyone else to choke out and chop off the head of the weak, gave him a similar drive that he had as a new XWF superstar.  Before the accolades, titles, and records.  Before the Hall of Legends.  Before the miles and miles he climbed up the great mountain that was his career.  Looking ahead, Doc saw another mountain.  He saw more accolades.  More titles.  More records to break.  The bleak light that was at the end of the tunnel before is bright and as illuminated as ever and a new hunger now grows within him.  The doctor and his friends celebrated and partied all through the day and long into the night.  Once it was all said and done and everyone had their fill of food, presents, family, love, and XWFmas cheer, Vinnie Lane left us all with one final thing to take home with us.

"Gather around, ya'll!  I have something to say."

With all ears and eyes upon him.

"Fuck Ghost Tank, everyone."


THE END
]]> We return once again to the dampest, darkest reaches of the XWF. Here, within these moaning and tormented walls, just as last time, sits the good doctor. The flame as high and bright as it ever was burning behind him. The book from which he was reading to us sat on his lap closed as he held out a glass of bourbon to toast towards us.

Welcome back, my friends! Welcome back, indeed! I'm glad you've all decided to return to hear the conclusion of the untold tale, an XWFmas Carol. I hope to have stricken some of your interests, thus far! I hope to have a stranglehold on your attention! I hope to be choking you with fascination and adventure! But, before we dive in, though, let's think about what else we have in store for you all in the much near future.

In one day, the Nickleman and I will meet for the second and a half time on a rooftop for the XWF classic, Rooftop Clatter Spectacular! It appears, just as expected, that Charlie is a lot more excited about this than he should be. He did sign up for this, mind you, which is basically signing yourself up for a lobotomy (tee-hee!), but we all know that Charlie has a few screws loose if not completely missing up in that bird nest of a brain of his.

I'd like to think that the ol' Nickleman is coming into this match with a new attitude. I'd like to think that he's grown as not just a person, but as a fighter in the last year or so, as well. Unfortunately, history has a bad tendency of repeating itself. It's been proven in the past that Charlie only has so much room before he hits the ceiling, pops his balloon, and falls hard to the ground. It's a process, known and seen by all, that's happened over and over again. I'm not saying the poor guy doesn't ever gain any steam. We've all seen the Nickleman go on a hot streak before, but there seems to be only so much the man can take before he loses control of the wheel and drives straight into a wall or, in a worse case, simply run out of steam.

He's had a decent year. I can hardly speak on the matter, I haven't been around to have anything to brag about, myself. It's not filled with a list of failures, either, though. Charlie came out like typical Charlie and gave us all a full list of his wonderful accomplishments, didn't he? How he ran several people off, like Jimmy and Miss Granger… Was it the Nickleman's sheer dominance that drove those folks away? Was it his overbearing skill? His main eventing ability? His incredible work ethic and talent?? I'm not so sure about that. I knew Jim for a long time and no matter what day of the week it was or whatever punch he was drinking that day, Jim wasn't scared or intimidated by anyone or anything. Except for me, of course, which he's openly admitted before. As for Betsy? Again, I don't recall Betsy Granger getting beaten so badly by Charlie Nickles that she packed her bags the same night and hit the road. The young lady is a free spirit, has lots of friends and networks, being the traveler that she is, I'm sure she just found a different place to run amok for a while. Again, hehe, way too much credit. But, I guess no one else, even his bastard buddies, aren't handing out too many pats on his back these days. You'll have that when you drop half your prized gold in one night across several platforms. I'm not even sure how it's possible, but when it comes to Charlie and losing…. Anything is possible, right? I've seen Charlie lose in ways no other XWF'r has managed to. I've seen the crosshairs lined up, the stars align, the moon and sun crossing, and everything land perfectly in the palm of his hand for him to just carelessly drop it. When life gives Charlie lemons, he makes chicken noodle soup.

Who would have guessed that Charlie would bring up ALIAS? Boy, that fruit wasn't just hanging low, there was a whole bushel lying there just for the taking! Why wouldn't Charlie come after me about the only person in existence to have wins over me like he does? I mean, it is basically the only artillery the poor boy has! Which is kind of funny, seeing how Mister Nickleman has failed to do anything else himself when going head to head against him. Like 99.8% of us. Didn't it sound strange or absurd to him as the words came out, running me into the ground like he did?

I'm guessing it didn't.

Doc begins flipping through the pages and fidgeting with the book on his lap. He chuckles quietly to himself as he pours more bourbon down his throat.

Too much credit, Charlie… hehe…. I wish I was at a place where I could have heard the whole world choke when the Nickleman took credit for the absence of ALIAS… Just as much as I laughed when he said ALIAS was responsible for mine. To be perfectly honest, ALIAS was one of the only reasons I was still hanging around! It was years and years before a true, beyond tough challenger emerged. It was a long time, if not ever, that the heads and fans of this fine federation compared anyone to the likes of me! It intrigued me. It fascinated me! How could I not give the world what it was begging for? And when it was all said and done, after falling to him at May Day as well as Relentless, what happened to me? Nothing. Losing to ALIAS meant absolutely nothing for me. No one looked at me differently, well… aside from the Nickleman, apparently! No one thought I was any less of a threat I already was. I am still Doc and Doc IS Doc. What did ALIAS beating Doc do to ALIAS, though? The same thing that Charlie hopes with all of his might happens to him. Like getting shot out of a cannon to the peak of everyone's Top 100. Charlie knows that beating me stands for more than any title or victory he could have over nearly anyone else. He strives for it every waking moment of his day. He trains all year for it, hoping for the chance that I poke my head out for one last go before he never has the chance again.

I think he should invest in some copies of some old XWF films, as well. There was never a time during my stay in this fine federation that I was ever at a Charlie Nickles Level. My toes have never felt the cold depths of that cesspool that Charlie dwells in. Never once, after I claimed my place here, have I ever fallen to any less than a headliner. I think the only reason we're not on the poster for this one is because of Charlie and the odds of the result. Even if I'm involved, I don't even have the star power to bring Charlie any higher than pre-main event status. Maybe if we attached a Universal Title to the match or, maybe, if he still had "Connie" on his hips…. But that's all a loss now, isn't it? As much as everyone surely loves to see a Charlie beat-down, it is nothing that anyone hasn't seen before. It's a rerun that's played over and over again. Like we established before, when he's hot, he's hot. But when he's not…. He crawls. Losing streaks are not something in my record book. I've never succumbed to such a thing and I never will, my friends. Charlie has seen days brighter than the sun and reached heights that, I admit, not a lot of folks have managed to, but that doesn't hide his lowest points either. We've all had the pleasure of watching a broken Charlie Nickles. We've all seen a Nickleman at the end of his rope. We all witnessed Charlie about to quit on everything. Tomorrow night, the cycle restarts again. Whatever high Charlie is feeling going into Savage Solstice, whether it's a drug high or just high on the fact he's locking horns with one of the best again, it will be quite sobering when he's Lobotomized and shoved down that chimney.

Doc finds his place in the book and rests both hands folded together on top of its open face.

It will be different this time, though. As much joy as it brings me to shatter the Nickleman's dreams each and every time we face, I think I will add an extra kick to it this time. A little more for the money, I guess. Charlie thinks I cowered away from this place and am nearly a shell of what I used to be, let him think it. The mountains I scale are far higher than he's ever been able to reach and I'm still climbing. What everyone expects out of this match will come to fruition two fold. The beat-downs, agonizing defeats, and lows that Charlie thought he knew before will compare nothing to the new low that I will be shoving him down to. When the smoke clears and the snow settles, it will not surprise me if it takes another entire year for Charlie to even dream of another session with the good doctor. Now, before I go on too long here and lose your ear over talking about boring old Charlie, let's continue with our story, shall we?


THE HAUNTED CHRONICLES OF DOCTOR LOUIS D'VILLE
An XWFmas Carol
TWO - THE THREE BASTARDS


The doctor opened his eyes and quickly caught his breath.  Was it a nightmare?  Was it trickery?  Sorcery?  He found himself sitting upright in an armchair next to a fireplace that's barely smoldering under a single charred log.  Shifting himself around in the chair, he peered around the room for any suspicious activity or anything out of place.

It was dark, but he could see the room looked as it did when he first laid to rest for the evening.  The door was in place and locked tight, there was no debris scattered about, and certainly no sign of Unknown Soldier anywhere.  Or what(who)ever that was. 

Doc pushed himself from the chair and slowly made his way toward the door, grabbing a candelabrum and lighting three candles on it along the way.  He thought about going back to bed, if he was ever there to begin with, but things just weren't lining up right.  All he remembered after returning home was turning in; never lighting a fire or being in the chair.

It was nothing really.  He wasn't concerned or panicked by this phenomenon.  It was just odd is all.  Perhaps the drink didn't sit well from earlier?  Was it a bad pickled egg, maybe?  It would be difficult not to notice if it was, wouldn't it?  Even so, would he succumb to hallucinations or blackouts?

"Bah…"  Doc mumbled to himself, "Humbug…"

As he reached for the latch on the door, the clock on the wall began to chime.

"Ding!  Dong!"  Said the clock.

It caught the doctor off his guard and nearly caused him to drop the candle.  He looked up to the clock and saw that the two hands are pointed straight up to the Roman numeral twelve.

"Ding!  Dong!"  The clock repeated and it did so ten more times, completing its twelve chimes for midnight.

Doc stood still, staring at it as it sang to him.  Once it finished, he shook his head, mumbled some more humbug nonsense and reached for the door again.  As he opened it, he heard a crash once again coming from outside his room somewhere in his home.

EUREKA!

He thought to himself.

A CLATTER FROM DOWNSTAIRS!

Perhaps none of it was a dream or hallucination, after all!  Doc and Soldier, or the ghost of, must've tied one on extra tight after reuniting and the ghostly ghoul (more like ghastly fool!) is downstairs doing ghostly (or ghastly!) things in the middle of the night.

Doc headed for the stairwell and stopped at the top when the sweet aroma of a cigar filled the air and tickled his nostrils.  With his curiosity now peaked, he followed the smell down the stairs and noticed the den a few rooms away fully lit up.  He entered the room and, to his surprise, there was no Unknown Soldier.  Instead, Thunder Knuckles stood in the center of the room, gnawing on a lit cigar, and tinkering with a film projector while he cussed at it.

"Come on you God damn piece of shit," said TK, "No fucking clue why we couldn't spring for a DVD player or at the fucking least a God damn VCR…"

TK looked over and noticed Doc standing in the entrance of the room watching him.

"What up, Doc?"

A confused doctor placed the candelabrum down and slowly approached his most recent unwelcome visitor.  At least this one was announced beforehand, whether Doc took the warning seriously or not.

"Hello, my friend," the doctor reluctantly replied, "What is the meaning of this?"

"FUCKING THING!"

TK screamed out at the projector and slammed his fist down against it.  It clicks then clacks then kicks on! 

"FINALLY!"

He flipped it back off again and dug through a box behind him full of reels of film.

"I beg your pardon!"  Doc shouted over the now silent projector, "To whom do I owe the credit for these late night intrusions?!"

"Chill, Doc!  I got this!"

TK pulled out a reel, read it, then threw it back in.  He pulled out several more until he must have found the one he wanted and began loading it in.

"Got what exactly?"

"I got THIS SHIT!"

TK slammed the film cartridge closed and snapped his fingers which seemed to cause a film screen to unroll from the ceiling.  He clicked the two switches on the side of the projector which sent some gritty moving images across the room.

"I'm really not up for a movie night, my friend.  Perhaps another time?"

"Sorry, Doc.  No can do!"  said TK as he snuffed out the cigar on the bottom of his boot.  "You see, I'm one of the Goddamn bastards that were dropping by tonight.  I'm the Bastard of XWFmas Past and supposed to show you some shit about your past to help you remember what a badass you are or some damn thing."

"Bah…  If you're suggesting, just like everyone else has been doing, that I come back for another reign of terror…  I'm not interested."

"I don't give a fuck what you do, Doc.  I know you're a badass, but I can't leave until you see this shit.  So, pour a glass and pull up a chair."

Doc had already convinced himself that he was dreaming.  Everything was far too strange tonight and there was no way that a member from the once notorious Brotherhood of Baddies, a true bastard, would've convinced him to stay up late and watch home movies.  However, since he was dreaming, why not humor the situation and see where it goes?

"And keep in mind, Doc, I wasn't around through the first part of this, so you'll have to fill me in on some details."

So, Doc took a seat and watched closely the film TK was so insistent for him to see.  It opened with his very first couple of sessions in the XWF.  It showed the doctor making his debut at Relentless '14 and winning a battle royal.  Oh, yes, you heard right.  Doc made his debut at Relentless.  He then turned around and won another battle royal on Madness, solidifying a Television Championship shot in the near future in only his second XWF appearance.

"Who the hell was booking this shit back then?"

"I don't recall," Doc shrugged, "Something on your mind?"

"Nah, just wondering.  You apparently kicked some heads in the first couple of weeks, aye Doc?"

"Oh, I suppose saying I made an impact would be an understate–"

The film goes wonky for a few seconds then switches to Gator versus Doc for the Television Championship…


Dr. D’Ville turns around and looks at the screen. It reads 0:54. Dr. D’Ville begins freaking out. He lifts up Gator and stares him right in the mask. He smiles largely and then picks him up for the LOBOTOMY and nails it! Gator’s neck bends weirdly as he comes down. D’Ville covers quickly and the referee begins the count.


1…



2…



3!


Winner: Docto-

WAIT! The referee is calling that off due to noticing Gator’s foot beneath the rope. Doctor D’Ville looks at the referee with anger as he looks up at the time that reads 0:17. He runs over to Gator and lifts him up.

Dr. D’Ville picks up Gator, but Gator catches him with a punch to the jaw. Gator picks up Dr. D’Ville and nails the DISASTER DROP for a second time! He covers Dr. D’Ville.


1….



2…



3!


WINNER AND STILL XWF TELEVISION CHAMPIONS - GATOR

And with that, this action packed edition of Monday Night Madness, fades out.



That reel of film finished and the end of it flapped around as it continued to spin.

"You were saying?" TK asked as he began swapping out the expired reel.

"That was hardly into the first chapter of the story, my friend.  Move on, move on!  You will see!"

"Goddamn it, Doc!  You don't have to preach to me!  When Bobby gets drunk he has a tendency to bring up one of your chapters.  He likes to reminisce, I guess."

TK started the next film and it went straight into highlights of other matches featuring Doc taking down foes.  He defeated XWF Owner Vinnie Lane, long before Vinnie traded his wrestling boots for suits.  He was crowned King of the XWF for the first time.  He defeated former UFC Heavyweight Champion Brock Lesnar, XWF Legend and fellow King John Samuels, just to name a few.  The film skipped around to a few more chopped up highlights from matches that Doc walked away victorious and ended with him defeating Mastermind for the Xtreme Championship.

"You see!  This is where the true fun began!"  Doc said excitedly.

Scenes of Hysteria, Doc's right hand man, abducting eventual recruits to the Asylum after their matches.  The Asylum all served a Higher Power, which everyone believed was current Universal Champion, Morbid Angel, until Doc cashed-in after Gator defeated him for the title.

"So, how fucked off was Gator when you cashed-in?  He was champ for what?  Five minutes?"

"The entire thing lasted between five and ten."

"Goddamn."

"And of course he was angry!  BUT!  Gator and I could be tipping our glasses in one hand and strangling each other with the other.  We've had that kind of relationship from the start.  He's been one of my greatest patients."

The film continued.  It showed a series of Doc's Universal TItle reign including a rematch against Gator and more title defenses against Vinnie Lane at Bad Medicine, Jonathan Heartsford, and others; until dropping the title to Lane at Relentless in a heart-stopping barn burner also featuring Gator.

"I don't know who half those fuckers are, Doc," said TK scratching his noggin.

"Another time.  A different era.  People come in and phase out.  Not all can be as eternal as, well…  Me."

That reel of film ended and, without missing a beat, TK switched it out for another one.  He seemed to have only a couple more stacked up that he dug out of the box.  The next film started and went straight through the storm that was Doctor SATAN!, the team of Unknown Soldier and the doctor, ravaging through the roster and sparing no teams.  It went on

I do recall all of this, you know.  Why are you showing me this?"

"I told ya, Doc, I can't leave until I do."

"Yes, and you claimed it's to give me some sort of revelation, am I right?"

The next film started and it went straight into Doc and Unknown Soldier storming through a Tag Team Title tournament and defeating Arby Beef, the team of Robbie Bourbon and Scully, in the end to win the championships.

Doc became visibly irritated watching the matches with his former partner. 

"We would still be champions today…"

TK, being a former champion himself, bites on his tongue a bit.

"Damn Doc, if you were STILL champ…  Bobby and I would have never beat YOUR team for the titles.  Remember?  Cuntinuum?"

"Bah!  Doctinuum would have never existed had myself and Theo Pryce not relinquished them either!"

The film of Doc's past continues.  It went onto Doc working with the fellow Kings, mainly Theo Pryce, and defending those Tag Team TItles until they relinquished them at a Shove-It hosted by Doc, himself.

"That was probably the most Goddamn selfless thing I've ever seen anyone do around here, Doc.  Why'd you give them up?"

"Heh," Doc scoffed, "The environment just needed a change.  It may not appear this way through some folks' eyes, but I've always placed this fine federation above all else.  I would do whatever it would take to keep the wheels turning here."

"Whatever it would take, huh?"

The projector made a funny noise and the picture flickered.  TK beat on the side of it with his fist and straightened it out.

"Goddamn thing!"

The film started skipping around now and jumping around the timeline.  It went from the doctor winning matches with Thaddeus Duke and Corey Smith and back and forth to being crowned King of the XWF a second time.  TK started beating on it again when it let out a loud POOF of smoke and quit.  A gust of wind blew through the room blowing out each candle making the room pitch dark.

"Now you did it," said Doc through the darkness.

There was no reply from Thunder Knuckles though.  The reels on the projector started to spin again and the light came back on to show a dark picture on the screen.  Doc stood up from the chair, seeing he is now alone in the room, and walked across the room toward the screen.

Suddenly, ALIAS's big head entered the scene smiling at the doctor.  Doc, in turn, smiled right back at him.

"I figured you'd be showing up soon enough," Doc said to the image staring back at him.

He took another look around for Thunder Knuckles, turning his back to the image, and reached in his pocket for a cigar.  ALIAS's smile slowly transitioned into a scowl and the image projected out from the screen and, with a wide mouth, swallowed him up.

Doc fell and fell through the void.  No walls, no ceiling, no floor.  Doc wasn't even 100% sure if he was falling until he landed hard on a grassy knoll.  The landing took the wind out of him, so once he caught his breath he stood up and looked around.  There was no sky, just the darkness as if this piece of rock where he stood was floating within the void.  He appeared to be in a field where in the distance he heard the din of a chanting crowd of people.  He walked until he crossed the top of another hilltop and saw the old mansion that Corey Smith inherited from Madison Dyson.  The entire property is filled with fans that surround an XWF ring in the backyard.  This was May Day.

He worked his way through the crowd and can see himself standing alone in the center of the ring staring at him.  The fans around him all go silent and turn and look at him.  Doc laughed to himself then felt a hard tap on his shoulder.  He turned around and there stood ALIAS!

"Boo."

ALIAS reached back and punched Doc square in the face sending him flying back into the void!  ALIAS flew and followed him, landing several punches to Doc along the way!  With each hit, they switch through different dimensions and times, from deep space to the moon to underwater to inside a volcano until one final blow sends Doc back to his den and into a chair!

He sat for a few moments, gathering his thoughts after that ass beating rollercoaster ride.  The projector was gone and the place was as if there was never a visit.

Was it all just a dream?

Doc laughed to himself.  Perhaps, but he thought the same last time and wasn't about to be fooled again.  It was then he smelled an amazing aroma coming from his kitchen.  He slowly stood and made his way there.  Walking into the kitchen, he found a long wooden table filled with an entire feast of delicious looking food!  There was a deep fried turkey, a large pig, a goose, giant steaks and prime rib!  Fruits!  Veggies!  Desserts!  Doc looked in amazement, wondering where in the world all of this food came from.  His pantry certainly didn't contain a single one of these things.  Standing with his back turned at the stove stirring something in a large pot was Bobby Bourbon.

"Ahem!"  Doc coughed loudly from across the room.

Bobby turned, waving his wooden spoon and smiling.

"What up, Doc?"

The doctor sighed and slowly strolled around the large table of food.

"Ya hungry?  I made enough for both of us!"  Bobby said with a loud, echoing voice.

"I've actually lost my appetite, good sir."

Bobby's large glowing smile turns upside down into a frown.

"That's too bad.  All business tonight, huh?"

"I suppose you're my second visitor?"

"That no good bastard, I am."

Bobby took a short bow then started rubbing his hands together.

"Well, here we go!"

Bobby stretched his arms out and clapped his hands together poofing Doc and him to another place.  They were standing in XWF Headquarters where Vinnie Lane, Theo Pryce, and all the other XWF Officials sat around a large table within a conference room.

"What's this all about?"

"A meeting of the minds!  A lot changed in the XWF in 2022, so there's a lot to discuss!"

"What are they talking about?"

Bobby motioned for Doc to move and get a little closer so he could hear.

"They can't see or hear ya, Doc.  Go ahead and jump in there."

Doc walked over and stood between Atticus White and Smokin' Bob.  Vinnie had everyone's attention as he shuffled through a pile of papers.

"Things just aren't like they were, dudes.  We've had dark times before and even made money through the pandemic.  But times have changed, I guess."

"Are we closing?"  Smokin' Bob interjected.

"No, no," Vinnie quickly replied.

"We've come up with a plan to beat this to the curve, " Theo said, "We'll simply cut back on production and touring to maintain revenues and devote all of our talent to a single show."

"We're cutting a show?  Which one?"  Smokin' Bob seemed concerned.

"Think of it less as 'Cutting a show' and more as 'Merging the shows'.  We'll be keeping Saturday as our day, but we'll be calling it Weekend Warfare."

"Weekend Warfare?"  Doc said under his breath.  He turned to Bobby who was standing, smiling behind him.  "Have things slowed down that much?"

"Some weeks are better than others," Bobby shrugs, "I guess we have to do what we have to do?  You aren't the only pillar the XWF has lost in the last couple of years, Doc."

The XWF Officials continued to chat, but their voices started to fade and the environment became wavy and woozy.

"Ugh, what's going on?"  Doc asked and held out his arms to keep his balance.

"Time to move on," replied Bobby.

The bastard opened up his arms again and clapped his hands together, poofing him and the doctor again.  This time, they appeared in the crowd at an XWF event.  The ring apron and the signs showed that they're at a Savage apparently around Halloween.  In the ring, the current XWF Tag Team Champions, the Midnight Dolls, were taking on the new team of John Madison, Jr. and Angelica Vaughn.

"Well, would you look at that!  Dolly Waters, a Tag Team Champion!"

"Oh yeah, her and Vita are great!"

Before Doc could even start enjoying the match, it was over and they were crowning new champions.

"That was short-lived," Doc said, disappointed.

"It was.  Dolly's heart has always been in the right place, but you know what would really get her invested?"

"Yes.  Yes, I do.  I've been through enough tag teams in my day, though, Mister Bourbon.  She needs to understand that I have no interest in such ventures any longer.  If I do anything, at all, it will be solo."

"Heh!  It sounds like we're making some progress…  A couple hours ago you didn't humor the idea of a return at all!"

"Don't put your wagon ahead of the pony, sir…  If anything, that more solidifies my future of never teaming with anyone again."

"If you say so!"  Said Bobby as he, without warning, reached out and clapped his hands together again!

Now, they appeared backstage at an XWF event.  Crew and staff members bustled around, getting everything ready for the upcoming show.  XWF talent were scattered about, some congregating and others minding their own businesses and going about their own regime of psyching themselves up.

"Are we attending another show?" Asked Doc.

"Nah!  I just want you to see the line-up."

Bobby led him over to the wall where the card was posted for everyone to see.  The Main Event featured Mark Flynn defending the XWF Universal Championship against Micheal Graves.  They were at the most recent XWF premier event, Bad Medicine.

"Mark Flynn finally achieved his boyhood dream, I see."

"He sure did!  And it looks like he'll be holding it for a long, long time, Doc.  I mean, unless you or I step in and have anything to say about it!"  Bobby laughed and nudged Doc with his elbow.

"Bah..  Humbug!"  Doc moaned.

"Look further up the card."

Doc did just that and saw Jenny Myst defending the Xtreme Championship.

"Oh, Jenny.  Still scraping and clawing her way to nowhere?"

"Hmm..  Not so much, Doc," Bobby said with concern, "They're not 'Merging' shows just because of small shows…  There's just not a lot of talent out there anymore.  If Jenny plays her cards right, she could finally end up with a briefcase."

"Pfft!"

If Doc was drinking a glass of milk it would've spewed from his nose.

"Impossible!  It could be raining briefcases from the sky and Jenny wouldn't get hit with one.  It's not the first time she's held the title, probably won't be the last, but she'll do what she and her idiot on again-off again boyfriend always do and screw it up."

"I like your optimism, doctor."

Further up the card, Charlie Nickles is defending the Supercontinental Championship against Ned Kaye.  Doc basically ignores it and continues up to the top.

"Doesn't look terrible.  I'm not sure what everyone is so upset about."

"It's only a matter of time…"

"What is?"

"It's only a matter of time until Charlie gets that one Universal Title shot, Doc."

"Oh, NOW you're really stretching, Mister Bourbon!  You just said that Mark Flynn is the next unbeatable, long-standing Universal Champion we will have?  Unless, of course, you or I have something to say.  How is it you see Charlie succeeding where only you or I could?"

"Flynn won't be around forever.  Charlie, on the other hand, I think will be.  I think he'll wait around long enough or die trying, Doc.  The guy is obsessed."

"He's obsessed with beating me.  I think the Universal Championship is just closer within his grasp, and we all know Charlie…  That low hanging fruit is just too hard to pass up."

Doc looked over the card for another moment then turned around to see that another one of his bastard companions had vanished and he was standing alone in the street.  It's the same street through town that he walked through earlier, only it's wrecked.  The filth was piled up more than usual, as if it hadn't been cleaned in months.  Most of the buildings were abandoned with the windows and doors boarded up, "Danger!" tape surrounded some of the buildings, warning those to stay out in case the building collapsed.  The Drunken Barney, the town's single pub, is no longer standing.  All that was left was the rubble from a fire that burned the place to the ground.

"What?  What happened here?!"

Doc spun in place, looking at the dystopian-like scene around him.  Mid-turn, he walked right into a tall hooded fellow in a dark cloak.  They had no face and no true form to their figure.  They did not speak and only stood motionless before Doc.

"And let me guess?  You're a bastard.  Which one of you is hiding under that hood?"

Doc attempted to peer under the hood, but was unable to see nothing in the face.  Just the ever so familiar void.

"Hmm.  Very well, then.  So, what is it that you have to show me?"  Doc inquired.

The cloaked-being pointed up the road to a small house on the corner.  Doc made his way towards it and looked through the window.

"What do we have here?"

Inside, Doc saw a large wooden table surrounded by all the XWF Officials he had seen at headquarters before, minus Vinnie Lane and plus Mastermind.

"Where's the Loverboy?"

Doc put his head close to try and listen through the window.  Mastermind was speaking.

"I believe this could possibly be the greatest year in the XWF, ever.  After purchasing the XWF from Vinnie Lane for 1 trillion dollars, I'm proud to call myself the new owner of the Xtreme Wrestling Federation."

Doc took a step back.

"You're kidding?"  He said, looking up to the ghostly figure beside him.

Theo sat across the table, pouring himself another stiff drink and throwing it to the back of his throat.  Atticus White slept in his chair, drooling off to the side of his mouth.  Jonathon Barrows, Liam Desmond, and Smokin' Bob were all playing cards.

"Where the—  Where is Lane?"

The bastard pointed through the window at a small cupboard where a postcard hung of Vinnie and Roxy living on some island in the south Pacific.

"It's hard to believe Mister Lane would walk away from all of this.  Him and I, we've been part of this for a long time.  Together, and not just us, but Gator, Theo, even Mastermind…  So many others!  So many pillars!  This place has lost the support it needs!"

Doc continued to hold his face to the window, but fell to his knees.

"Tell me, you bastard…  This isn't really happening, is it?  There's a chance to change this, is there not?"

The bastard said nothing.  It turned its back on the doctor and slowly walked back the way they came.  Doc rose back to his feet and followed it.

As they approached the center of town again, Doc can hear a lot of indistinguishable rabble.  It sounded like it was someone yelling through a megaphone, but it did more distortion than amplifying to whoever's voice it was through it.  They eventually got close enough to see that the stage at the center square in town was occupied with a handful of people, and one obnoxious fellow yelling up on the stage.  It didn't take much longer for Doc to realize who it was.  It was the Nickleman.

And around his waist was the XWF Universal Championship.

"No…"  Doc muttered.  "It can't be."

They reached the stage and the doctor's eyes did not deceive him at all.  It's true.  Charlie Nickles was the Universal Champion.

"Ladies and gentlemen!  Boys and girls!  Milfs of all ages!  The XWF presents to you…  The UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!!!!  THE NICKLEMAN!!!!"

Charlie shouts his distorted message through the megaphone.

"Eunice and I couldn't be happier together!  Of all the beauties I've had in the past…  Connie…  Goldie….  Eunice definitely takes the cake!  She is the prettiest!  The smartest!  The boldest!  And thuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh seeeeeeeeeeeeexxxxxxxiesssst!!  We're getting married and we're going to be together fore—"

Before Charlie could finish, Jenny Myst jumped on the stage with a 24/7 Briefcase and smacked Charlie in the back with it!  An XWF referee slid onto the stage in waiting, but Charlie took the blow like a true champion!  He turned around and plowed Jenny square in the face with a hard fist, knocking her back off the stage!

"KNOCK IT OFF JENNY YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!"

"This can't be true….  Jenny with a case?  Charlie with the…"  Doc's voice squeaks, "Charlie with the Universal TItle?!  What nightmare is this?"

Doc looked up to the bastard.

"You no good bastard…  You bastard!  Tell me!  Tell me there's a way to stop this!  Tell me that Charlie will never be Universal Champion!"

The bastard said nothing and Doc became more and more angry with it.  He fell to his knees and grabbed the bastard's cloak.

"You bastard!  I'll do whatever it takes!  Please!  Please tell me!  Please!  Oh, you bastards!  You're all bastards!"

Doc shook the cloak more, closing his eyes, weeping into it.  He wept until he no longer felt the cold chill of the wind outside or smelled the rotten smell that lingered in the streets.  He opened his eyes and was no longer in the dirty street.  He was back in his cozy bed, within his home that appeared unbothered by the visits he had the night before.

He rushed out his bedroom door, threw on an overcoat, and stormed the streets!  There was Mark Flynn, doing his normal thing in the center of town to his normal crowd of people, and yes, while holding and flailing about his Universal Championship.  Barney Green was just opening the tavern for the day as the Drunken Barney stood, in as good condition as it has ever been.  Mastermind continued selling his high collared, white "I Mastered Your Mind" shirts just outside, apparently making a killing in sales today already!  Doc rushed down the street to Theo Pryce's home.  He looked through the window to see Theo sitting with his family and also Vinnie Lane and Roxy Cotton all enjoying a wonderful XWFmas morning.  Doc changed his face from the bright, glowing smile to his normal dark scowl before burstin in through the door!

"Doc?"  Vinnie said as he took a chooch from his vape pen.

Doc grumbled.

"What's up, Doc?"  Vinnie asked.

"Wondering where Mister Pryce is this fine morning.  He's several minutes late."

"Holy man, Doc!"  Theo shouted.  "I told you!  I'm not coming in today!  I don't work on holidays!"

Doc stood silent for a moment, but could no longer hold it in.  He burst into a smile and gleeful tears and wrapped his arms around everyone within reach!

"Why, of course not!  Why would any normal person work a holiday?!"  Doc cheerfully said.

"Call an ambulance…"  Vinnie quietly said leaning into Roxy.

"What a fine day, my friends!  What a fine day, indeed!  And we shall celebrate it together!  Tell me, Mister Loverboy…  You are still running the show here, correct?"

"Uhh..  Yeah, dude.  I'd never let this place go."

Doc stretched his smile further than he ever had this day.  And some even say that his heart even grew three sizes…  And a new fire sparked.

Was it all a dream?

It all seemed like one, but Doc felt different.  He came-to with a different attitude.  Seeing what could become of the place that he adored so much without him, or anyone else to choke out and chop off the head of the weak, gave him a similar drive that he had as a new XWF superstar.  Before the accolades, titles, and records.  Before the Hall of Legends.  Before the miles and miles he climbed up the great mountain that was his career.  Looking ahead, Doc saw another mountain.  He saw more accolades.  More titles.  More records to break.  The bleak light that was at the end of the tunnel before is bright and as illuminated as ever and a new hunger now grows within him.  The doctor and his friends celebrated and partied all through the day and long into the night.  Once it was all said and done and everyone had their fill of food, presents, family, love, and XWFmas cheer, Vinnie Lane left us all with one final thing to take home with us.

"Gather around, ya'll!  I have something to say."

With all ears and eyes upon him.

"Fuck Ghost Tank, everyone."


THE END
]]> <![CDATA[Cracking Open A Cold Heart]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45294 Fri, 16 Dec 2022 23:24:29 -0800 Charlie Nickles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45294 Darkness

To the left of me


Darkness

To the right of me


Darkness
Surrounding me


Darkness

Inside of me




I awake to the slow drip of a leaky faucet, my mind drenched in confusion as I sit up from the cold concrete floor. Sweaty chills run down my warped spine as I pat myself up and down, just making sure that my body’s still in one piece. Thankfully, it is! Except I seem to be missing my right ear…..is that new? I rest a hand on my head and close my eyes, trying to remember how the hell I got here in the first place……but it’s no use. I can’t remember.

Can you?

Either way, I shake the cobwebs out of my mind with a few forceful twirls of the noggin. As I push myself up to my feet I immediately feel something firm against my scalp, preventing me from reaching my true height.

A glass ceiling.

The glass was set to my exact height, as if it were put there just to make me feel small. The glass was cold, calculating, uncaring: yet still, I felt a radiating warmth coming off the nichrome wire embedded all throughout the ceiling. I wonder what that stuff’s for? Regardless of its meaning, the heated glass wire makes for a welcome guest in this damp and lonely hideaway.

Still, it’s not enough to keep my chills at bay.

Instinctively, I bring my arms over my chest to conserve heat as I walk beneath the only source of my warmth. My teeth clack together as my body shakes, the cold air around me whipping itself into a frenzy, as if being worked into a rage by the laborious breaths of Boreas himself (google it, bitch).

I rub some snot off my frosted nose before wiping my hand on the glass ceiling. My left hand…..

Jesus motherfuck!

I recoil sharply as a searing pain shoots into my hand from the burning wires. I raise my left hand and squint through the darkness, staring at the severe burn scars that have suddenly sprouted upon my flesh. But for some reason the seared flesh on my hand appears to have been roasted ages ago, a true mystery to my crack-addled mind.

As I try to turn my body, I realize that the glass is not only on the ceiling: it’s completely surrounding me. My blood pressure spikes as my anxiety rises….because just where the fuck am I?

I start placing my hand out in front of me, one burned and one virgin, trying to feel for an open space in the glass…but it’s no use. On every side of me is a glass panel with heated wires, and they all burn. Beyond the glass I see only darkness.

Where the hell am I?!

Suddenly, the wires in the glass flip ‘off’ and begin losing their heat. The temperature around me drops even further, and I can feel my heartbeat falling with it. This couldn’t be good….wherever I was, the situation was becoming dire: and I needed something to change, quick!

As if upon my command, one of the glass panels trapping me in place suddenly cracked vertically. I tried to stake a step back but couldn’t, because there wasn’t any space for lil’ ol’ Charlie in these parts. Yet still, somehow and someway, the cracked glass shattered, creating a gap in my confinement. With the frosty winds ripping through the darkness and whipping my bare flesh, I felt no choice but to walk through the newly shattered space. Thankfully, it was just large enough for a Nickleman to slip through!

The glass ceiling forces me to hunch down as I creeped forward into the dark unknown, stepping all over broken glass, hoping for the best but always prepared to be the worst.


It was cold.

Colder than it had ever been.

Inside the worthless heart of this Nickleman!




What can you take away from the man who has nothing?

A man who has been given nothing, a man who has been spit on and ridiculed, a man who has been cast away and discarded. A man who has had to work for everything he has, a man who has sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears for his sacred NOTHINGNESS.

A man who was never welcomed, never accepted, never wanted. A man who has survived hell and highwater just to be told that he will NEVER be enough, time and time again, just because he IS. A man who knows praise comes from the backhand, a man who always bites the hand that feeds.

So I ask again….what can you take away from the man who has nothing?

That’s what the Doctor is tasked with this week.

I pause as I hear a madman’s ramblings being piped into the scene. I look up with a curious cock of the head as I swear I’ve heard that voice before…was it coming from the glass ceiling? I put my ear against the glass to listen closer and….FUCK! It burned me again! Jesus…I probably should have seen that one coming. I run my left hand up to my ear, and suddenly my ear is MISSING!

But wait….have I always been short an ear? I pause in thoughtful reflection as I carefully consider the question, as well as my current predicament. I don’t make any progress on either question, because that sweet sweet cocaine is still coursing through my veins and running the show. But…could the two questions possibly be related?

Nah.

I shrug, quickly accustoming myself to the new searing sensation on the side of my head. I continue lurching forward, unstoppable as I approach my destination….wherever the fuck that may be!

Can Doc take my pride? My dignity? My dreams?

Fuck…what is there left to take? By this point you’re picking over years-old meat, spoiled and soured.

’Charlie Nickles will never be a universal champion, he can’t win the big one!’....

So? Is this match secretly for the uni, did I miss a memo or a carrier pigeon? Or did Doc just watch ALIAS’s promos against me and start jacking lines or something? Come on you senile Soldierfucker, I’m the one jacking ALIAS’ swagger this week! Don’t copy what I’m copying, you lazy fucking copycat!

Shit, no wonder Vinnie and Theo would never let me go against Doc D’Ville for the universal championship….they’ll never let me waltz into that belt the easy way. It’s the same reason they wouldn’t let me fight Peter Vaughn for the big one, because we ALL saw how that one would have played out!

I had to come to grips with this hard truth years ago, when I realized that Theo Pryce would sooner create a twitter Trilogy than properly recognize The Nickleman’s pedigree. The XWF just can’t take the taste of a Nickleman championship reign, and with all the chips stacked against me it’s starting to look like The Nickleman will never reach the river, only the flop.

That’s why you’re about to see the turn, it’s just a few minutes away, in live action HD!

The swaggerless stylings of a lunatic don’t distract me as I continue moving forward, undeterred and far beyond reproach. I still wasn’t sure where I was, but I knew exactly what I was doing: getting the fuck out of here! I still felt the glass above me and to my sides, but now, I noticed that I could still feel glass behind me with every step. It’s like the glass was following me, blocking me in, preventing me from ever going back on this path I’ve made????.
But i wasn’t concerned because i was just moving forward?

The only thing the Doctor can take from me is an all-expense paid vacation down a fucking chimney!

That sounds like the Doctor, doesn’t it? “Vacation”? I wonder if he was still on the XWF dole for this entire year, even if he only showed his wrinkly face four times on television. This lazy fucking ‘legend’ doesn’t take vacations away from the ring, he takes vacations back TO the ring! But this CHEAP son of a bitch can only ever afford a one-night stay, no tours and no cruises, because he’s not INVESTED in the future of this federation like I am! I’m a cornerstone of the new era, the most prominent face on today’s wrestling mount rushmore, so of course I want to see the XWF prosper long into the future. Putting this federation on my back and carrying it into the future is how I’m making my legacy, baby!

The ungrateful among you call me a glory hog and a narcissist, but ol’ Dawk is the only one coming into this match with an inflated ego. That geezer thinks he’s at the top of my list? Fuck, tell me you missed the entire summer without telling me you missed the entire summer. Everyone fucking knows the guy at the top of my list is him, and if Doc doesn’t know who he is, then that just goes to show how much fucking mental degradation he pummeled into ol’ Dawk! Or maybe it goes to show you that I’ve already scratched him out of this federation, and off my fucking list- rendering the rest of the list useless.

Either way the Doctor can’t take shit from me, because the streets will always know what I’m about and the critics will never bring themselves to admit it…but I know exactly what I can take from the Doctor.

His ’good’ fucking name!!!!!!

Charlie Nickles can’t get it done in big-time matches, Doc said it himself….so when The Nickleman gets his hand raised in victory tomorrow night, everyone will know right then and there that Doc’s days of being in the ‘big-time matches’ are long fucking gone. These days, the Doctor is just a lazy sequel, equal parts uninspired and repetitive. His prime was so long ago the new fans don’t even know who he is, if you tell them I’m fighting the Doctor they’ll probably just say WHO?

Take one fucking gander at his latest vignettes and you’ll see what I mean. Doc D’Ville was running around acting like the Milli Vanilli of pro wrasslin’. This literal piece of dogshit is bout’ to get fucking dogwalked for trying to pass off someone else’s homework as his own. This ‘space wizard’ was really sitting at home one day, probably in his Lay-Z-Boy chair, drinking a god-damned diet soda watching Christmas movie marathons. He saw ‘A Christmas Carol’ and thought ‘shit, I kinda look like that saggy geezer!’, and now he’s running Charlie Dickens’ plays with only the slightest of audibles.

That’s lazy. That’s hackneyed. That’s fainéant. Yeah, you deaf fucks, I said ‘fainéant’. If you don’t know what ‘fainéant’ means, lemme’ define it through context. Doc wasted all his time cosplaying a Charles Dickens character that meant fainéant, so when the last ever Savage rolls around Doc’s going to get……

CHARLES DICK-EN HIS ASS! 

I trek and I trek, moving forward through the darkness without a second thought as my body grows increasingly numb. I’m not sure if it’s from the street drugs or the chilling cold, but either way I know I need to soldier through it if I want to get out of this place!

No one wants to see Doc D’Ville anymore, they want to see Charlie Nickles and his bastard boys.

What, you don’t believe me?

Just take another gander at the good bitch himself, and you’ll see what I mean! He won’t even come to the fucking camera by himself anymore, because he knows no one wants to watch an old man shuffle around aimlessly for years. No one wants to see Doc D’Ville on their TV screens….they want to see CHAW-LEY! Even Doc D’Ville wants to bring my loveable mug to the people, I mean, have you seen the cameo he’s given me in his latest video package?

OF COURSE YOU HAVE! Because Doc had the good sense to foreshadow the appearance of my name, image, and likeness in his last vignette! Because he knows what sells, he knows what the people want, and he knows who to get it from…..ME!

It’s good that Doc is listening to the people and trying to get back in sync with the norms and standards of the new XWF I’ve crafted. Good for him, and good for me! There’s just one problem, however, and I don’t want this to get lost in translation. So Doc, make sure you turn your hearing aid up this time and really listen to what I’m about to say: .

When I told you to develop a character last week, I didn’t mean you should try to develop MY character!

You fucking idiot! Have you even read Dickens? I haven’t, but I’m pretty fucking sure the old sack of bones LEARNED LESSONS from the ghosts. Real ones, that changed his life and shit! That’s what makes Dickens’ story good and memorable! What fucking lessons are you going to learn, doughboy? Nothing that sticks with you past tomorrow night, I guaran-fucking-tee that. The only lesson you’re going to learn is that you should never wrestle Charlie Nickles more than once, because sooner or later he WILL clean your fucking clock!

ESPECIALLY if it’s a grandfather clock!

I squint my eyes in disbelief, pausing for a brief moment before a big smile pops onto my face.

There’s a light at the end of this freezing glass tunnel! I take off in a dead sprint as I charge towards the obscured rays of light waving to me from the end of this madness. I feel the sudden joy of relief as all my confusion washes away. I still didn’t know where I was, but I always knew what I was doing: and now, I finally knew WHY I was doing it! All of it was for this! For this shining, guiding light!

As I ran for the light I could still feel the glass all around me, but now, it didn’t feel quite so oppressive. I was able to breathe more freely despite the suffocating cold, the numbing of my body was overcome with the purpose of my mind. I knew that it would all be worth it once I finally reached that light!

But when I reached it, I didn’t know what to do with it.

My sprint came to a sudden halt as I ran up on the light I had so forcefully struggled to reach. Now that I was here, I could tell that the glorious light was peeking out from behind a painted front door.

An uncomfortably familiar door.

The door to my old family home.

With mixed emotions and a newfound sense of dread, I slowly pushed open the door and crept inside…..


[Image: R.10a6911950a9e836ebfc20e3c3bb7aab?rik=T...ImgRaw&r=0]

Jolly old Saint Nickleman
Lean your ear this way
Don't you tell a single soul
What I'm going to say


I step into my old living room, and it looks exactly like I remembered it: but with a bigass Christmas tree tucked away in the corner with minimal ornaments upon it and gifts beneath it. Connie always loved her tacky holiday shit. A few tattered pieces of furniture surround a box television with a cracked screen. The growing pit in my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I cracked the TV screen after Connie refused to help me steal her mother’s pain medications.


Christmas Eve is coming soon
Now, you dear Nickleman
Whisper what you'll bring to me
Tell me if you can


I glance over to an antique radio resting on the mantle above our boarded-up fireplace, playing distorted Christmas music. I remember that Connie was so excited to move into a house with a chimney, but she was so disappointed when she found out the landlords closed it up years ago. Of course, I knew the entire time….but I never liked sharing the full truth with Connie. I always felt like I had more power and control when she was in the dark on certain things….on, well, everything.

Connie must have felt like she was walking on glass around me. Not sure what she can do right, not sure what I want from her, not sure what she needs to do to make the terror stop. As I look back to the cracked TV screen, I’m reminded of the similar mark I left on Connie’s pretty little face. My stomach rages with nausea, because in my heart of hearts I know Connie didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve any of it!

I feel a wave of regret wash over me, but then, another wave of excitement washes that away as I see Connie and my kids walk into the living room! They’re all wearing matching pajama sets, with printed-on reindeer and elves set across a red polyester background. They looked pretty cute. My kids looked a lot younger than I remember them being, but shit, I rarely saw the little bastards so I didn’t think twice about it.

Until they ran right through me, like I wasn’t even there.

Come to daddy! Your family man is back!

I hopped down on one knee as I swung my arms out wide, anticipating some big hugs from Tyler and Emily….gestures of affection that never came.

Can we open up presents now, mommy?!

She said we have to wait til’ daddy gets home!

But I’m here…I’m actually here this time, somehow, someway….

The kids run right to the Christmas tree, but hey….they’re just kids. Of course they’re stupidly excited about the presents! I wonder what Connie got them….I hope she said some of them were from me. I turn and look back to the mother of my only son, and she looks as gorgeous as she did when I first met her…but her mascara is runny, and her nose looks red from irritation.

Well….at least it’s nice to see you again.

As my ex-wife approaches I reach out and try to peck her on the cheek: but I don’t feel anything at all. Not in an emotional sense, like some sort of lovelost divorcee….I mean literally, I don’t feel anything at all when I try to touch her!

I step back in shock as Connie walks right through me, towards the children who are eagerly divvying up the sparse presents beneath the tree. Connie kneels down and places a hand on the shoulder of each child, sniffling to herself before looking between the kids with immeasurable strength.

I don’t think your father is going to be home for Christmas this year.

Again?!

Again….

Connie looked away in shame, biting her tongue as a single tear slipped out the corner of her eye. I could tell she didn’t want to bury me in front of the kids, both literally and metaphorically, like I’ve so often tried to do to her. I could tell from the quiver in her lip that she was struggling to hold it together right now. Tyler looked to the floor, downtrodden.

Told you! So can we open the presents now?

Connie looked towards our front door longingly, staring right through my empty soul. I fall back against the door, defeated, sliding down to the floor as I lose the last legs I was standing on: the very same way my family lost me ages ago. Connie turns back towards the kids and, with an aching pain in her voice, tells them to go ahead without me.

Yeah…you can open the presents.

Which ones are from dad?

All the presents are from your father and I equally…

Yeah right.

Emily rolls her eyes, but I can see that she’s just using sarcasm to mask her pain and disappointment. No wonder Emily doesn’t love me anymore.

I lean back against the door, as ethereal and absent as ever. I’m still missing from my family’s Christmas portrait, even as I sit mere feet from them. But my life is just like that damned glass hallway: there’s no going back on my path…..or is there?


ITTTTT’’’’SSSSS PRESENTS TIIIIIMMMMEEEEE! PRESENTS UNWRAPPING MONSTER UNLEAAASSSHHHHEEEEDDD!

Tyler jumps to his feet and starts pounding on his chest like King Kong, exactly like I taught him to do. Even the sadness suffocating my soul couldn’t stop me from chuckling as he picked up a Christmas present and piledrived it to the ground! Then, he furiously unwrapped the box before opening it up and pulling out a torn piece of notebook paper.

Oh it’s…..it says it’s an I-O-U…..what’s that?

Connie puts a comforting hand on Tyler’s head as she fights back her own tears. I shake my head in disgust, with myself and my decisions, before shifting my rageful gaze to the radio above the fireplace that just WON’T SHUT THE FUCK UP!

When the clock is striking twelve
When I'm fast asleep
Down the chimney broad and black
With your pack you'll creep

Gifted nothing but destitution, my wife and children break into tears. As I watch my family shatter I can’t help but to join them, but this is a view I can’t bear to have. I wipe the weeping wetness from my face before pulling myself back up to my feet. I look back to my family one last time before pushing back through the front door. I can’t shake the taunting whispers as I walk away from my family, just like I always have before….


You fucking deserve this.

We all know you deserve this.

Even YOU know you deserve this!

Where were you, when they needed you most?

You weren’t here.

So where were you?

Does anyone know where he was, when he wasn’t here?

I hoped beyond hope that you were dead, and now tomorrow night, I get the chance to make some real change the XWF can believe in! Because I’m the NICKLEman, bitch! So you should already know that making CHANGE is just what I do! What does Doc D’Ville een know about change? Shiiit, the only time Dawk ever thought about changing was when ALIAS made him soil his adult fucking diapers!

If Doc D’Ville was even half the star he says he is, he should’ve been here this year when the chips were down and the XWF needed the help. This summer I was the only man to regularly bounce between Savage and Warfare, headlining show after show like the god-damned Beatles in the flesh. We had 2-match cards and I carried the load, but one man can only do so much. Eventually, the ‘help’ has to actually help out! But we couldn’t even get a god damned cameo from the Doctor. He doesn’t think we needed the ratings, or what? We lost a fucking program on next year’s TV deal because we couldn’t fill the time slots, AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THAT’S A PROBLEM?!

Now doesn’t this reverse the grain?

I thought Charlie Nickles was supposed to be the bad guy, a pure fucking vermin who does no good for nobody. I thought Doc D’Ville was supposed to be a homegrown XWF legend, one who’d go down with the ship before fleeing like a rat: but I guess conventional wisdom has been wrong before. It’s like I said last week, these names speak for themselves…you just have to know what you’re listening for!

Do you know what I want you to be listening for this week?

No, you’re not going to find it here. But you’ll see it soon enough, if you’ll just lend me an ear.

It’s like I’ve been saying all along, our names speak for themselves. All year long I’ve been telling everyone exactly who I am and what I stand for: namely, the entirety of the XWF! But I don’t just stand for it. I walk for it, I leap for it, I bleed for it, I win for it and I lose for it. I climb the peaks of professional greatness for the XWF, I chase down the legends for the XWF, I do the things they say can’t be done for the XWF!

I even do the things they don’t want me to do for the XWF.

Yet still, only a fool or a charlatan could deny the fact that I’ve got legendary reigns tied to this federation, like a powerful Oxen dragging us all through uncharted lands, sturdy and strong! I was the last Supercontinental Champion anyone will remember, and I’m the only TV champion anyone needs to know- yet still, that’s only scratching the surface of my burgeoning legacy.

Can you feel it, Doc? You selfish fucking prick? Can you feel that sharp anguish in your chest, just working that way through your body? That’s my legacy about to be free from your rotted fucking corpse.

You fucking deserve this.

We all know you deserve this.

Even YOU know you deserve this!


]]> Darkness

To the left of me


Darkness

To the right of me


Darkness
Surrounding me


Darkness

Inside of me




I awake to the slow drip of a leaky faucet, my mind drenched in confusion as I sit up from the cold concrete floor. Sweaty chills run down my warped spine as I pat myself up and down, just making sure that my body’s still in one piece. Thankfully, it is! Except I seem to be missing my right ear…..is that new? I rest a hand on my head and close my eyes, trying to remember how the hell I got here in the first place……but it’s no use. I can’t remember.

Can you?

Either way, I shake the cobwebs out of my mind with a few forceful twirls of the noggin. As I push myself up to my feet I immediately feel something firm against my scalp, preventing me from reaching my true height.

A glass ceiling.

The glass was set to my exact height, as if it were put there just to make me feel small. The glass was cold, calculating, uncaring: yet still, I felt a radiating warmth coming off the nichrome wire embedded all throughout the ceiling. I wonder what that stuff’s for? Regardless of its meaning, the heated glass wire makes for a welcome guest in this damp and lonely hideaway.

Still, it’s not enough to keep my chills at bay.

Instinctively, I bring my arms over my chest to conserve heat as I walk beneath the only source of my warmth. My teeth clack together as my body shakes, the cold air around me whipping itself into a frenzy, as if being worked into a rage by the laborious breaths of Boreas himself (google it, bitch).

I rub some snot off my frosted nose before wiping my hand on the glass ceiling. My left hand…..

Jesus motherfuck!

I recoil sharply as a searing pain shoots into my hand from the burning wires. I raise my left hand and squint through the darkness, staring at the severe burn scars that have suddenly sprouted upon my flesh. But for some reason the seared flesh on my hand appears to have been roasted ages ago, a true mystery to my crack-addled mind.

As I try to turn my body, I realize that the glass is not only on the ceiling: it’s completely surrounding me. My blood pressure spikes as my anxiety rises….because just where the fuck am I?

I start placing my hand out in front of me, one burned and one virgin, trying to feel for an open space in the glass…but it’s no use. On every side of me is a glass panel with heated wires, and they all burn. Beyond the glass I see only darkness.

Where the hell am I?!

Suddenly, the wires in the glass flip ‘off’ and begin losing their heat. The temperature around me drops even further, and I can feel my heartbeat falling with it. This couldn’t be good….wherever I was, the situation was becoming dire: and I needed something to change, quick!

As if upon my command, one of the glass panels trapping me in place suddenly cracked vertically. I tried to stake a step back but couldn’t, because there wasn’t any space for lil’ ol’ Charlie in these parts. Yet still, somehow and someway, the cracked glass shattered, creating a gap in my confinement. With the frosty winds ripping through the darkness and whipping my bare flesh, I felt no choice but to walk through the newly shattered space. Thankfully, it was just large enough for a Nickleman to slip through!

The glass ceiling forces me to hunch down as I creeped forward into the dark unknown, stepping all over broken glass, hoping for the best but always prepared to be the worst.


It was cold.

Colder than it had ever been.

Inside the worthless heart of this Nickleman!




What can you take away from the man who has nothing?

A man who has been given nothing, a man who has been spit on and ridiculed, a man who has been cast away and discarded. A man who has had to work for everything he has, a man who has sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears for his sacred NOTHINGNESS.

A man who was never welcomed, never accepted, never wanted. A man who has survived hell and highwater just to be told that he will NEVER be enough, time and time again, just because he IS. A man who knows praise comes from the backhand, a man who always bites the hand that feeds.

So I ask again….what can you take away from the man who has nothing?

That’s what the Doctor is tasked with this week.

I pause as I hear a madman’s ramblings being piped into the scene. I look up with a curious cock of the head as I swear I’ve heard that voice before…was it coming from the glass ceiling? I put my ear against the glass to listen closer and….FUCK! It burned me again! Jesus…I probably should have seen that one coming. I run my left hand up to my ear, and suddenly my ear is MISSING!

But wait….have I always been short an ear? I pause in thoughtful reflection as I carefully consider the question, as well as my current predicament. I don’t make any progress on either question, because that sweet sweet cocaine is still coursing through my veins and running the show. But…could the two questions possibly be related?

Nah.

I shrug, quickly accustoming myself to the new searing sensation on the side of my head. I continue lurching forward, unstoppable as I approach my destination….wherever the fuck that may be!

Can Doc take my pride? My dignity? My dreams?

Fuck…what is there left to take? By this point you’re picking over years-old meat, spoiled and soured.

’Charlie Nickles will never be a universal champion, he can’t win the big one!’....

So? Is this match secretly for the uni, did I miss a memo or a carrier pigeon? Or did Doc just watch ALIAS’s promos against me and start jacking lines or something? Come on you senile Soldierfucker, I’m the one jacking ALIAS’ swagger this week! Don’t copy what I’m copying, you lazy fucking copycat!

Shit, no wonder Vinnie and Theo would never let me go against Doc D’Ville for the universal championship….they’ll never let me waltz into that belt the easy way. It’s the same reason they wouldn’t let me fight Peter Vaughn for the big one, because we ALL saw how that one would have played out!

I had to come to grips with this hard truth years ago, when I realized that Theo Pryce would sooner create a twitter Trilogy than properly recognize The Nickleman’s pedigree. The XWF just can’t take the taste of a Nickleman championship reign, and with all the chips stacked against me it’s starting to look like The Nickleman will never reach the river, only the flop.

That’s why you’re about to see the turn, it’s just a few minutes away, in live action HD!

The swaggerless stylings of a lunatic don’t distract me as I continue moving forward, undeterred and far beyond reproach. I still wasn’t sure where I was, but I knew exactly what I was doing: getting the fuck out of here! I still felt the glass above me and to my sides, but now, I noticed that I could still feel glass behind me with every step. It’s like the glass was following me, blocking me in, preventing me from ever going back on this path I’ve made????.
But i wasn’t concerned because i was just moving forward?

The only thing the Doctor can take from me is an all-expense paid vacation down a fucking chimney!

That sounds like the Doctor, doesn’t it? “Vacation”? I wonder if he was still on the XWF dole for this entire year, even if he only showed his wrinkly face four times on television. This lazy fucking ‘legend’ doesn’t take vacations away from the ring, he takes vacations back TO the ring! But this CHEAP son of a bitch can only ever afford a one-night stay, no tours and no cruises, because he’s not INVESTED in the future of this federation like I am! I’m a cornerstone of the new era, the most prominent face on today’s wrestling mount rushmore, so of course I want to see the XWF prosper long into the future. Putting this federation on my back and carrying it into the future is how I’m making my legacy, baby!

The ungrateful among you call me a glory hog and a narcissist, but ol’ Dawk is the only one coming into this match with an inflated ego. That geezer thinks he’s at the top of my list? Fuck, tell me you missed the entire summer without telling me you missed the entire summer. Everyone fucking knows the guy at the top of my list is him, and if Doc doesn’t know who he is, then that just goes to show how much fucking mental degradation he pummeled into ol’ Dawk! Or maybe it goes to show you that I’ve already scratched him out of this federation, and off my fucking list- rendering the rest of the list useless.

Either way the Doctor can’t take shit from me, because the streets will always know what I’m about and the critics will never bring themselves to admit it…but I know exactly what I can take from the Doctor.

His ’good’ fucking name!!!!!!

Charlie Nickles can’t get it done in big-time matches, Doc said it himself….so when The Nickleman gets his hand raised in victory tomorrow night, everyone will know right then and there that Doc’s days of being in the ‘big-time matches’ are long fucking gone. These days, the Doctor is just a lazy sequel, equal parts uninspired and repetitive. His prime was so long ago the new fans don’t even know who he is, if you tell them I’m fighting the Doctor they’ll probably just say WHO?

Take one fucking gander at his latest vignettes and you’ll see what I mean. Doc D’Ville was running around acting like the Milli Vanilli of pro wrasslin’. This literal piece of dogshit is bout’ to get fucking dogwalked for trying to pass off someone else’s homework as his own. This ‘space wizard’ was really sitting at home one day, probably in his Lay-Z-Boy chair, drinking a god-damned diet soda watching Christmas movie marathons. He saw ‘A Christmas Carol’ and thought ‘shit, I kinda look like that saggy geezer!’, and now he’s running Charlie Dickens’ plays with only the slightest of audibles.

That’s lazy. That’s hackneyed. That’s fainéant. Yeah, you deaf fucks, I said ‘fainéant’. If you don’t know what ‘fainéant’ means, lemme’ define it through context. Doc wasted all his time cosplaying a Charles Dickens character that meant fainéant, so when the last ever Savage rolls around Doc’s going to get……

CHARLES DICK-EN HIS ASS! 

I trek and I trek, moving forward through the darkness without a second thought as my body grows increasingly numb. I’m not sure if it’s from the street drugs or the chilling cold, but either way I know I need to soldier through it if I want to get out of this place!

No one wants to see Doc D’Ville anymore, they want to see Charlie Nickles and his bastard boys.

What, you don’t believe me?

Just take another gander at the good bitch himself, and you’ll see what I mean! He won’t even come to the fucking camera by himself anymore, because he knows no one wants to watch an old man shuffle around aimlessly for years. No one wants to see Doc D’Ville on their TV screens….they want to see CHAW-LEY! Even Doc D’Ville wants to bring my loveable mug to the people, I mean, have you seen the cameo he’s given me in his latest video package?

OF COURSE YOU HAVE! Because Doc had the good sense to foreshadow the appearance of my name, image, and likeness in his last vignette! Because he knows what sells, he knows what the people want, and he knows who to get it from…..ME!

It’s good that Doc is listening to the people and trying to get back in sync with the norms and standards of the new XWF I’ve crafted. Good for him, and good for me! There’s just one problem, however, and I don’t want this to get lost in translation. So Doc, make sure you turn your hearing aid up this time and really listen to what I’m about to say: .

When I told you to develop a character last week, I didn’t mean you should try to develop MY character!

You fucking idiot! Have you even read Dickens? I haven’t, but I’m pretty fucking sure the old sack of bones LEARNED LESSONS from the ghosts. Real ones, that changed his life and shit! That’s what makes Dickens’ story good and memorable! What fucking lessons are you going to learn, doughboy? Nothing that sticks with you past tomorrow night, I guaran-fucking-tee that. The only lesson you’re going to learn is that you should never wrestle Charlie Nickles more than once, because sooner or later he WILL clean your fucking clock!

ESPECIALLY if it’s a grandfather clock!

I squint my eyes in disbelief, pausing for a brief moment before a big smile pops onto my face.

There’s a light at the end of this freezing glass tunnel! I take off in a dead sprint as I charge towards the obscured rays of light waving to me from the end of this madness. I feel the sudden joy of relief as all my confusion washes away. I still didn’t know where I was, but I always knew what I was doing: and now, I finally knew WHY I was doing it! All of it was for this! For this shining, guiding light!

As I ran for the light I could still feel the glass all around me, but now, it didn’t feel quite so oppressive. I was able to breathe more freely despite the suffocating cold, the numbing of my body was overcome with the purpose of my mind. I knew that it would all be worth it once I finally reached that light!

But when I reached it, I didn’t know what to do with it.

My sprint came to a sudden halt as I ran up on the light I had so forcefully struggled to reach. Now that I was here, I could tell that the glorious light was peeking out from behind a painted front door.

An uncomfortably familiar door.

The door to my old family home.

With mixed emotions and a newfound sense of dread, I slowly pushed open the door and crept inside…..


[Image: R.10a6911950a9e836ebfc20e3c3bb7aab?rik=T...ImgRaw&r=0]

Jolly old Saint Nickleman
Lean your ear this way
Don't you tell a single soul
What I'm going to say


I step into my old living room, and it looks exactly like I remembered it: but with a bigass Christmas tree tucked away in the corner with minimal ornaments upon it and gifts beneath it. Connie always loved her tacky holiday shit. A few tattered pieces of furniture surround a box television with a cracked screen. The growing pit in my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I cracked the TV screen after Connie refused to help me steal her mother’s pain medications.


Christmas Eve is coming soon
Now, you dear Nickleman
Whisper what you'll bring to me
Tell me if you can


I glance over to an antique radio resting on the mantle above our boarded-up fireplace, playing distorted Christmas music. I remember that Connie was so excited to move into a house with a chimney, but she was so disappointed when she found out the landlords closed it up years ago. Of course, I knew the entire time….but I never liked sharing the full truth with Connie. I always felt like I had more power and control when she was in the dark on certain things….on, well, everything.

Connie must have felt like she was walking on glass around me. Not sure what she can do right, not sure what I want from her, not sure what she needs to do to make the terror stop. As I look back to the cracked TV screen, I’m reminded of the similar mark I left on Connie’s pretty little face. My stomach rages with nausea, because in my heart of hearts I know Connie didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve any of it!

I feel a wave of regret wash over me, but then, another wave of excitement washes that away as I see Connie and my kids walk into the living room! They’re all wearing matching pajama sets, with printed-on reindeer and elves set across a red polyester background. They looked pretty cute. My kids looked a lot younger than I remember them being, but shit, I rarely saw the little bastards so I didn’t think twice about it.

Until they ran right through me, like I wasn’t even there.

Come to daddy! Your family man is back!

I hopped down on one knee as I swung my arms out wide, anticipating some big hugs from Tyler and Emily….gestures of affection that never came.

Can we open up presents now, mommy?!

She said we have to wait til’ daddy gets home!

But I’m here…I’m actually here this time, somehow, someway….

The kids run right to the Christmas tree, but hey….they’re just kids. Of course they’re stupidly excited about the presents! I wonder what Connie got them….I hope she said some of them were from me. I turn and look back to the mother of my only son, and she looks as gorgeous as she did when I first met her…but her mascara is runny, and her nose looks red from irritation.

Well….at least it’s nice to see you again.

As my ex-wife approaches I reach out and try to peck her on the cheek: but I don’t feel anything at all. Not in an emotional sense, like some sort of lovelost divorcee….I mean literally, I don’t feel anything at all when I try to touch her!

I step back in shock as Connie walks right through me, towards the children who are eagerly divvying up the sparse presents beneath the tree. Connie kneels down and places a hand on the shoulder of each child, sniffling to herself before looking between the kids with immeasurable strength.

I don’t think your father is going to be home for Christmas this year.

Again?!

Again….

Connie looked away in shame, biting her tongue as a single tear slipped out the corner of her eye. I could tell she didn’t want to bury me in front of the kids, both literally and metaphorically, like I’ve so often tried to do to her. I could tell from the quiver in her lip that she was struggling to hold it together right now. Tyler looked to the floor, downtrodden.

Told you! So can we open the presents now?

Connie looked towards our front door longingly, staring right through my empty soul. I fall back against the door, defeated, sliding down to the floor as I lose the last legs I was standing on: the very same way my family lost me ages ago. Connie turns back towards the kids and, with an aching pain in her voice, tells them to go ahead without me.

Yeah…you can open the presents.

Which ones are from dad?

All the presents are from your father and I equally…

Yeah right.

Emily rolls her eyes, but I can see that she’s just using sarcasm to mask her pain and disappointment. No wonder Emily doesn’t love me anymore.

I lean back against the door, as ethereal and absent as ever. I’m still missing from my family’s Christmas portrait, even as I sit mere feet from them. But my life is just like that damned glass hallway: there’s no going back on my path…..or is there?


ITTTTT’’’’SSSSS PRESENTS TIIIIIMMMMEEEEE! PRESENTS UNWRAPPING MONSTER UNLEAAASSSHHHHEEEEDDD!

Tyler jumps to his feet and starts pounding on his chest like King Kong, exactly like I taught him to do. Even the sadness suffocating my soul couldn’t stop me from chuckling as he picked up a Christmas present and piledrived it to the ground! Then, he furiously unwrapped the box before opening it up and pulling out a torn piece of notebook paper.

Oh it’s…..it says it’s an I-O-U…..what’s that?

Connie puts a comforting hand on Tyler’s head as she fights back her own tears. I shake my head in disgust, with myself and my decisions, before shifting my rageful gaze to the radio above the fireplace that just WON’T SHUT THE FUCK UP!

When the clock is striking twelve
When I'm fast asleep
Down the chimney broad and black
With your pack you'll creep

Gifted nothing but destitution, my wife and children break into tears. As I watch my family shatter I can’t help but to join them, but this is a view I can’t bear to have. I wipe the weeping wetness from my face before pulling myself back up to my feet. I look back to my family one last time before pushing back through the front door. I can’t shake the taunting whispers as I walk away from my family, just like I always have before….


You fucking deserve this.

We all know you deserve this.

Even YOU know you deserve this!

Where were you, when they needed you most?

You weren’t here.

So where were you?

Does anyone know where he was, when he wasn’t here?

I hoped beyond hope that you were dead, and now tomorrow night, I get the chance to make some real change the XWF can believe in! Because I’m the NICKLEman, bitch! So you should already know that making CHANGE is just what I do! What does Doc D’Ville een know about change? Shiiit, the only time Dawk ever thought about changing was when ALIAS made him soil his adult fucking diapers!

If Doc D’Ville was even half the star he says he is, he should’ve been here this year when the chips were down and the XWF needed the help. This summer I was the only man to regularly bounce between Savage and Warfare, headlining show after show like the god-damned Beatles in the flesh. We had 2-match cards and I carried the load, but one man can only do so much. Eventually, the ‘help’ has to actually help out! But we couldn’t even get a god damned cameo from the Doctor. He doesn’t think we needed the ratings, or what? We lost a fucking program on next year’s TV deal because we couldn’t fill the time slots, AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THAT’S A PROBLEM?!

Now doesn’t this reverse the grain?

I thought Charlie Nickles was supposed to be the bad guy, a pure fucking vermin who does no good for nobody. I thought Doc D’Ville was supposed to be a homegrown XWF legend, one who’d go down with the ship before fleeing like a rat: but I guess conventional wisdom has been wrong before. It’s like I said last week, these names speak for themselves…you just have to know what you’re listening for!

Do you know what I want you to be listening for this week?

No, you’re not going to find it here. But you’ll see it soon enough, if you’ll just lend me an ear.

It’s like I’ve been saying all along, our names speak for themselves. All year long I’ve been telling everyone exactly who I am and what I stand for: namely, the entirety of the XWF! But I don’t just stand for it. I walk for it, I leap for it, I bleed for it, I win for it and I lose for it. I climb the peaks of professional greatness for the XWF, I chase down the legends for the XWF, I do the things they say can’t be done for the XWF!

I even do the things they don’t want me to do for the XWF.

Yet still, only a fool or a charlatan could deny the fact that I’ve got legendary reigns tied to this federation, like a powerful Oxen dragging us all through uncharted lands, sturdy and strong! I was the last Supercontinental Champion anyone will remember, and I’m the only TV champion anyone needs to know- yet still, that’s only scratching the surface of my burgeoning legacy.

Can you feel it, Doc? You selfish fucking prick? Can you feel that sharp anguish in your chest, just working that way through your body? That’s my legacy about to be free from your rotted fucking corpse.

You fucking deserve this.

We all know you deserve this.

Even YOU know you deserve this!


]]> <![CDATA[Act CVIII: Polar Escapades]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45293 Fri, 16 Dec 2022 23:01:25 -0800 Finn Kühn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45293





14 December 2022
Lake Louise
Alberta, Canada

"I hope you realize just how unsafe this is," I cursed under my breath while pressing the earpiece in deeper. Layers upon layers of clothes bundled me up snugly, providing me with needed warmth as I waded out with ice skates on.

"And I hope you realize that you'll be needing this experience under your belt in general, let alone just for Savage, boy."

The ever-sharp tone of Skyla Hawkins rang out through the earpiece, needling me and having an almost mocking undertone to it all. It earned a sigh from me, and I felt my balance on my skates wavering as the ice stood rigid beneath me. Just... Focus. Focus. Focus.

"This is the last time I ever tell you about something I had trouble doing as a child," I spat back at her.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Christine's near-hyperactive, eager voice almost chirped in my ear. "Finn, are you telling me you had trouble ice-skating as a child?"

[i]Oh, not again. I shook my head, grumbling out something incomprehensible under my breath. I started kicking out across the frozen lake, shaking and stumbling as I tried my best not to fall down.

"Fine! I admit it!" I said while shaking my head. "Fact of the matter is, I always had trouble ice skating when I was a kid. Mom and Dad used to take me out to these rinky-dink ice rinks out in the City, and I always ended up falling over and never skating right. And when that came up in a conversation with Skyla..."

"I took it upon myself to set up this little training exercise for dear Finn here," Skyla finished with a hint of smug pride in her voice.

"Oh. So that explains why we're out in Canada!" Christine said with certainty now restored in her voice once more.

It took me a minute to comprehend just what Christine was saying as my flabbergasted voice chimed out. "Wait a minute. It didn't occur to you to question what the fuck we're doing out in Canada of all places?"

"Well, I knew it was something Skyla had planned for training..." Christine mused with a soft exhale, "...And I also know quite well after the whole golden candy bar fiasco back around Halloween that I reaaaaally shouldn't question whatever Skyla has planned up her sleeve when it comes to this stuff."

That earned a loud laugh from Skyla, who's voice boomed over the other end. "Smart girl."

Glad to see they're acting all chummy right about now. I shook my head, continuing to wade forward as the object of what I was looking for was starting to come into view - a set of flags, raised on the ice, waving about in the frozen winds and staring at me with anticipation.

"Now, Finn," Skyla saw fit to gently guide me onto the task at hand here. "Right about now, you should see the flagpoles I mentioned to you earlier before you came out onto the ice."

"Yeah, I do," I responded. Puffs of steam escaped out in front of me, making it slightly hard to see, but I at least knew the general direction I was going in. My legs felt like they were spaghetti beneath me. It was hard to just keep balance, keep myself on pace, and to keep on going, and...

THUD!

"Fuck!" I shouted into the earpiece as I fell forward. My hands and knees jutted out, helping to break my fall, but in the process, I could feel brief bursts of pain entering my system. Nothing I couldn't handle, but it was still annoying.

"You alright, Finn?" Christine was the first to check on how I was doing, concern lacing her voice. Though she also didn't say anything, Skyla gave a small noise of concern that indicated she was in the same boat as her.

"I... I'm fine," I shot back as I forced myself back up onto my feet. Just had to keep moving. Keep skating. Keep pressing on. My shaky body waded out across the ice, trying to find my footing properly with the skates. "Just hard to... use these things and stay upright."

"If it's a balance issue," Skyla chimed in, "a useful tip is to keep your skates glued to the ice at all times. It's not like walking where you want to raise your foot above the ground. It's more of a... pushing motion off of the ice."

For the love of... Fine. I took a deep breath, having my eyes peeled straight ahead to the nearby set of flags. Just... push forward with your feet. Slowly, I forced my body to obey, going slow at first and trying to pick up steam.

"I... think I'm moving right..." I muttered as I held my arms out to stop my body from wavering.

"Good! Now then, Finn," Skyla remarked with more conviction in her voice. "Now that you have the flagpoles I set in your sights, I want you to go across to all of them and rip the flags off of the pole to collect them. There should be six in total. Once you're done with that, I want you to come back to shore."

"Lucky me..." With my task set before me, it wasn't like I had anything to do but the training exercise. And so, I slowly waddled my way forward, going as slow and steady as I possibly could.

"So, uh... Finn. Considering how... rocky you are on the ice, you think you're ready for Savage against... Man, what was his name? Manny... Manny something..." Christine snapped her fingers, trying to make the name on the tip of her tongue come to fruition.

"Emmanuel D'Monstre," Skyla gently pointed out as I pressed onward.

"Yeah! Him!"

"What the fuck?" I cursed, flabbergasted. "Christine, isn't it kind of... your job to be in the loop when it comes to these guys?"

"I know! I try! I really do!" Her voice pleaded through the earset, though considering the circumstances with this case in particular, I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince me or herself. "He's just kinda... there, though! Like, how did he even get a contract with the XWF?! He's pushing SIXTY, for crying out loud! And there's NO footage of him in any kind of wrestling scenario that would justify him being given a contract! Finn, I think you could just sneeze on him and he'd just topple over!"

It was at that moment I made it to the first flag, trying to fiddle about with circling around it. I managed to find my way though, using the pole for support, and before skating off I managed to snatch the flying black flag. "Charming."

"Well, old age aside, I'd say you still can't afford to underestimate him." Once again, as if trying to even cut off the thought of not giving this match my all, Skyla decided to interject. "For one, he's got years of experience in several combat sports. Considering his experience has him as a judoka, one wrong move means you could be thrown right through the ice. And I'm sure we wouldn't want that, right?"

"Of course not," I sighed. Flag number two was now within my reach too, and I was bobbing and weaving through the poles now.

"Well, not for nothing, but he also lost to Ring Master. And not that Ring Master hasn't improved and all, but at the same time... he was also a lot more focused on BOB than actually trying to deal with him," Christine sighed. "Like, really. Ring Master just went on a podcast before Bad Medicine, and BOB was all he was talking about. So much for trying to hype up your match..."

"Admittedly, I find myself struggling to care as well," I said, ignoring the bitter chill as I pulled down my third flag. "Not in the facet of 'he's a crotchety old man who shouldn't have been even given a contract,' but rather... he's not the kind of man I wanted to face. From the start, I've only been looking to face champions. You know... the best of the best to try and prove myself against. Ever since I've started the Road to the King, though my win-loss record might not be up to scratch, my standard of competition has been one of the highest in here. Kido, Kaye, Centurion, Graves... Manny feels like he's sticking out like a sore thumb. What am I going to prove by dunking a near-senior citizen into freezing water?"

"You can prove that you won't be letting yourself be caught off-guard by granting yourself a deserved victory before you have to focus on bigger matches," Skyla pointed out. "After all, the potential to be the first Number One Contender for what will be the newly unified Television title is going to bring out the best possible competition."

That was a far more valid point as I took my fourth flag. I was starting to rack these up now...

"Fair enough. I just don't like taking off days, is all..." I responded back.

"While we're on the topic of future plans and all that jazz..." Christine said with an unusual lace of seriousness in her tone. My brow furrowed together, wondering what could be coming- "Finn, you wanna explain what you're doing in WGWF as of late?"

Ah. There it was. I snatched my fifth flag as the question came, with only one more to go a while away. I slowly exhaled, figuring this was going to be coming up sooner or later.

"Well," I began, trying to find the right words to say, "I'd say it's simple. I came in to help my... I'm still not sure if friend is the right word, but I'll say ally. I came in to help my ally Buster Gloves settle the score with Peter Vaughn, and tried my best to handle CCPE interference. I took a contract because I see that as the... snake's den, as Buster would probably put it. With Chris Page at the helm there, a lot more gets done by him. Corruption almost fills the air there. I see it as a natural next place to try and help restore, as it were, alongside here. And besides, there's plenty of other champions there who I can try and face and better myself there. All a part of trying to be the best-"

"-or be broken, yeah. I guess I get that. Just... be careful, will you, Finn? It's just as dangerous over there, and we don't need to talk about how you've been putting your body through the wringer with your matches. I'm sure you'd at least want to win some gold first before you get put on the injury list..."

Six out of six flags taken.

I smiled at the bundle of black fabric in my gloved hand, nodding as I did so.

"I'm not planning on leaving any time soon, so long as I can help it."

]]>





14 December 2022
Lake Louise
Alberta, Canada

"I hope you realize just how unsafe this is," I cursed under my breath while pressing the earpiece in deeper. Layers upon layers of clothes bundled me up snugly, providing me with needed warmth as I waded out with ice skates on.

"And I hope you realize that you'll be needing this experience under your belt in general, let alone just for Savage, boy."

The ever-sharp tone of Skyla Hawkins rang out through the earpiece, needling me and having an almost mocking undertone to it all. It earned a sigh from me, and I felt my balance on my skates wavering as the ice stood rigid beneath me. Just... Focus. Focus. Focus.

"This is the last time I ever tell you about something I had trouble doing as a child," I spat back at her.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Christine's near-hyperactive, eager voice almost chirped in my ear. "Finn, are you telling me you had trouble ice-skating as a child?"

[i]Oh, not again. I shook my head, grumbling out something incomprehensible under my breath. I started kicking out across the frozen lake, shaking and stumbling as I tried my best not to fall down.

"Fine! I admit it!" I said while shaking my head. "Fact of the matter is, I always had trouble ice skating when I was a kid. Mom and Dad used to take me out to these rinky-dink ice rinks out in the City, and I always ended up falling over and never skating right. And when that came up in a conversation with Skyla..."

"I took it upon myself to set up this little training exercise for dear Finn here," Skyla finished with a hint of smug pride in her voice.

"Oh. So that explains why we're out in Canada!" Christine said with certainty now restored in her voice once more.

It took me a minute to comprehend just what Christine was saying as my flabbergasted voice chimed out. "Wait a minute. It didn't occur to you to question what the fuck we're doing out in Canada of all places?"

"Well, I knew it was something Skyla had planned for training..." Christine mused with a soft exhale, "...And I also know quite well after the whole golden candy bar fiasco back around Halloween that I reaaaaally shouldn't question whatever Skyla has planned up her sleeve when it comes to this stuff."

That earned a loud laugh from Skyla, who's voice boomed over the other end. "Smart girl."

Glad to see they're acting all chummy right about now. I shook my head, continuing to wade forward as the object of what I was looking for was starting to come into view - a set of flags, raised on the ice, waving about in the frozen winds and staring at me with anticipation.

"Now, Finn," Skyla saw fit to gently guide me onto the task at hand here. "Right about now, you should see the flagpoles I mentioned to you earlier before you came out onto the ice."

"Yeah, I do," I responded. Puffs of steam escaped out in front of me, making it slightly hard to see, but I at least knew the general direction I was going in. My legs felt like they were spaghetti beneath me. It was hard to just keep balance, keep myself on pace, and to keep on going, and...

THUD!

"Fuck!" I shouted into the earpiece as I fell forward. My hands and knees jutted out, helping to break my fall, but in the process, I could feel brief bursts of pain entering my system. Nothing I couldn't handle, but it was still annoying.

"You alright, Finn?" Christine was the first to check on how I was doing, concern lacing her voice. Though she also didn't say anything, Skyla gave a small noise of concern that indicated she was in the same boat as her.

"I... I'm fine," I shot back as I forced myself back up onto my feet. Just had to keep moving. Keep skating. Keep pressing on. My shaky body waded out across the ice, trying to find my footing properly with the skates. "Just hard to... use these things and stay upright."

"If it's a balance issue," Skyla chimed in, "a useful tip is to keep your skates glued to the ice at all times. It's not like walking where you want to raise your foot above the ground. It's more of a... pushing motion off of the ice."

For the love of... Fine. I took a deep breath, having my eyes peeled straight ahead to the nearby set of flags. Just... push forward with your feet. Slowly, I forced my body to obey, going slow at first and trying to pick up steam.

"I... think I'm moving right..." I muttered as I held my arms out to stop my body from wavering.

"Good! Now then, Finn," Skyla remarked with more conviction in her voice. "Now that you have the flagpoles I set in your sights, I want you to go across to all of them and rip the flags off of the pole to collect them. There should be six in total. Once you're done with that, I want you to come back to shore."

"Lucky me..." With my task set before me, it wasn't like I had anything to do but the training exercise. And so, I slowly waddled my way forward, going as slow and steady as I possibly could.

"So, uh... Finn. Considering how... rocky you are on the ice, you think you're ready for Savage against... Man, what was his name? Manny... Manny something..." Christine snapped her fingers, trying to make the name on the tip of her tongue come to fruition.

"Emmanuel D'Monstre," Skyla gently pointed out as I pressed onward.

"Yeah! Him!"

"What the fuck?" I cursed, flabbergasted. "Christine, isn't it kind of... your job to be in the loop when it comes to these guys?"

"I know! I try! I really do!" Her voice pleaded through the earset, though considering the circumstances with this case in particular, I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince me or herself. "He's just kinda... there, though! Like, how did he even get a contract with the XWF?! He's pushing SIXTY, for crying out loud! And there's NO footage of him in any kind of wrestling scenario that would justify him being given a contract! Finn, I think you could just sneeze on him and he'd just topple over!"

It was at that moment I made it to the first flag, trying to fiddle about with circling around it. I managed to find my way though, using the pole for support, and before skating off I managed to snatch the flying black flag. "Charming."

"Well, old age aside, I'd say you still can't afford to underestimate him." Once again, as if trying to even cut off the thought of not giving this match my all, Skyla decided to interject. "For one, he's got years of experience in several combat sports. Considering his experience has him as a judoka, one wrong move means you could be thrown right through the ice. And I'm sure we wouldn't want that, right?"

"Of course not," I sighed. Flag number two was now within my reach too, and I was bobbing and weaving through the poles now.

"Well, not for nothing, but he also lost to Ring Master. And not that Ring Master hasn't improved and all, but at the same time... he was also a lot more focused on BOB than actually trying to deal with him," Christine sighed. "Like, really. Ring Master just went on a podcast before Bad Medicine, and BOB was all he was talking about. So much for trying to hype up your match..."

"Admittedly, I find myself struggling to care as well," I said, ignoring the bitter chill as I pulled down my third flag. "Not in the facet of 'he's a crotchety old man who shouldn't have been even given a contract,' but rather... he's not the kind of man I wanted to face. From the start, I've only been looking to face champions. You know... the best of the best to try and prove myself against. Ever since I've started the Road to the King, though my win-loss record might not be up to scratch, my standard of competition has been one of the highest in here. Kido, Kaye, Centurion, Graves... Manny feels like he's sticking out like a sore thumb. What am I going to prove by dunking a near-senior citizen into freezing water?"

"You can prove that you won't be letting yourself be caught off-guard by granting yourself a deserved victory before you have to focus on bigger matches," Skyla pointed out. "After all, the potential to be the first Number One Contender for what will be the newly unified Television title is going to bring out the best possible competition."

That was a far more valid point as I took my fourth flag. I was starting to rack these up now...

"Fair enough. I just don't like taking off days, is all..." I responded back.

"While we're on the topic of future plans and all that jazz..." Christine said with an unusual lace of seriousness in her tone. My brow furrowed together, wondering what could be coming- "Finn, you wanna explain what you're doing in WGWF as of late?"

Ah. There it was. I snatched my fifth flag as the question came, with only one more to go a while away. I slowly exhaled, figuring this was going to be coming up sooner or later.

"Well," I began, trying to find the right words to say, "I'd say it's simple. I came in to help my... I'm still not sure if friend is the right word, but I'll say ally. I came in to help my ally Buster Gloves settle the score with Peter Vaughn, and tried my best to handle CCPE interference. I took a contract because I see that as the... snake's den, as Buster would probably put it. With Chris Page at the helm there, a lot more gets done by him. Corruption almost fills the air there. I see it as a natural next place to try and help restore, as it were, alongside here. And besides, there's plenty of other champions there who I can try and face and better myself there. All a part of trying to be the best-"

"-or be broken, yeah. I guess I get that. Just... be careful, will you, Finn? It's just as dangerous over there, and we don't need to talk about how you've been putting your body through the wringer with your matches. I'm sure you'd at least want to win some gold first before you get put on the injury list..."

Six out of six flags taken.

I smiled at the bundle of black fabric in my gloved hand, nodding as I did so.

"I'm not planning on leaving any time soon, so long as I can help it."

]]> <![CDATA[The Mark Flynn Winter Solstice Special]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45289 Fri, 16 Dec 2022 20:23:56 -0800 Mark Flynn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45289 Sloooooooooooooow fade-in.

We see a picturesque Christmas cabin, on a beautifully snowy hill.

…

Actually, I’ll just show you.



Look at this majestic scene right here! Straight outta Norman Rockwell, huh?

Paper-white bits fall from the sky, gently, falling weightlessly in front of the camera!

The scene slowly steps back from the cabin…

This is a storytelling device, ya see. We’re about to show someone entering onto this dreamlike wonderland of a cabin!

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?”

The camera pans out a little quicker.

…It turns out ‘the cabin’... is a poster on a wall.

The bits of snow were three fellows in ‘Optimal Path’ t-shirts sprinkling handfuls of torn, papery bits, just in front of the picture, to create the illusion of a beautiful winter scene.

In fact, we’re in Florida, at XWF Headquarters.

The whirring of t-shirt presses! Dozens of hands sliding fabric into iron-on presses! Sweat pouring from foreheads, as these people have been working their hands to the bone.

Printing off Mark Flynn merchandise.

Speaking of Flynn, he stomps up to the three. He’s sporting his trademark sunglasses and suit. And his face is pink with unbridled rage. Like a semi-cooked Christmas ham.

The three simps in Optimal Path t-shirts that were scattering paper in front of an office poster for fun, suddenly trip over each other trying to bow down to Flynn harder than the other two.

Flynn snaps his fingers.

A moment later, Irwin, the head simp of his brigade of sycophants and boot-lickers is one step behind him.

“Who are these three FUUUUUUUCKFACES?”

Irwin points. “Oh, well, that’s Jerry, Todd an-”

Flynn snaps again, petulantly. “I don’t give a shiiiiiiit what their names are, Irwin. Who are they to MEEEEEEEEEE?”

…Irwin looks down at his keyboard. “Volunteer #117, #231 and #185. From left to right.”

“There we go.” Flynn beckons the three closer. They step up, eager to bask in the shine of Flynn’s brilliance.

“Do you know what time of year it is, boys?”

“...Well, of course!” Jerry Volunteer #117 offers. “It’s the happiest time of year!”

Flynn grins widely, reaching into his pocket, unfurling a paper... “That it is, one-one-seven, that it is. Because it is…”

Flynn SLAPS the paper stuck to the wall! Plastered over the winter cabin!

It’s an order sheet for Optimal Path products.

“THE HOLIDAY RUSH! We’re talking action figures, t-shirts, postcards, souvenir mugs… ‘TIS THE SEASON TO MOVE THE PRODUCT, BOYS. TO GENERATE REVENUE. We have a DUTY… to our mouth-breathing… sixty-IQ… MORON fans. To fill their stockings with MERCHANDISE. Every child that wants a fuckin’ Tickle-Me-Elmo instead of a Raion Kido daily inspiration book… Every kid that wants an art kit instead of a Latina Submission Machina DIY Facepainting-for-Luchadors-and-Luchadoras color set? That’s MONEY being STOLEN from our pocket. We have half-of-the-fucking-planet HOOKED to the DRUG we sell. That’s what this season is all about, Charlie Brown. To keep the PRODUCT in their veins, keep the ACTION on their minds, and keep our HANDS in their wallets…”

Flynn exhales angrily, as he stares at the order list. Some of the items are genuinely in the millions of pre-orders to satisfy.

“We’ve got BILLIONS of dollars to make this month. To do anything less… Would SHAKE the confidence of our shareholders. If the shareholders lose their confidence, they will sell. And if they sell, we lose company value.”

Flynn spins back toward his three eager simps.

“And you three boys…” Flynn smiles warmly, patting One-One-Seven on the cheek. (as he’ll call himself from now on. “With your monkeyshines and your tomfoolery…”

…

Flynn grabs One-One-Seven’s face and sticks his foot behind the simp’s ankle! He SHOVES his face and the simp lands backwards on the ground!

“ARE FUCKING WITH MY GODDAMNED BOTTOM LINE!”

One-One-Seven cradles his skull, agonzied when he landed skullfirst on the concrete floor.

“ALL THREE OF YOU GET BACK ON THE ASSEMBLY LINE!”

The other two simps drag a moaning, bleeding One-One-Seven away, back into the gaping maw of the industry that is the bowels of the production room.

Irwin coughs.

Flynn spins on him. “THOUGHTS, Irwinner?”

Irwin immediately covers his face with his clipboard.

“Well handled, Mister Flynn. As always, brilliantly motivating. Tough but fair.”

…Flynn grins.

“God, I love this job.”

“...But I do think th-”

“I don’t pay you to THINK, Irwin.”

“...You don’t pay me at all, Mister Flynn. I do this out of admiration.”

“...Ah, that’s right. Then, go ahead, I guess.”

“I believe that, maybe, these unpaid volunteers… might have just been looking for a way to make the tedious, repetitive labor… more fun.”

Flynn looks taken aback. “How is feeding yourself gainlessly into the machinery that is a perfectly optomized corporation NOT fun?”

Flynn spits, as he seethes downwards toward the collection of people, all working themselves to the bone for no money, entirely because Flynn told them to.

“Goddamn millennials.”

“I do think there’s some merit to, maybe, giving the volunteers a… short break.”

Flynn cranks his neck 120 degrees around like an owl hearing a sound in the night. He stares daggers through Irwin’s clipboard.

“I-I-I only mean, sir. I’m sure that a 15-minute break would improve morale and productivity! I’m sure… *some*... of your volunteers are feeling lonely, spending this time of year on the production line.”

“...Ah.” Flynn snaps his fingers. “Of course, you mean Winter Solstice.”

“...Well, I guess. I meant more like Christm-”

“YOU. MEANT. WINTER SOLSTICE.”

…Flynn wraps an arm around Irwin’s shoulder, who shivers terrified.

“The merriest, most non-denominational time of year. A holiday that does not exclude any customer and MAXIMIZES REVENUE.”

“...Yessir, of course, sir. But, I do feel like our workers might enjoy a fifteen-minute break. To call their families and wish them a Merry… Winter Solstice.”

…

Flynn strokes his chin.

…

“Or… y’know. Eat lunch.”

…

“For the first time in two weeks.”

…

Flynn nods.

Irwin delightedly rushes to the wall and pulls a string.

A workhorn, embedded into the wall, covered in cobwebs, blows loudly!

The dozens of simps look up, perplexed as to what that sounds means.

“Fifteen-minute break!” Irwin calls out. “All thanks to your philanthropic leader, Mark Flynn!”

The simps immediately slap their hands together, like trained seals, applauding the Universal champion.

Flynn grumbles, already furiously. You can feel his mind calculating every wasted second with indignant rage.

The simps continue to waste their fifteen-minute break applauding the object of their worship, as Flynn turns on Irwin.

“I want this place running DOUBLE-TIME after this…” Flynn spews this word like a slur. “...hiatus.” Irwin nods with a meek salute.

…Flynn walks away, still awash in adulation and applause. And disappears behind his office door.

Flynn takes a seat in his luxurious, midnight-black leather office chair.

…

He snorts out like a mad bull.

…

“Okay, that’s gotta be 15 minutes, right?”

He checks his watch.

…It’s been 38 seconds.

“GRAGH.” Flynn leans back in his chair, exasperated.

…

Flynn folds his arms over his chest.

“...Well, if those fucking SLOTHS are going to take a break…”

“Might as well take a…” Flynn double-checks his watch again. 12:15 PM

“14-minute nap.”

…Flynn clicks a few buttons, setting an alarm for 12:30… He presses his boots onto the surface of his desk…

And shuts his eyes tight.

***

“Ahhhhhhh, Atara Themis!”

“Atty Raven!”

“THE GREEK GODDESS!”

“Take a seat, please.”

“Y’know I was really feeling like I was losing my mind for a minute there…”

“Every fucking underling CRETIN walking through my fucking door…”

“Marf Swaysons…”

“Dick Powers…”

“Mieky Graves…”

“Came in with a dynamite sales pitch. ‘My product works great!’, they say. ‘It’s good enough to sell ALL OVER THE UNIVERSE…’ they claim.”

“...But, then, I run the numbers.”

“And the surefire moneymaker? Is a lemon. A scam. A FRAUD. A FUCKING SWINDLE.”

“Dicky, Mieky and Sicky, despite claiming they were on my level… That they’d EARNED my job as THE MOUNTAINTOP™…”

“Each came in to our match with a below .500 winning percentage. A combined record between the three of 57-76-5.”

“They hadn’t earned SHIT.”

“Their product was SUB-PAR.”

“And when they tried to make the climb? I wiped them off the fucking mountain.”

“As easily as I would brush flecks of meat off the corners of my mouth.”

…

“BUT! It’s the start of a new fucking day! AND A NEW FUCKING TIER OF BRAND QUALITY!”

“I mean, here I am, lil’ ol’ Mark Flynn, a humble CHAMPION OF THE UNIVERSE AND MASTER OF REALITY.”

“Sharing a room with a RAVEN!”

…

“Not by blood, but by marriage. But still, Atty! You’re wrestling-fucking-royalty! Shacked up with the People’s GOAT… As Jimmy-Jam likes to call himself…”

“Hell! Even before you became Jamesy’s broodmare, popping out the Wrestling World Champions of the 2040s and beyond… You’re Atty FUCKING Three-Belts!”

“...I mean, you held the three least prestigious titles all at the same time (Shooting Star, Internet and Freestyle). Two of those belts don’t fucking exist anymore… And the third is, as we speak, being freestyle rap-battled over.”

“BUT STILL. You’re Atara Themis. You are BELOVED the industry over. SURELY, your brand is FIRE, Atty!”

“Well, at this point, I’m just building up suspense so let’s get into your star-studded metrics…”

“It’s finally time, Atty! For a star-studded… BRAND EVALUATION™.”

***

Chirp.

Flynn’s finger efficiently press onto his wrist, clicking his alarm off.

…His face contorts, enraged.

“WHY DON’T I HEAR ANY FUCKING WORK HAPPENING?”

Flynn’s eyes open.

…His lights are off.

“...AND WHO TURNED OFF MY LIGHTS? WE’RE STILL ON THE CLOCK, PEOPLE. IT’S ONLY…”

Flynn glances down at this watch.

It is, in fact, 1:30.

…

AM.

…Flynn peers confused.

…

“I slept for 12 hours.”

…

“GooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOD DAMMIT.” Flynn stands up, punting his executive chair over onto his side. He lifts… and FLIPS his table.

“Irwin… and his FIFTEEN-MINUTE BREAK. I am going to SKIN HIM ALIVE. I’m going to TEAR HIM IN HA-”

A cold, eerie wind rushes through the room, scattering papers.

“...And they left the A/C on when they left? Do they THINK I’m MADE OF MONEY?!?”

“Maaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynn…” Calls out a distant whisper.

Flynn peers perplexedly.

“Someone out there? Working late?”

The sound… of rattling chains.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyyyyyynn…”

WHAM! A thump against the office door! It startles Flynn, who dives behind his turned-over office desk.

“Go away! Better yet… Get back to work!” Flynn calls out over the desk!

Fwsh! At once the office door unlocks… And the chains rattle closer.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyynn… It is I!”

Flynn peeks over the table and is astonished. Before the Uni champ, stands… actually, floats in mid-air… A thin Korean man in military fatigues!

“Your former partner, North Korean War Criminal!”

Flynn squints, astonished.

“NK?!? I thought I kil-… I mean, I thought Theo killed you! …Using me.”

“That all transpiiiiiiiiiired, yeeeeeeeeees!”

Flynn gasps. “So… you’re a ghost! Come to haunt me from the netherrealm! And warn me that I’ll be dragged to Hell in chains for my sins!”

NK clears his throat. “Oh, ridiculous, Mark Flynn! Pish and posh! As a citizen of Glorious True Korea, I believe in no afterlife at all! Let alone Hell…”

…Flynn squints confused. “...Wait, if you don’t believe in an afterlife… How do you explain being a ghost?”

“I choose not to think about it!” NK lifts a finger in the air, triumphantly, like he’s perfectly answered this question.

“...Ah… Then, where’d the chain come from?... If not the gates of Hades itself?”

“Home Depot. I brought it for Dramatic flair!” Rattle-rattle. “For you see, Mark Flynn!” NK says, hovering over him, rattling the chain once more. “I am here to show you the error of your waaaaaays! You have been corrupted by capitalism!”

…Flynn sneers. “Oh, fuck off, you leftist.”

NK is taken back, dropping the chain, gasping. “Mark Flynn! Language!” NK reaches behind his back and retrieves… a glass jar labelled ‘Swear jar’. The War Criminal shakes it in front of Flynn.

Flynn extends a hand to smack the jar away… But his hand phases right through it.

…Flynn waves his hand through a couple more times.

“...Huh. Neat.”

SMACK! NK smacks Flynn’s hand away! Flynn is shocked, recoiling his struck hand, fanning it cool with the other, nursing it under his armpit.

“Mark Flynn! You won the Universal Championship, destabilizing the power structure that held down non-traditional talent like us… And then, after you won. You immediately BOUGHT IN and strengthened the power structure. After YEARS of insisting that Universal champions were Hollywood divas and marketing tools… YOU BECAME A HOLLYWOOD DIVA AND MARKETING TOOL.” War Criminal shakes his head, tsk-tsking. “You were supposed to destroy the capitalist machine, not become one with it! What happened to your grandiose notion that a universal wrestling champion should be a wrestler first and foremost?”

Flynn scoffs. “Oh, can it, NK. You’re just JEALOUS of my success. You had every opportunity I did to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and win this Uni title. What stopped you, huh?”

NK coughs awkwardly. “...Mark Flynn, you threw me through an electrical box when I tried to cash-in my title opportunity.”

…

“Feh. Typical millennial excuse. In your shoes, I would have WELCOMED… getting thrown through an electrical box. You young people don’t know how to take the opportunities you’re given. You want everything served to you on a silver platter. Well, life doesn’t work that way. I worked my ASS off to get this belt. And if I had to throw you through four or five more elec trical boxes to get it, I WOULD HAVE.”

…The War Criminal wrinkles his nose, disgustedly. “Dear Glorious Leader… Mark Flynn, You used to be…” NK scratches his ghostly chin. “I mean, not a *good* man. But, you were a MAN. Not some profiteering, oil-baron-esque snake creature! What *happened* to you?”

“SUCCESS™ happened to me, NK. THE OPTIMAL PATH™ happened to me. I BECAME A SUCCESS STORY™. And you? Became a FOOTNOTE in the LEGEND of my ASCENT TO GODHOOD. TRIVIA. Nothing more…”

LIGHTNING STRIKE.

…Flynn ducks behind the table, frightened.

The tips of NK’s hair light with sparks… He seethes down furiously at his partner.

…NK shakes his head.

“I did not come here to watch an old ally choke on his own excess…”NK spits, venomously and disappointedly. “I simply came to warn you… That, this night, you will be visited by three spirits."

Flynn squints. "Isn't Dock already doing the whole 'Christmas Carol' thing?"

NK waves his hand dismissively. "His match is supposed to be Twas the Night themed! It's not our fault he can't read."

"Regardless, these Spirits of…”

“Spirits of Winter Solstice.”

“...Fine. Without their guidance, your soul shall be dominated perpetually by the capitalistic evil that has taken it.”

Flynn sputters. “Look, NK. I get that you probably have a lot of free time on your hands as an unemployed CORPSE. I am a BUSINESSMAN. I don’t have time for drop-in appointments!”

“Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one, Mark Flynn.”

NK glides backward… And phases through the door…

Flynn sneers…

He slams open his door.

He dashes down the stairs to the assembly line…

“First ghost, huh?”

He starts tossing over packaged merchandise. The XWF Official board game. An ocean of XWF Pop! Figurines…

“When the bell tolls one, huh?”

Paydirt. An officially licensed Ring Master WarGames Ghostbuster tie-in set!

…Flynn smiles.

"I ain't afraid of no ghost..."

***
“Y’know, what the hell, I’m in the spirit of the holiday.”

“(that holiday being WINTER SOLSTICE™.”

“If some fuckin’ ghosts are about to go over MY past, present and future… LET’S GO ALL IN ON YOURS!”

SLAM!

“Let’s see… Atara Themis! XWF Debut: 10/31/2019! Halloween Night! How spooky! And with an XWF win-loss record of…”

The creature flips open the folder on his desk.

…

……

“25-30-1?”

“...Check my fucking math…”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Atty?”

“At this point, am I getting fucking PRANKED here?”

“How is this mathematically possible? Mathematically, if one of you loses, someone else has to win, right? How the FUCK are ALL OF YOU UNDER .500?!?”

“...Shit, hang on.”

…The simulacrum slinks from his desk and disappears off-frame to the right.

……
In a flash, he’s back with a bigger folder…

“Okay! Okay Okay Okay!”

“I ran the numbers on my own records, Atty! I figured if I came back under .500, CLEARLY the method of compiling people’s records is faulty.”

“...And you know what I came back with? What XWF record I calculated for ol’ Mark Flynn?”

“64-24-1.”

SLAM! The larger folder smacks against the desk with a thud.

“THAT’S WHAT I’M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT, BABY. That’s a goddamn legendary career right there.”

“Meanwhile, if we check your stats… JESUS. How thoroughly mediocre.”

“0-3 in Universal Title matches.”

“0-4 in matches against the reigning Uni champ.”

“And a ONE-AND-ELEVEN RECORD AGAINST FORMER UNI CHAMPS.”

“CHECK. MY. FUCKING MATH.”

“You have ONE win over a Uni champ. Warstein. March Madness 2020. X-Treme champ. And he basically wrestled, handcuffed and one-legged. Cashed-in his briefcase later that night. That’s the ONLY way, UNDERCARD ATTY, could beat an ACTUAL FUCKING OPPONENT.”

The creature slides the two folders side-by-side.

“Atty. Check my fucking stats. MY Singles record against former Uni champs? 10-2-1.”

“I’ve beaten Corey Smith AND Robert Main. The #1 and #2 Greatest wrestlers in XWF History. I’ve beaten 17 names on the XWF Top 50. Who the hell is the biggest name you’ve beaten? Big Preesh? Fuckin’ OSWALD? Barney GREEEEEEN.”

The creature spits bitterly.

“Atty, you’re a fucking joke. Your past is humiliating. You’ve had FIFTEEN TITLE SHOTS IN THREE YEARS. This is despite effectively being a part-timer for MONTHS ON END…”

“And somehow… Some way… You’ve lost NINE OF THOSE MATCHES.”

“Big Match Atty has an even worse record in title matches than she does in regular matches… And why? Because you’re JAMES RAVEN’S WIFE.”

“Because you married into being a draw.”

“Lot easier than doing it on your own, I imagine.”

“I wouldn’t know. I HAD TO WIN TO GET MY CHANCES.”

“That’s your past, Atty. Humiliation after humiliation. Failing upwards in the ring because someone ACTUALLY TALENTED put a ring on it.”

***

SLAM! The bathroom door gets kicked open!

And Flynn is in a brown jumpsuit, wielding a proton pack…

He squeezes and pulls up the waist. It’s a little small on him.

“Snug, but I’ll make it work. Thank God we only sell these in a Child’s Xtra-Xtra-Large… Goddamn obesity epidemic.”

SWHOOOOOOOOOM! Suddenly, the bathroom door bursts open! A glorious, white light fills the bathroom.

“Uh, occupied!” Flynn says, as he squeezes the rubber ball of the proton pack! The light display on the side of the pack flashes yellow…

“FLYYYYYYYYYNN! Your past awaaaaaaaaits!”

Yellow…

Flynn furiously pumps, sweat running down his face!

A light fog rolls in on the roll… A shadowy looming figure emerges…

GREEN!

“HAHAHA! SUCK IT, PAST! MY TIME IS NOW!” Flynn cackles as he thrusts the proton pack’s barrel up at the spirited intruder.

Flynn pulls the trigger!

aaaaaaaaAAAAAAND!

…

A spritz of water shoots out.

…Flynn murmurs disappointedly, dropping the pack to the floor with a thud.

“…Sigh. I should have known they wouldn’t sell a positronic particle accelerator in a package marked ‘For Ages 8-12’…”

“Time is short, dude!”

The Spirit steps into the light.

…

“Let’s rock!”

“…Vinnie?” Flynn squints. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be running your all-women football league further into the ground?”

…Lane looks slightly irked by the insinuation that LFL isn’t going swimmingly… But gathers his composure.

“No no, Flynnerino! You see I merely APPEAR as rockin’ dude, Vinnie Lane! I am, in fact, the Spirit of Winter Solstice Past!”

Flynn squints suspiciously. “Oh, really, now?”

“Ch’yeah, dude! I’m here to show you where your moral mandolin went out of tune, my dude.”

Flynn exhales. “Makes sense YOU’d be the Past, Lane. You’re IRRELEVANT. Your whole persona is 40 years out of date…”

WHAM! Lane grabs Flynn by the shoulder…

“ROCK WILL NEVER BE OUTTA STYLE, BRO-HAM!”

Taking Flynn’s shoulder, Lane does the Wayne & Garth dissolve.



…The bathroom shifts and lurches! Space time wraps around the pair…

And the scene melts into… A dingy, grimy street. Car alarms and dimly-lit alleys…

“This scene look familiar, Flynn?”

Flynn squints, perplexedly.

“It looks…. kinda like the hellhole of a town I grew up in…”

“Correctamundo, dude! We’re in Battle Creek, circa 1985! One of the best years, imho.”

“...Sure. But… It’s a little…. Different.”

“Oh, totes. Everything probably looks smaller, cuz you’ve grown up since then!”

“No, not that. I’m pretty sure Battle Creek was never populated by this many… Muppets.”

In fact, the dingy, poorly-lit crime-infested Battle Creek of days gone by… Is entirely populated by beings of felt and Googly eyes.

[Image: Leftysboss.png]

“Dude, I have made it very clear what my favorite Christmas Carol is. Don’t kill my vibe, yo. At least until we get to Beaker and Professor Honeydew.”

“…Sigh. Fine.”

Lane claps his hands together.

“Now! We step onto this scene where we meet a Mister and Mrs Flynn…”

[Image: muppet-couple.jpg]

…

“Ok.”

“And their precocious, six-year-old pride and joy… Lil’ Markie!”

[Image: LaCabra.webp]

…Flynn irritatedly side-eyes Vinnie. “Is that fucking goat supposed to be me?”

“Hush, dude. I’m setting the scene. Now, from a young age, lil’ Mark loved wrestling.”

The two muppets are on each side of Mark, holding hands... er… horns.

“Well, that local wrestling show was AMAZING!” Cheers Mrs. Flynn… “But, should we have taken lil’ Markie out so late on a school night.”

Mr. Flynn shakes his head, exaggeratedly, like a puppet performing for the children in the back of the theater. “Come now, dear! You know Markie would stay up all night crying if he knew he was missing live wrestling! It’s pretty much the only time he smiles. Right, Markie?”

“Baaaaaaaaaaaah.”

Flynn glowers. “Straight out of Norman Fuckin’ Rockwell, Vin. But, can we speed this the fuck up?”

“Be careful what you wish for, Flynn, because heeeeeeeere comes trouble!”

The Flynns continue walking down the street, with flickering overhead lights…

“Come on, we parked just around the corner.”

“I feel like we should have parked closer, Dear.”

“$2 for a spot? In this economy? Absolutely not.”

As the family turns the corner, they run straight into…

[Image: Joe-Chill-01.png]

A no-good-nik. With a big iron.

“Your money or your life.”

The well-to-do Flynns shiver and quake in fear.

“Oh goodness… We’d love to give you money, in exchange for our lives… But… We just paid the last of our pocket change to get into that wrestling show.”

…The shadowy goon clicks his tongue.

“Shame.”

BANG!

Fluff and felt bursts into the air! Mister Flynn’s skull splits completely in twain!

“No!” Mrs Flynn howls, in the most profound pain. She dives forward for the gun… Wrapping her little felt mitts around it.

“GIVE IT UP, LADY.” Barks the criminal.

“DON’T HURT HIM! NOT MY BABY!” But, her little felt hands cling for dear life… Until…

BANG!

One in the gut…

Of Mrs Flynn.

White fluff unfurls to the pavement as Mrs. Flynn lifelessly drops to the street.

The brazen murderer, unfazed by his double muppet-homicide, holsters his gun.

“See ya ‘round, kid.”

And with that, the scum disappears back into the shadows.

The goat muppet stands over the corpses of his loving parents.

His hooves press against them, desperate for them to rise.

He turns toward the moon, distant and ambivalent to fate’s cruelty.

“BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Lil’ Markie bleats mournfully.

“Duuuuuuuude. *sniff*.” Lane dabs a tissue at his eye. “This day, lil’ Markie was lost. And Mark Flynn came into being. His loving parents lost, he turned to the sport he loved: wrestling.”

“...Lane.”

“And he would turn wrestling into a symbol that would inspire the people of Battle Creek to take back their city from the criminal scum that so cruelly parted him from his parents.”

“Lane.”

“But, then here comes Muppet Blair Sully to bite off Flynn’s di-”

“LANE.”

Lane spins toward Flynn, irked. Clearly, he felt like he was on a roll.

“May I make a quick note?”

“...Uh. Sure, dude.”

“This is supposed to be my past, right?”

“Ch’yeah, dude! I only present the shadows of the things that have been. As they are that they are… like, don’t harsh on me, yo.”

Flynn strokes his chin.

“See, that’s interesting. Because….”

Flynn waves his hand, gesturing at the tragic scene of a Muppet Goat mourning his deceased Muppet parents.

“None of this. Absolutely NONE of this happened.”

…Lane double-takes at the scene.

Then, back to Flynn.

“You sure, dude?”

“Am I sure that my origin story is just Batman with a wrestling spin? And that my parents didn’t die in FUCKING CRIME ALLEY?” Flynn points emphatically.

Indeed, the street the stand on is called Crime Alley.

Running across Tragic Backstory Avenue.

…Flynn nods. “Like 85% sure.”

…Vinnie lowers his rock-and-roll bandana an inch to scratch his forehead.

“...Okay, full discloshe, Flynn dude? I was supposed to research your whole back story to handle the Flashback dealie… But, something came up.”

TWO WEEKS EARLIER


Lane is at his computer reading an email.

“Sah-weeeeeeeeeeet! Help Flynn see the error of his ways? AND save Christmas Winter Solstice! Hell yeah, dude! The LFL can wait! This is priority number one for me! I’m going to spend the next two weeks FOCUSED, yo!”

The intercom buzzes. “Mister Lane, you have a package on your desk.”

…Lane tilts his head a few degrees from his computer.

Atop his desk… In plastic wrapping.

[Image: 61f92-Dbh-L-AC-SX679.jpg]

A pristine, untouched paddleball.

…

“Okay.” Lane exhales. “The kids need me. SantaWINTER SOLSTICE FIGURE needs me!”

…

Lane picks the paddle off the table.

“One quick go.”

ONE WEEK, SIX DAYS, TWENTY-THREE HOURS AND FORTY-FOUR MINUTES LATER


“Two… Thr- SHOOT!” Lane frustratedly tosses the paddleball on the table.

NOW


“It was, like… Mondo importante, dude.”

“Uh huh.”

“And it WASN’T paddle-ball related.”

…

“Welp. Dag, yo.” Lane snaps his fingers.

The mysterious fog evaporates and the two find themselves back in the bathroom.

Lane bites his lip.

“Uh… So. Did you, like, learn the error of your ways and stuff?”

…Flynn tilts his sideways at that ridiculous question.

“...No.”

Lane valley-girl scoffs. He glances at his watch. Almost 2 am…

“...Shoot. Well, uh… If the next guy asks, could you tell him, like, I totally nailed it and you’re gonna, like, volunteer at a soup kitchen ‘n stuff?”

Flynn exhales.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Lane extends his pinkie and thumb and shakes his fist. “Radical. Thanks, Flynn.”

And in a puff of smoke, Lane is gone.

…

Flynn’s hands rest on his Ghostbuster costume’s collar… And in one motion, he tears the clothes outfit off. It comes off in strips, like it’s made of tissue and asbestos.

Which, knowing Flynn’s labor standards, it might be.

“Hmm.” Flynn says, briefly naked as a jaybird, before retrieving his suit from the hanger in the stall he had just changed in.

“So, Ghostbusters didn’t stop a ghost…”

…

A moment later, Flynn is dressed, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

…

Flynn snaps his fingers.

“Got it.”

In a flash, Flynn retrieves his phone from his pocket…

And starts googling…

‘Pol-ter-geist…’

***
“But, the past is the past, right, Atty? After all, I’m bringing up ancient history! Nowadays, you’re main eventing crossover shows on the biggest stages in the industry!”

…

“Admittedly, your hubby Jim-Jim still gets top-billing. But, hey! A payday is a payday!”

“Maybe Atty is a late bloomer…”

“Why don’t we check the present? Her most recent title match for example…”

“BAD MEDICINE 2022.”

“In one corner, you had the defending champs… A ragtag odd couple: Johnny Madison, Junior and Angie Vaughn. A team that disagrees on whether or not they’re dating, let alone proper in-ring tactics.”

“And challenging them, you had Atara… AND THE MOTHERFUCKING PEOPLE’S GOAT, JAMES RAVEN.”

“Holy fucking shit, Atty! Can you ask for a better partner than possibly THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED PARTNER IN WRESTLING HISTORY?”

“Not only that, but Maddy cut a dogshit promo. Like his heart wasn’t even in it. It was going to be one-on-two. And, I can’t overstate this, the side with two had JAMES FUCKING RAVEN.”

“How could anyone fuck this up?”

…

“Atty found a way.”

“Atty No-Belts was presented the tag belts on a SILVER FUCKING PLATTER. And she and Jimmy Ray SHAT THE FUCKING BED.”

“That’s your present-day, Atty. That’s how you’re coming into this match. Record your podcasts, rule over wrestling Twitter, post those GIFs…”

“Turn heads… OUTSIDE THE RING.”

“Because inside it? You are, as you’ve always been…”

“ME.”

“DEE.”

“OH.”

“KUR.”

***

Flynn is back in his office… Sitting in the chair he’d knocked to the ground earlier. He’s taken a letter opener and start carving it against his corporate nameplate…

He’s shaving off pieces. And fashioning it into a… Tee.

Flynn holds it up to his face to admire it.

“A cross. Maybe that’ll do the trick.”

…And right on time, Flynn’s wrist chirps. He stares down at his watch.

2 AM.

Like clockwork, the fog rolls into his office.

Flynn defensively raises the cross in front of him.

“THIS HOUSE… IS CLEAN.”

Despite his cross, the fog rolls in.

“Flyyyyyyyyyynn. I’ve come to show you things as they aaaaaaaaare.”

A figure looms just outside his door.

Flynn stabs the cross forward “POLTERGEIST! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU.”

“Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynn.”

…

“Pretty sure, that’s from Exorcist, not Poltergeist.”

“...Sigh.” Flynn exhales, tossing the cross to the ground.

…Emerging through the clouds of vapor… It’s…

[Image: tom-hiddleston-celebrity-mask2.jpg]

Theo Pryce!

[Image: RP-VITA1.jpg]

…Sort of.

An automaton with Theo Pryce’s live face rolls in through Flynn’s office door.

“Flynn! It is I! The Ghost of Christmas Winter Solstice Present!”

…

Flynn squints.

“Theo, what the fuck is this shit? Why are you a robot?”

…

“Did you finally give up on your human body? Not efficient enough for you?”

Flynn flicks the face of the robot-on-wheels.

“Don’t do that.”

…Theo clears his throat.

“Unfortunately, my upcoming film is going through a brief scheduling of reshoots and I am unable to save the holiday in-person. Fortunately, I have a controllable teleproxy for such situations where I have to be in two places at once, as I often do as XWF COO.”

…Flynn’s forehead throbs angrily. He draws his face right up in front of Theo’s webcam.

“Oh, right. Mister Hollywood, Theo Pryce. How is your Oscar speech coming along?”

Pryce warmly smiles. “You mean, how is the film going? Thank you for asking. It’s so outside of my traditional wheelhouse. As a COO, I’ve gotten used to doing the organizational labor, rather than providing the creative energy as I used to as a wrestler. Even on my first day, I w-”

“On your FIRST DAY.” Flynn cuts in, drawing his face even closer to the robot’s. Pryce pauses, vexed. “You went to set and were given a shooting schedule of various locations you and your co-stars would be shooting.” Flynn emotionlessly recites. “Well, you’re looking over the shotlist and you think, well, this doesn’t make sense logistically at all. The first scene of the day requires make-up that they’ll have to take off, then put back on for the fifth scene of the day. So, you call the crew together to re-organize the shoot. It took an hour and a half, and by the time you were done, you were ONLY 30 minutes late to your own scene.”

…

Pryce’s eyes narrow, sternly. “...Yes. How’d you know that?”

Flynn pinches the sides of his forehead. “You said the same FUCKING story on late night two nights ago, promoting your big movie’s premiere.” Flynn golf-claps twice, his whole demeanor bubbling with disingenuous sarcasm.

Pryce’s lips purse. “I take it you weren’t a fan of the segment, then.”

“Oh, how could I not have been? After all, Fallon LOVED it. He laughed almost as hard as he laughs at EVERYTHING FUCKING ELSE. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” Flynn stomps his feet, fake-laughing, pressing his nose into the Theo-bot's webcam.

…Pryce sighs. “Well, should have known you wouldn’t be in the mood for idle chatter. All business? Fine. Let’s get to it.”

A thick fog rolls into the office once more…

The walls fade backward… And as quickly as they do, a stoop appears before Flynn and Theo(-bot). A set of concrete stairs. A metal rail. A push-door.

Above the stoop is a tattered, withered banner.

‘True Korean Wrestling Gym’...

…Flynn strokes his chin.

“Oh. Wait, I remember True Korean Wrestling…”

Flynn climbs up the stairs of the stoop.

“This was the company NK ran before he signed an XWF contract last year. Pissing off Americans in high schools gyms all across the country.”

Theo smiles.

“Yes, Flynn! This used to be your tag-team partner’s passion project.” The robot rolls up behind Flynn. “But, when you threw him into an electrical box, th-”

The robot bumps into the first step… Then rebounds off.

…Theo frustratedly presses a button. The robot rebounds off the step.

…

Theo clears his throat, tapping the screen

“Flynn, could you… um… Carry my teleproxy up the steps?”

Flynn grins fiendishly, pleased to see his friend-slash-adversary helpless, even if not physically. “What’s wrong, Theo? I thought this teleproxy was a perfect solution to you not being present? Did you not account for STAIRS?”

…Theo squints.

“Flynn, I asked because it would be easier with your help. I, of course, have a solution I can implement on my own if you so obstinately insist on being a thorn in my side.” Theo hammers a few keys on his keyboard.

…FSSSSSSSSH! Bursts of air erupt from the bottom of the teleproxy… lifting it into the air!

Flynn backs up, amazed, as the machine gently rockets a few inches off the ground.

Theo smiles.

“There, see. Now, let us enter the gym of True Korean Wrestling…”

Theo presses forward… The robot surges forther.

“And see how your selfishness and green has affected those around y-”

The robot… is just a few millimeters short of clearing the stair.

The thing’s wheels trip. It lands face-first…

…

As its circular trashcan body rolls back down the steps.

…

***

A few moments later, the door opens. A number of young athletes in tights have entered through the front door.

Behind them, Flynn rolls in, a cylindrical trash-can looking robot over his shoulder.

As the wrestlers close the door behind them, Flynn (unseen) sets the robot down. Its wheels set creakily on the floor.

“Thank you...” Theo begrudgingly nods.

Flynn ruffles the top of the robot’s head.

“Like that jail cell in Colorado, Pryce. Always need ol’ Mark to bail you out.”

“ENTER, YOUNG TALENT.”

The wrestlers head down the hall… Pushing past a set of double-doors…

To a smaller-than-traditionally-so wrestling ring. Surrounding by blue gymnastics mats.

In the center of the ring…

Is The War Criminal’s second-in-command, Kato! Standing beside an easel covered by a tarp.

“Come, come! We have no time to dilly and/or dally!”

Flynn’s eyes widen!

“Oh shit! K-Man! I haven’t seen him since…” Flynn trails off.

“Since you electrocuted his commander to near-death?”

…Flynn side-eyes Theo. “Don’t make me kick you over, Pryce.”

The wrestlers all surround the ring.

Kato is sporting a megaphone and wearing a pair of sunglasses.

“Gather, gather!”

The talent steps through the ropes and joins the True Korean’s number two in the squared circle.

Flynn rolls up to the side of the ring and peers upwards and inwards.

“Man, Kato… Good guy. Level-headed. NK’s voice of reason.”

The wrestlers all chitter and chatter under their breath, as Kato walks over to the easel.

“You all must be wondering what the ad I put in the local paper referred to. ‘Unique, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be remembered in wrestling forever!’...”

This quiets the group.

Kato pulls off the sheet.

It’s a black-and-white picture of NK.

“This is…” Kato’s shaky hands pull off his sunglasses.

His eyes are beet-red. From constant weeping.

“My commander. My l-l-leader. The sun whose journey we all followed… *sniff*... that would lead us to a brighter tomorrow…”

…Flynn’s smile fades.

…

Kato closes his sunglasses and places them in his pocket.

“This man… The greatest man I have worked under. Was struck down at the precipice of greatness…” Kato gently grips the beautiful NK in-memorium picture, before setting it down against the ropes.

“BY THIS COWARD…” Kato strikes his finger against the easel.

Behind the NK picture is a snapshot of…

You guessed it.

Mark Flynn. Smiling. Sunglasses. Selling the Optimal Path.

“This DEMON. This JUDAS… (if you’ll pardon the religious allusion)... Gained my commander’s trust. Rode his coattails to victory.”

Flynn’s eyebrow twitches. “*I* rode *NK’S* COATTAILS…”

“And STOLE MY COMMANDER’S UNIVERSAL TITLE SHOT…”

…Flynn scoffs.

“I pledged the day I lost my commander… That I would devote my every waking breath… My every thought. TO STRIPPING MARK FLYNN OF HIS ILL-GOTTEN GOODS. TO TAKING EVERYTHING FROM MARK FLYNN… AS HE HAS TAKEN FROM ME…”

…Flynn pulls out his phone… Pulls up a Note labelled ‘Winter Solstice Card List’...

And deletes Kato’s name.

“And, with one of you… The best among you… I shall impart upon you what I learned being so close to Mark Flynn… His weakness! And the means by which we shall liberate him from his falsely-earned gold!”

…A wrestler in the ring raises his hand.

Kato is surprised. “Erm, yes! A question? A comment? Or, perhaps, a pledge of loyalty to our mission?”

The wrestler coughs. “Is this gig paid?”

…

“Er… Pay?”

The wrestler reaches into his pocket and unfolds a slip of paper “The flyer said, untold riches await those who answer this opportunity…”

…Kato stammers. “W-w-well… When I said, untold riches, I meant the riches of doing the right thing! Of avenging a fallen hero wh- HEY! WAIT!”

Before Kato can justify his false advertising, the dozens of wrestlers are all making a clean break for the exit!

“NO! I NEED THE STRONGEST AMONG YOU!” Kato tries to grab one by the arm.

“Get off, you little weirdo!”

WHOOSH! Kato gets shoved back against the ropes! Trips over his own feet…

SMSH! And lands ass-first…

Onto the in-memorium NK picture.

“COMMANDER!” Kato is immediately weepy, he spins, alternating between cradling the picture to his chest… And dusting it clean with his tears. “I-I-I-I… I am so sorry… I c-c-c-an’t believe I’m failing you… When you n-n-n-need me most…” Kato lies, defeated in the ring as the talent pool recedes back outside.

…Outside the ring, Flynn bites his tongue.

“...Shit.”

…

“Look, Kato just doesn’t get it. NK *would* understand, right? He and I both knew how important the Uni title is…”

…

Flynn scratches his head.

“I mean, I know NK’s ghost told me earlier tonight that I’ve lost my way, but…”

…

Flynn exhales.

“Did I fuck up?”

…

“Well, Theo? I’m genuinely asking if I’m in the wrong… Here’s your chance to rub it in.”

…

“Theo?”

Flynn checks over his shoulder.

The Theo-Bot’s back is turned, facing the corner.

“You get stuck on the carpet or something, R2?”

Flynn walks up behind it.

“-ee, that’s the thing about this part, Stephen. It almost feels like I’m not acting at all. Sometimes I get so deep into the scene, I forget I’m not Phillip. You see, my last film, on the set of TimeSplit, the director and I ag-”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, YOU’RE ON COLBERT RIGHT NOW?”

“...Er, one moment, Stephen, I’m so sorry. *click*” The robot spins around.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, THEO.”

The on-screen Theo pulls down his headset and tries to assume a somber, ghostly voice.

“You see, Flynn. Your actions have hurt those you once called friend. And now, y-”

“NO NO NO.” Flynn shakes his finger in front of the robot’s face. “WE’RE DONE WITH THAT NOW.”

Flynn covers his face with both hands. His face is turning purple he’s so angry.

“See… Theo.” Flynn exhales, squeezing his fists. “The thing about being the Ghost of the Present? YOU NEED TO BE IN THE FUCKING HERE AND NOW FOR IT.”

…

Flynn smiles, still gritting his teeth angrily.

“But, that’s never been your vibe has it? Let’s get real FUCKIN’ honest, Theo. Who’s in your circle of friends? Who would count on you for help that you’re letting down right now?”

“Dolly is on relapse number eight this year and disappeared into fucking rural Kentucky. Who knows what cult or pyramid scheme she throws in with next, but she’s lost and helpless.”

“Thad is so desperate to make you proud as his weird surrogate business daddy that he bought a stake in OCW just to play dress-up as Lil’ Theo…”

Flynn covers his mouth like he’s telling a secret.

“By the way, I dunno if you remember what happened to his real dad, but I’d watch out for that.”

Flynn grits his teeth.

“OH WAIT, YES, YOU FUCKING DO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. YOU WERE THE LAST GUY OL’ PAPA DUKE SPOKE TO BEFORE HE AND HIS HEAD PARTED WAYS.”

“Luca is missing, presumed dead. Azzy Erebus shot off like a rocket-man into the Sun. Madison is serving a life sentence. And poor Vinny really thinks his all-women football league is going to work out financially.”

Flynn shakes his head.

“And here you are. Giving it 15% at all times. Putting in just e-fucking-nough that people think you’re the voice of reason around here, Theo. The glue that holds all the madness together.”

…

Flynn draws the robot screen right up to his face.

“Well, that glue has gotten weak, Theo. You can play office manager for your new kids, The Trilogy. And maybe you’ll even keep them happy with occasional midcard title shots… But, at some fucking point, Theo. You’re going to get tired of them being human and flawed. Just like you do everyone else.”

“Just like you did your ol’ pal, Flynn. The one who bailed you out of a Colorado jail cell. The one you ABANDONED after YOU fucked that Trios Title shot.”

…

“You’re NEVER going to drop that, are you?”

Flynn scoffs.

“Someone needs to keep track of everyone else’s transgressions, Theo. And I’m the fucking recordkeeper around these parts.”

…Pryce bitterly sighs.

And on his keyboard, he hits escape.

In a flash, Flynn is back in his office.

Alone.

…

Flynn glances at the Uni belt hanging on his mantle.

…

And sighs.

***

“And as for your future Atty? Does it look bright? Sure, you’ve had a hard road… But, I mean, things are only going to get better with age, right At-At?”

“After all, you’re only… 27! You know what they say about women in entertainment! The older, the better!”

…

The creature smiles bitterly.

“I’m joking, of course. Ask any former teenage Hollywood starlet. By 24, you’re considered used goods and tossed into a fucking geriatric facility as your body atrophies into total averageness.”

…

“Or, even worse, you start directing.”

The creature chuckles as he reaches into his desk drawer…

“You’re past your prime, whenever that was. I guess that half-hour that you had three belts, like, a year ago?”

“But, now, you and Jim are raising your brood of future-entitled wrestling royalty. Everybody loves babies. Surely, a bundle of joy every eighteen months will keep you in the limelight, right?”

The homunculus scoffs, shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, no. See, the trick to royalty… Is POWER… And… as a POWER couple…”

The monster retrieves from his desk… A miniature guillotine.

“You and Jimmy are running dangerously low on the stuff…”

The creature’s haunting guillotine sits atop the desk.

“Hell, even Jimbo Raven, that talent rocket you attached yourself to… Sure seems out of fuel recently…”

“He was eliminated FIRST at the Tara Fenix Charity Event, representing CCPE.”

“He got pinned in four minutes flat, by Johnny Madison’s doofus son.”

“And even when he does find the will to cut a promo on time, he’s usually slurry-drunk as he does it…”

The monster reaches back into his desk…

And retrieves…

Dolls.

Two dolls.

One man. One woman. Gleaming, frozen smiles.

Both with small plastic crowns resting on their heads…

“See, that’s the thing about royalty, Atty.”

The monster slips the male doll’s neck into the small model guillotine.

“It looks real glamorous from the outside. When you’re a fucking peasant, scraping together wins against gutter-trash and losing against everyone worth a damn. I imagine you see an overrated slob like Raven and think…”

“That guy’s got it. The looks. The physique. And the smarts… I mean, you can’t deny…”

The creature’s cheekbones lift into a grin…

“He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

CHOP.

The monster reaches into the basket the size of a thimble under the guillotine. And retrieves the doll’s smiling, disembodied skull…

“Or rather, he used to…”

“Now, you’re in the royal family. And you’re learning Prince Charming is an over-the-hill drunk. Desperately clinging onto his relevance by taking an executive position in WGWF. Feeling his greatness atrophy and die.”

The creature tosses the male doll into his trash can…

Before moving onto the female doll…

“Are you wrestling royalty, Atty? Perhaps. Are your worthless, shitty broodspawn royalty? Yep. Is your drunk, slovenly, overrated husband? Fine.”

“But, after you lost to Angie and Maddy? The gold on your crowns are rusted.”

“The Treasure Room of the woman once called Atty-Three-Belts… Sure doesn’t have much around her waist these days…”

“Except maybe a belly band for pregnancy weight…”

“And people don’t tolerate weak royalty, Atty.”

The freak slips the female doll into the guillotine. He reaches down… And retrieves the doll’s crown.

“Lose too many times and you lose your crown.”

CHOP...

“Among other things.”

The creature takes the tiny circular crown.

Pinching it on both sides like a wishbone.

And snaps it in half.

“It’s time for a revolution, Atty.”

“No more kings.”

“No more queens.”

“ONLY THE OPTIMAL PATH.”

“EQUALIZING.”

“ACCESSIBLE.”

“FAIR.”

...The Creature slides the dolls off the desk and into the trash can beside his desk.

"Atty. Since I came back, I've beaten the very best of the past (Kieran King), the present (Charlie Nickles), and the future (Raion Kido)."

"And all I can say about you? Is that your time is up."

***

Chirp.

3 AM.

The fog rolls i-.

Before it can even finish the effect, Flynn’s door pops open.

“Let’s get this over with.” Flynn pulls his arms through his coat as he closes his door behind him.

“I take it you’re the ghost of Winter Solstice Fut-...”

Flynn turns around.

And finds himself face-to-face with…

[Image: reaper-death.png]

…

Flynn sighs, slightly off-his-game, but still some confidence up-his-sleeve.

“Okay… So, what are we gonna see now, huh? Some match I’ll lose four years from now? My body in an unmarked grave? Some meeting of talentless hacks I’ve beaten all whining that they would have beaten me if they had one more chance?”

…A bony hand extends outwards.

And snaps.

In a flash, Flynn finds himself in a graveyard.

The fields are white. The grass long-since dead. The ground is bare and lifeless.

The only thing present…

Headstones.

…Flynn exhales.

“Fucking called it.” Flynn spins on the Future Spirit.

“Oh, woe is me!” Flynn presses the back of hand to his forehead, in mock drama… “Someday, I’ll DIE!” Flynn spins, as if his whole world is ending….

“OH, TO BE CONFRONTED WITH MY OWN MORTALITY…”

Flynn drops to his knees, grasping his hands in the most desperate prayer.

“PLEASE, SPIRIT! Are these portents of things that WILL be? Or only what MAY be? I beseech thee! Tell me I won’t really die! Tell me I’ll just go live on a farm with big fields I can run all-day in, like my childhood pet goldfish…”

…Despite Flynn’s over-the-top, melodramatic speech, the Grim-Reaper-looking spirit remains unmoved… Pointing forward ominously, with a single bony finger…

Flynn sighs, and stands up, dusting off his knees.

“Look, I get the song-and-dance here. We gotta go through the motions. Just don’t be surprised when that take is better than anything *genuine* you’ll get outta me.”

The Spirit points once more ominously.

Flynn sighs. And follows his finger, stepping forward.

Flynn finds himself walking among the gravestones, the reaper gliding behind him…

“I’m just saying… Have I MAIMED a few people on my SUCCESS STORY? Yes. Should I have NOT ended NK’s career? Debatable.”

Flynn calls over his shoulder. “But, THAT is the beauty of the Optimal Path. The choices I made have culminated in the most dominant Universal Title Reign of All-Time. You want an omelette without breaking any eggs? You’re gonna go hungry.”

Finally, the pair stop.

At a headstone.

Flynn side-eyes ‘Death’.

“Look, I already got the twist. It’s my grave. Wow, crazy. Can we skip this bit already?”

…

The bony finger remains pointing forward.

Flynn sighs.

“All right. Your funeral.”

…

“Er… You get what I meant.”

Flynn steps forward as leaves dance across the grave, clearing off the engraving on the headstone…

The headstone reads…

MARK FLYNN_ _ _ _ _


Flynn yawns.

…Until more leaves clear off the stone.

MARK FLYNN’S UNI TITLE REIGN


“nooooooOOOOOOOOOOO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOO!”

Flynn dives on top of the grave, like he was breaking up a pinfall… He scratches the headstone.

“No NO NO NO NO No NO. NO NO NO!” Flynn smashes his fists ineffectually against the stone.

“No… I can’t lose this belt… Not after what I’ve done to get it.”

…Flynn spins and points at the Spirit.

“YOU! What do I gotta do, huh? When does it happen?”

The Spirit’s finger unfurls back into his hand. He hovers silently over Flynn

“OH! Mister Pointy wants me to walk all the way to my title reign’s fucking grave…Then, I guess your fucking job’s done, huh?”

Flynn grips the figure by his robe…

“WHO DOES IT, HUH? Chuck? Maddie, Junior? Kiki? I’LL PUT THEM ALL IN THE GROUND!”

The Spirit remains silent, his face shrouded.

“Some kid who hasn’t been called up yet? Like King Herod himself, I’ll have every son killed if that’s what it takes to keep my fucking gold!”

…

Flynn throttles the Spirit.

“ANSWER ME. WHO DOES IT?”

…Flynn shakes the Spirit once more.

And the hood drops.

[Image: 70796-v9-ba.jpg]

“hey.”

Flynn screams.]]> Sloooooooooooooow fade-in.

We see a picturesque Christmas cabin, on a beautifully snowy hill.

…

Actually, I’ll just show you.



Look at this majestic scene right here! Straight outta Norman Rockwell, huh?

Paper-white bits fall from the sky, gently, falling weightlessly in front of the camera!

The scene slowly steps back from the cabin…

This is a storytelling device, ya see. We’re about to show someone entering onto this dreamlike wonderland of a cabin!

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?”

The camera pans out a little quicker.

…It turns out ‘the cabin’... is a poster on a wall.

The bits of snow were three fellows in ‘Optimal Path’ t-shirts sprinkling handfuls of torn, papery bits, just in front of the picture, to create the illusion of a beautiful winter scene.

In fact, we’re in Florida, at XWF Headquarters.

The whirring of t-shirt presses! Dozens of hands sliding fabric into iron-on presses! Sweat pouring from foreheads, as these people have been working their hands to the bone.

Printing off Mark Flynn merchandise.

Speaking of Flynn, he stomps up to the three. He’s sporting his trademark sunglasses and suit. And his face is pink with unbridled rage. Like a semi-cooked Christmas ham.

The three simps in Optimal Path t-shirts that were scattering paper in front of an office poster for fun, suddenly trip over each other trying to bow down to Flynn harder than the other two.

Flynn snaps his fingers.

A moment later, Irwin, the head simp of his brigade of sycophants and boot-lickers is one step behind him.

“Who are these three FUUUUUUUCKFACES?”

Irwin points. “Oh, well, that’s Jerry, Todd an-”

Flynn snaps again, petulantly. “I don’t give a shiiiiiiit what their names are, Irwin. Who are they to MEEEEEEEEEE?”

…Irwin looks down at his keyboard. “Volunteer #117, #231 and #185. From left to right.”

“There we go.” Flynn beckons the three closer. They step up, eager to bask in the shine of Flynn’s brilliance.

“Do you know what time of year it is, boys?”

“...Well, of course!” Jerry Volunteer #117 offers. “It’s the happiest time of year!”

Flynn grins widely, reaching into his pocket, unfurling a paper... “That it is, one-one-seven, that it is. Because it is…”

Flynn SLAPS the paper stuck to the wall! Plastered over the winter cabin!

It’s an order sheet for Optimal Path products.

“THE HOLIDAY RUSH! We’re talking action figures, t-shirts, postcards, souvenir mugs… ‘TIS THE SEASON TO MOVE THE PRODUCT, BOYS. TO GENERATE REVENUE. We have a DUTY… to our mouth-breathing… sixty-IQ… MORON fans. To fill their stockings with MERCHANDISE. Every child that wants a fuckin’ Tickle-Me-Elmo instead of a Raion Kido daily inspiration book… Every kid that wants an art kit instead of a Latina Submission Machina DIY Facepainting-for-Luchadors-and-Luchadoras color set? That’s MONEY being STOLEN from our pocket. We have half-of-the-fucking-planet HOOKED to the DRUG we sell. That’s what this season is all about, Charlie Brown. To keep the PRODUCT in their veins, keep the ACTION on their minds, and keep our HANDS in their wallets…”

Flynn exhales angrily, as he stares at the order list. Some of the items are genuinely in the millions of pre-orders to satisfy.

“We’ve got BILLIONS of dollars to make this month. To do anything less… Would SHAKE the confidence of our shareholders. If the shareholders lose their confidence, they will sell. And if they sell, we lose company value.”

Flynn spins back toward his three eager simps.

“And you three boys…” Flynn smiles warmly, patting One-One-Seven on the cheek. (as he’ll call himself from now on. “With your monkeyshines and your tomfoolery…”

…

Flynn grabs One-One-Seven’s face and sticks his foot behind the simp’s ankle! He SHOVES his face and the simp lands backwards on the ground!

“ARE FUCKING WITH MY GODDAMNED BOTTOM LINE!”

One-One-Seven cradles his skull, agonzied when he landed skullfirst on the concrete floor.

“ALL THREE OF YOU GET BACK ON THE ASSEMBLY LINE!”

The other two simps drag a moaning, bleeding One-One-Seven away, back into the gaping maw of the industry that is the bowels of the production room.

Irwin coughs.

Flynn spins on him. “THOUGHTS, Irwinner?”

Irwin immediately covers his face with his clipboard.

“Well handled, Mister Flynn. As always, brilliantly motivating. Tough but fair.”

…Flynn grins.

“God, I love this job.”

“...But I do think th-”

“I don’t pay you to THINK, Irwin.”

“...You don’t pay me at all, Mister Flynn. I do this out of admiration.”

“...Ah, that’s right. Then, go ahead, I guess.”

“I believe that, maybe, these unpaid volunteers… might have just been looking for a way to make the tedious, repetitive labor… more fun.”

Flynn looks taken aback. “How is feeding yourself gainlessly into the machinery that is a perfectly optomized corporation NOT fun?”

Flynn spits, as he seethes downwards toward the collection of people, all working themselves to the bone for no money, entirely because Flynn told them to.

“Goddamn millennials.”

“I do think there’s some merit to, maybe, giving the volunteers a… short break.”

Flynn cranks his neck 120 degrees around like an owl hearing a sound in the night. He stares daggers through Irwin’s clipboard.

“I-I-I only mean, sir. I’m sure that a 15-minute break would improve morale and productivity! I’m sure… *some*... of your volunteers are feeling lonely, spending this time of year on the production line.”

“...Ah.” Flynn snaps his fingers. “Of course, you mean Winter Solstice.”

“...Well, I guess. I meant more like Christm-”

“YOU. MEANT. WINTER SOLSTICE.”

…Flynn wraps an arm around Irwin’s shoulder, who shivers terrified.

“The merriest, most non-denominational time of year. A holiday that does not exclude any customer and MAXIMIZES REVENUE.”

“...Yessir, of course, sir. But, I do feel like our workers might enjoy a fifteen-minute break. To call their families and wish them a Merry… Winter Solstice.”

…

Flynn strokes his chin.

…

“Or… y’know. Eat lunch.”

…

“For the first time in two weeks.”

…

Flynn nods.

Irwin delightedly rushes to the wall and pulls a string.

A workhorn, embedded into the wall, covered in cobwebs, blows loudly!

The dozens of simps look up, perplexed as to what that sounds means.

“Fifteen-minute break!” Irwin calls out. “All thanks to your philanthropic leader, Mark Flynn!”

The simps immediately slap their hands together, like trained seals, applauding the Universal champion.

Flynn grumbles, already furiously. You can feel his mind calculating every wasted second with indignant rage.

The simps continue to waste their fifteen-minute break applauding the object of their worship, as Flynn turns on Irwin.

“I want this place running DOUBLE-TIME after this…” Flynn spews this word like a slur. “...hiatus.” Irwin nods with a meek salute.

…Flynn walks away, still awash in adulation and applause. And disappears behind his office door.

Flynn takes a seat in his luxurious, midnight-black leather office chair.

…

He snorts out like a mad bull.

…

“Okay, that’s gotta be 15 minutes, right?”

He checks his watch.

…It’s been 38 seconds.

“GRAGH.” Flynn leans back in his chair, exasperated.

…

Flynn folds his arms over his chest.

“...Well, if those fucking SLOTHS are going to take a break…”

“Might as well take a…” Flynn double-checks his watch again. 12:15 PM

“14-minute nap.”

…Flynn clicks a few buttons, setting an alarm for 12:30… He presses his boots onto the surface of his desk…

And shuts his eyes tight.

***

“Ahhhhhhh, Atara Themis!”

“Atty Raven!”

“THE GREEK GODDESS!”

“Take a seat, please.”

“Y’know I was really feeling like I was losing my mind for a minute there…”

“Every fucking underling CRETIN walking through my fucking door…”

“Marf Swaysons…”

“Dick Powers…”

“Mieky Graves…”

“Came in with a dynamite sales pitch. ‘My product works great!’, they say. ‘It’s good enough to sell ALL OVER THE UNIVERSE…’ they claim.”

“...But, then, I run the numbers.”

“And the surefire moneymaker? Is a lemon. A scam. A FRAUD. A FUCKING SWINDLE.”

“Dicky, Mieky and Sicky, despite claiming they were on my level… That they’d EARNED my job as THE MOUNTAINTOP™…”

“Each came in to our match with a below .500 winning percentage. A combined record between the three of 57-76-5.”

“They hadn’t earned SHIT.”

“Their product was SUB-PAR.”

“And when they tried to make the climb? I wiped them off the fucking mountain.”

“As easily as I would brush flecks of meat off the corners of my mouth.”

…

“BUT! It’s the start of a new fucking day! AND A NEW FUCKING TIER OF BRAND QUALITY!”

“I mean, here I am, lil’ ol’ Mark Flynn, a humble CHAMPION OF THE UNIVERSE AND MASTER OF REALITY.”

“Sharing a room with a RAVEN!”

…

“Not by blood, but by marriage. But still, Atty! You’re wrestling-fucking-royalty! Shacked up with the People’s GOAT… As Jimmy-Jam likes to call himself…”

“Hell! Even before you became Jamesy’s broodmare, popping out the Wrestling World Champions of the 2040s and beyond… You’re Atty FUCKING Three-Belts!”

“...I mean, you held the three least prestigious titles all at the same time (Shooting Star, Internet and Freestyle). Two of those belts don’t fucking exist anymore… And the third is, as we speak, being freestyle rap-battled over.”

“BUT STILL. You’re Atara Themis. You are BELOVED the industry over. SURELY, your brand is FIRE, Atty!”

“Well, at this point, I’m just building up suspense so let’s get into your star-studded metrics…”

“It’s finally time, Atty! For a star-studded… BRAND EVALUATION™.”

***

Chirp.

Flynn’s finger efficiently press onto his wrist, clicking his alarm off.

…His face contorts, enraged.

“WHY DON’T I HEAR ANY FUCKING WORK HAPPENING?”

Flynn’s eyes open.

…His lights are off.

“...AND WHO TURNED OFF MY LIGHTS? WE’RE STILL ON THE CLOCK, PEOPLE. IT’S ONLY…”

Flynn glances down at this watch.

It is, in fact, 1:30.

…

AM.

…Flynn peers confused.

…

“I slept for 12 hours.”

…

“GooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOD DAMMIT.” Flynn stands up, punting his executive chair over onto his side. He lifts… and FLIPS his table.

“Irwin… and his FIFTEEN-MINUTE BREAK. I am going to SKIN HIM ALIVE. I’m going to TEAR HIM IN HA-”

A cold, eerie wind rushes through the room, scattering papers.

“...And they left the A/C on when they left? Do they THINK I’m MADE OF MONEY?!?”

“Maaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynn…” Calls out a distant whisper.

Flynn peers perplexedly.

“Someone out there? Working late?”

The sound… of rattling chains.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyyyyyynn…”

WHAM! A thump against the office door! It startles Flynn, who dives behind his turned-over office desk.

“Go away! Better yet… Get back to work!” Flynn calls out over the desk!

Fwsh! At once the office door unlocks… And the chains rattle closer.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyynn… It is I!”

Flynn peeks over the table and is astonished. Before the Uni champ, stands… actually, floats in mid-air… A thin Korean man in military fatigues!

“Your former partner, North Korean War Criminal!”

Flynn squints, astonished.

“NK?!? I thought I kil-… I mean, I thought Theo killed you! …Using me.”

“That all transpiiiiiiiiiired, yeeeeeeeeees!”

Flynn gasps. “So… you’re a ghost! Come to haunt me from the netherrealm! And warn me that I’ll be dragged to Hell in chains for my sins!”

NK clears his throat. “Oh, ridiculous, Mark Flynn! Pish and posh! As a citizen of Glorious True Korea, I believe in no afterlife at all! Let alone Hell…”

…Flynn squints confused. “...Wait, if you don’t believe in an afterlife… How do you explain being a ghost?”

“I choose not to think about it!” NK lifts a finger in the air, triumphantly, like he’s perfectly answered this question.

“...Ah… Then, where’d the chain come from?... If not the gates of Hades itself?”

“Home Depot. I brought it for Dramatic flair!” Rattle-rattle. “For you see, Mark Flynn!” NK says, hovering over him, rattling the chain once more. “I am here to show you the error of your waaaaaays! You have been corrupted by capitalism!”

…Flynn sneers. “Oh, fuck off, you leftist.”

NK is taken back, dropping the chain, gasping. “Mark Flynn! Language!” NK reaches behind his back and retrieves… a glass jar labelled ‘Swear jar’. The War Criminal shakes it in front of Flynn.

Flynn extends a hand to smack the jar away… But his hand phases right through it.

…Flynn waves his hand through a couple more times.

“...Huh. Neat.”

SMACK! NK smacks Flynn’s hand away! Flynn is shocked, recoiling his struck hand, fanning it cool with the other, nursing it under his armpit.

“Mark Flynn! You won the Universal Championship, destabilizing the power structure that held down non-traditional talent like us… And then, after you won. You immediately BOUGHT IN and strengthened the power structure. After YEARS of insisting that Universal champions were Hollywood divas and marketing tools… YOU BECAME A HOLLYWOOD DIVA AND MARKETING TOOL.” War Criminal shakes his head, tsk-tsking. “You were supposed to destroy the capitalist machine, not become one with it! What happened to your grandiose notion that a universal wrestling champion should be a wrestler first and foremost?”

Flynn scoffs. “Oh, can it, NK. You’re just JEALOUS of my success. You had every opportunity I did to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and win this Uni title. What stopped you, huh?”

NK coughs awkwardly. “...Mark Flynn, you threw me through an electrical box when I tried to cash-in my title opportunity.”

…

“Feh. Typical millennial excuse. In your shoes, I would have WELCOMED… getting thrown through an electrical box. You young people don’t know how to take the opportunities you’re given. You want everything served to you on a silver platter. Well, life doesn’t work that way. I worked my ASS off to get this belt. And if I had to throw you through four or five more elec trical boxes to get it, I WOULD HAVE.”

…The War Criminal wrinkles his nose, disgustedly. “Dear Glorious Leader… Mark Flynn, You used to be…” NK scratches his ghostly chin. “I mean, not a *good* man. But, you were a MAN. Not some profiteering, oil-baron-esque snake creature! What *happened* to you?”

“SUCCESS™ happened to me, NK. THE OPTIMAL PATH™ happened to me. I BECAME A SUCCESS STORY™. And you? Became a FOOTNOTE in the LEGEND of my ASCENT TO GODHOOD. TRIVIA. Nothing more…”

LIGHTNING STRIKE.

…Flynn ducks behind the table, frightened.

The tips of NK’s hair light with sparks… He seethes down furiously at his partner.

…NK shakes his head.

“I did not come here to watch an old ally choke on his own excess…”NK spits, venomously and disappointedly. “I simply came to warn you… That, this night, you will be visited by three spirits."

Flynn squints. "Isn't Dock already doing the whole 'Christmas Carol' thing?"

NK waves his hand dismissively. "His match is supposed to be Twas the Night themed! It's not our fault he can't read."

"Regardless, these Spirits of…”

“Spirits of Winter Solstice.”

“...Fine. Without their guidance, your soul shall be dominated perpetually by the capitalistic evil that has taken it.”

Flynn sputters. “Look, NK. I get that you probably have a lot of free time on your hands as an unemployed CORPSE. I am a BUSINESSMAN. I don’t have time for drop-in appointments!”

“Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one, Mark Flynn.”

NK glides backward… And phases through the door…

Flynn sneers…

He slams open his door.

He dashes down the stairs to the assembly line…

“First ghost, huh?”

He starts tossing over packaged merchandise. The XWF Official board game. An ocean of XWF Pop! Figurines…

“When the bell tolls one, huh?”

Paydirt. An officially licensed Ring Master WarGames Ghostbuster tie-in set!

…Flynn smiles.

"I ain't afraid of no ghost..."

***
“Y’know, what the hell, I’m in the spirit of the holiday.”

“(that holiday being WINTER SOLSTICE™.”

“If some fuckin’ ghosts are about to go over MY past, present and future… LET’S GO ALL IN ON YOURS!”

SLAM!

“Let’s see… Atara Themis! XWF Debut: 10/31/2019! Halloween Night! How spooky! And with an XWF win-loss record of…”

The creature flips open the folder on his desk.

…

……

“25-30-1?”

“...Check my fucking math…”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Atty?”

“At this point, am I getting fucking PRANKED here?”

“How is this mathematically possible? Mathematically, if one of you loses, someone else has to win, right? How the FUCK are ALL OF YOU UNDER .500?!?”

“...Shit, hang on.”

…The simulacrum slinks from his desk and disappears off-frame to the right.

……
In a flash, he’s back with a bigger folder…

“Okay! Okay Okay Okay!”

“I ran the numbers on my own records, Atty! I figured if I came back under .500, CLEARLY the method of compiling people’s records is faulty.”

“...And you know what I came back with? What XWF record I calculated for ol’ Mark Flynn?”

“64-24-1.”

SLAM! The larger folder smacks against the desk with a thud.

“THAT’S WHAT I’M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT, BABY. That’s a goddamn legendary career right there.”

“Meanwhile, if we check your stats… JESUS. How thoroughly mediocre.”

“0-3 in Universal Title matches.”

“0-4 in matches against the reigning Uni champ.”

“And a ONE-AND-ELEVEN RECORD AGAINST FORMER UNI CHAMPS.”

“CHECK. MY. FUCKING MATH.”

“You have ONE win over a Uni champ. Warstein. March Madness 2020. X-Treme champ. And he basically wrestled, handcuffed and one-legged. Cashed-in his briefcase later that night. That’s the ONLY way, UNDERCARD ATTY, could beat an ACTUAL FUCKING OPPONENT.”

The creature slides the two folders side-by-side.

“Atty. Check my fucking stats. MY Singles record against former Uni champs? 10-2-1.”

“I’ve beaten Corey Smith AND Robert Main. The #1 and #2 Greatest wrestlers in XWF History. I’ve beaten 17 names on the XWF Top 50. Who the hell is the biggest name you’ve beaten? Big Preesh? Fuckin’ OSWALD? Barney GREEEEEEN.”

The creature spits bitterly.

“Atty, you’re a fucking joke. Your past is humiliating. You’ve had FIFTEEN TITLE SHOTS IN THREE YEARS. This is despite effectively being a part-timer for MONTHS ON END…”

“And somehow… Some way… You’ve lost NINE OF THOSE MATCHES.”

“Big Match Atty has an even worse record in title matches than she does in regular matches… And why? Because you’re JAMES RAVEN’S WIFE.”

“Because you married into being a draw.”

“Lot easier than doing it on your own, I imagine.”

“I wouldn’t know. I HAD TO WIN TO GET MY CHANCES.”

“That’s your past, Atty. Humiliation after humiliation. Failing upwards in the ring because someone ACTUALLY TALENTED put a ring on it.”

***

SLAM! The bathroom door gets kicked open!

And Flynn is in a brown jumpsuit, wielding a proton pack…

He squeezes and pulls up the waist. It’s a little small on him.

“Snug, but I’ll make it work. Thank God we only sell these in a Child’s Xtra-Xtra-Large… Goddamn obesity epidemic.”

SWHOOOOOOOOOM! Suddenly, the bathroom door bursts open! A glorious, white light fills the bathroom.

“Uh, occupied!” Flynn says, as he squeezes the rubber ball of the proton pack! The light display on the side of the pack flashes yellow…

“FLYYYYYYYYYNN! Your past awaaaaaaaaits!”

Yellow…

Flynn furiously pumps, sweat running down his face!

A light fog rolls in on the roll… A shadowy looming figure emerges…

GREEN!

“HAHAHA! SUCK IT, PAST! MY TIME IS NOW!” Flynn cackles as he thrusts the proton pack’s barrel up at the spirited intruder.

Flynn pulls the trigger!

aaaaaaaaAAAAAAND!

…

A spritz of water shoots out.

…Flynn murmurs disappointedly, dropping the pack to the floor with a thud.

“…Sigh. I should have known they wouldn’t sell a positronic particle accelerator in a package marked ‘For Ages 8-12’…”

“Time is short, dude!”

The Spirit steps into the light.

…

“Let’s rock!”

“…Vinnie?” Flynn squints. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be running your all-women football league further into the ground?”

…Lane looks slightly irked by the insinuation that LFL isn’t going swimmingly… But gathers his composure.

“No no, Flynnerino! You see I merely APPEAR as rockin’ dude, Vinnie Lane! I am, in fact, the Spirit of Winter Solstice Past!”

Flynn squints suspiciously. “Oh, really, now?”

“Ch’yeah, dude! I’m here to show you where your moral mandolin went out of tune, my dude.”

Flynn exhales. “Makes sense YOU’d be the Past, Lane. You’re IRRELEVANT. Your whole persona is 40 years out of date…”

WHAM! Lane grabs Flynn by the shoulder…

“ROCK WILL NEVER BE OUTTA STYLE, BRO-HAM!”

Taking Flynn’s shoulder, Lane does the Wayne & Garth dissolve.



…The bathroom shifts and lurches! Space time wraps around the pair…

And the scene melts into… A dingy, grimy street. Car alarms and dimly-lit alleys…

“This scene look familiar, Flynn?”

Flynn squints, perplexedly.

“It looks…. kinda like the hellhole of a town I grew up in…”

“Correctamundo, dude! We’re in Battle Creek, circa 1985! One of the best years, imho.”

“...Sure. But… It’s a little…. Different.”

“Oh, totes. Everything probably looks smaller, cuz you’ve grown up since then!”

“No, not that. I’m pretty sure Battle Creek was never populated by this many… Muppets.”

In fact, the dingy, poorly-lit crime-infested Battle Creek of days gone by… Is entirely populated by beings of felt and Googly eyes.

[Image: Leftysboss.png]

“Dude, I have made it very clear what my favorite Christmas Carol is. Don’t kill my vibe, yo. At least until we get to Beaker and Professor Honeydew.”

“…Sigh. Fine.”

Lane claps his hands together.

“Now! We step onto this scene where we meet a Mister and Mrs Flynn…”

[Image: muppet-couple.jpg]

…

“Ok.”

“And their precocious, six-year-old pride and joy… Lil’ Markie!”

[Image: LaCabra.webp]

…Flynn irritatedly side-eyes Vinnie. “Is that fucking goat supposed to be me?”

“Hush, dude. I’m setting the scene. Now, from a young age, lil’ Mark loved wrestling.”

The two muppets are on each side of Mark, holding hands... er… horns.

“Well, that local wrestling show was AMAZING!” Cheers Mrs. Flynn… “But, should we have taken lil’ Markie out so late on a school night.”

Mr. Flynn shakes his head, exaggeratedly, like a puppet performing for the children in the back of the theater. “Come now, dear! You know Markie would stay up all night crying if he knew he was missing live wrestling! It’s pretty much the only time he smiles. Right, Markie?”

“Baaaaaaaaaaaah.”

Flynn glowers. “Straight out of Norman Fuckin’ Rockwell, Vin. But, can we speed this the fuck up?”

“Be careful what you wish for, Flynn, because heeeeeeeere comes trouble!”

The Flynns continue walking down the street, with flickering overhead lights…

“Come on, we parked just around the corner.”

“I feel like we should have parked closer, Dear.”

“$2 for a spot? In this economy? Absolutely not.”

As the family turns the corner, they run straight into…

[Image: Joe-Chill-01.png]

A no-good-nik. With a big iron.

“Your money or your life.”

The well-to-do Flynns shiver and quake in fear.

“Oh goodness… We’d love to give you money, in exchange for our lives… But… We just paid the last of our pocket change to get into that wrestling show.”

…The shadowy goon clicks his tongue.

“Shame.”

BANG!

Fluff and felt bursts into the air! Mister Flynn’s skull splits completely in twain!

“No!” Mrs Flynn howls, in the most profound pain. She dives forward for the gun… Wrapping her little felt mitts around it.

“GIVE IT UP, LADY.” Barks the criminal.

“DON’T HURT HIM! NOT MY BABY!” But, her little felt hands cling for dear life… Until…

BANG!

One in the gut…

Of Mrs Flynn.

White fluff unfurls to the pavement as Mrs. Flynn lifelessly drops to the street.

The brazen murderer, unfazed by his double muppet-homicide, holsters his gun.

“See ya ‘round, kid.”

And with that, the scum disappears back into the shadows.

The goat muppet stands over the corpses of his loving parents.

His hooves press against them, desperate for them to rise.

He turns toward the moon, distant and ambivalent to fate’s cruelty.

“BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Lil’ Markie bleats mournfully.

“Duuuuuuuude. *sniff*.” Lane dabs a tissue at his eye. “This day, lil’ Markie was lost. And Mark Flynn came into being. His loving parents lost, he turned to the sport he loved: wrestling.”

“...Lane.”

“And he would turn wrestling into a symbol that would inspire the people of Battle Creek to take back their city from the criminal scum that so cruelly parted him from his parents.”

“Lane.”

“But, then here comes Muppet Blair Sully to bite off Flynn’s di-”

“LANE.”

Lane spins toward Flynn, irked. Clearly, he felt like he was on a roll.

“May I make a quick note?”

“...Uh. Sure, dude.”

“This is supposed to be my past, right?”

“Ch’yeah, dude! I only present the shadows of the things that have been. As they are that they are… like, don’t harsh on me, yo.”

Flynn strokes his chin.

“See, that’s interesting. Because….”

Flynn waves his hand, gesturing at the tragic scene of a Muppet Goat mourning his deceased Muppet parents.

“None of this. Absolutely NONE of this happened.”

…Lane double-takes at the scene.

Then, back to Flynn.

“You sure, dude?”

“Am I sure that my origin story is just Batman with a wrestling spin? And that my parents didn’t die in FUCKING CRIME ALLEY?” Flynn points emphatically.

Indeed, the street the stand on is called Crime Alley.

Running across Tragic Backstory Avenue.

…Flynn nods. “Like 85% sure.”

…Vinnie lowers his rock-and-roll bandana an inch to scratch his forehead.

“...Okay, full discloshe, Flynn dude? I was supposed to research your whole back story to handle the Flashback dealie… But, something came up.”

TWO WEEKS EARLIER


Lane is at his computer reading an email.

“Sah-weeeeeeeeeeet! Help Flynn see the error of his ways? AND save Christmas Winter Solstice! Hell yeah, dude! The LFL can wait! This is priority number one for me! I’m going to spend the next two weeks FOCUSED, yo!”

The intercom buzzes. “Mister Lane, you have a package on your desk.”

…Lane tilts his head a few degrees from his computer.

Atop his desk… In plastic wrapping.

[Image: 61f92-Dbh-L-AC-SX679.jpg]

A pristine, untouched paddleball.

…

“Okay.” Lane exhales. “The kids need me. SantaWINTER SOLSTICE FIGURE needs me!”

…

Lane picks the paddle off the table.

“One quick go.”

ONE WEEK, SIX DAYS, TWENTY-THREE HOURS AND FORTY-FOUR MINUTES LATER


“Two… Thr- SHOOT!” Lane frustratedly tosses the paddleball on the table.

NOW


“It was, like… Mondo importante, dude.”

“Uh huh.”

“And it WASN’T paddle-ball related.”

…

“Welp. Dag, yo.” Lane snaps his fingers.

The mysterious fog evaporates and the two find themselves back in the bathroom.

Lane bites his lip.

“Uh… So. Did you, like, learn the error of your ways and stuff?”

…Flynn tilts his sideways at that ridiculous question.

“...No.”

Lane valley-girl scoffs. He glances at his watch. Almost 2 am…

“...Shoot. Well, uh… If the next guy asks, could you tell him, like, I totally nailed it and you’re gonna, like, volunteer at a soup kitchen ‘n stuff?”

Flynn exhales.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Lane extends his pinkie and thumb and shakes his fist. “Radical. Thanks, Flynn.”

And in a puff of smoke, Lane is gone.

…

Flynn’s hands rest on his Ghostbuster costume’s collar… And in one motion, he tears the clothes outfit off. It comes off in strips, like it’s made of tissue and asbestos.

Which, knowing Flynn’s labor standards, it might be.

“Hmm.” Flynn says, briefly naked as a jaybird, before retrieving his suit from the hanger in the stall he had just changed in.

“So, Ghostbusters didn’t stop a ghost…”

…

A moment later, Flynn is dressed, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

…

Flynn snaps his fingers.

“Got it.”

In a flash, Flynn retrieves his phone from his pocket…

And starts googling…

‘Pol-ter-geist…’

***
“But, the past is the past, right, Atty? After all, I’m bringing up ancient history! Nowadays, you’re main eventing crossover shows on the biggest stages in the industry!”

…

“Admittedly, your hubby Jim-Jim still gets top-billing. But, hey! A payday is a payday!”

“Maybe Atty is a late bloomer…”

“Why don’t we check the present? Her most recent title match for example…”

“BAD MEDICINE 2022.”

“In one corner, you had the defending champs… A ragtag odd couple: Johnny Madison, Junior and Angie Vaughn. A team that disagrees on whether or not they’re dating, let alone proper in-ring tactics.”

“And challenging them, you had Atara… AND THE MOTHERFUCKING PEOPLE’S GOAT, JAMES RAVEN.”

“Holy fucking shit, Atty! Can you ask for a better partner than possibly THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED PARTNER IN WRESTLING HISTORY?”

“Not only that, but Maddy cut a dogshit promo. Like his heart wasn’t even in it. It was going to be one-on-two. And, I can’t overstate this, the side with two had JAMES FUCKING RAVEN.”

“How could anyone fuck this up?”

…

“Atty found a way.”

“Atty No-Belts was presented the tag belts on a SILVER FUCKING PLATTER. And she and Jimmy Ray SHAT THE FUCKING BED.”

“That’s your present-day, Atty. That’s how you’re coming into this match. Record your podcasts, rule over wrestling Twitter, post those GIFs…”

“Turn heads… OUTSIDE THE RING.”

“Because inside it? You are, as you’ve always been…”

“ME.”

“DEE.”

“OH.”

“KUR.”

***

Flynn is back in his office… Sitting in the chair he’d knocked to the ground earlier. He’s taken a letter opener and start carving it against his corporate nameplate…

He’s shaving off pieces. And fashioning it into a… Tee.

Flynn holds it up to his face to admire it.

“A cross. Maybe that’ll do the trick.”

…And right on time, Flynn’s wrist chirps. He stares down at his watch.

2 AM.

Like clockwork, the fog rolls into his office.

Flynn defensively raises the cross in front of him.

“THIS HOUSE… IS CLEAN.”

Despite his cross, the fog rolls in.

“Flyyyyyyyyyynn. I’ve come to show you things as they aaaaaaaaare.”

A figure looms just outside his door.

Flynn stabs the cross forward “POLTERGEIST! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU.”

“Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynn.”

…

“Pretty sure, that’s from Exorcist, not Poltergeist.”

“...Sigh.” Flynn exhales, tossing the cross to the ground.

…Emerging through the clouds of vapor… It’s…

[Image: tom-hiddleston-celebrity-mask2.jpg]

Theo Pryce!

[Image: RP-VITA1.jpg]

…Sort of.

An automaton with Theo Pryce’s live face rolls in through Flynn’s office door.

“Flynn! It is I! The Ghost of Christmas Winter Solstice Present!”

…

Flynn squints.

“Theo, what the fuck is this shit? Why are you a robot?”

…

“Did you finally give up on your human body? Not efficient enough for you?”

Flynn flicks the face of the robot-on-wheels.

“Don’t do that.”

…Theo clears his throat.

“Unfortunately, my upcoming film is going through a brief scheduling of reshoots and I am unable to save the holiday in-person. Fortunately, I have a controllable teleproxy for such situations where I have to be in two places at once, as I often do as XWF COO.”

…Flynn’s forehead throbs angrily. He draws his face right up in front of Theo’s webcam.

“Oh, right. Mister Hollywood, Theo Pryce. How is your Oscar speech coming along?”

Pryce warmly smiles. “You mean, how is the film going? Thank you for asking. It’s so outside of my traditional wheelhouse. As a COO, I’ve gotten used to doing the organizational labor, rather than providing the creative energy as I used to as a wrestler. Even on my first day, I w-”

“On your FIRST DAY.” Flynn cuts in, drawing his face even closer to the robot’s. Pryce pauses, vexed. “You went to set and were given a shooting schedule of various locations you and your co-stars would be shooting.” Flynn emotionlessly recites. “Well, you’re looking over the shotlist and you think, well, this doesn’t make sense logistically at all. The first scene of the day requires make-up that they’ll have to take off, then put back on for the fifth scene of the day. So, you call the crew together to re-organize the shoot. It took an hour and a half, and by the time you were done, you were ONLY 30 minutes late to your own scene.”

…

Pryce’s eyes narrow, sternly. “...Yes. How’d you know that?”

Flynn pinches the sides of his forehead. “You said the same FUCKING story on late night two nights ago, promoting your big movie’s premiere.” Flynn golf-claps twice, his whole demeanor bubbling with disingenuous sarcasm.

Pryce’s lips purse. “I take it you weren’t a fan of the segment, then.”

“Oh, how could I not have been? After all, Fallon LOVED it. He laughed almost as hard as he laughs at EVERYTHING FUCKING ELSE. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” Flynn stomps his feet, fake-laughing, pressing his nose into the Theo-bot's webcam.

…Pryce sighs. “Well, should have known you wouldn’t be in the mood for idle chatter. All business? Fine. Let’s get to it.”

A thick fog rolls into the office once more…

The walls fade backward… And as quickly as they do, a stoop appears before Flynn and Theo(-bot). A set of concrete stairs. A metal rail. A push-door.

Above the stoop is a tattered, withered banner.

‘True Korean Wrestling Gym’...

…Flynn strokes his chin.

“Oh. Wait, I remember True Korean Wrestling…”

Flynn climbs up the stairs of the stoop.

“This was the company NK ran before he signed an XWF contract last year. Pissing off Americans in high schools gyms all across the country.”

Theo smiles.

“Yes, Flynn! This used to be your tag-team partner’s passion project.” The robot rolls up behind Flynn. “But, when you threw him into an electrical box, th-”

The robot bumps into the first step… Then rebounds off.

…Theo frustratedly presses a button. The robot rebounds off the step.

…

Theo clears his throat, tapping the screen

“Flynn, could you… um… Carry my teleproxy up the steps?”

Flynn grins fiendishly, pleased to see his friend-slash-adversary helpless, even if not physically. “What’s wrong, Theo? I thought this teleproxy was a perfect solution to you not being present? Did you not account for STAIRS?”

…Theo squints.

“Flynn, I asked because it would be easier with your help. I, of course, have a solution I can implement on my own if you so obstinately insist on being a thorn in my side.” Theo hammers a few keys on his keyboard.

…FSSSSSSSSH! Bursts of air erupt from the bottom of the teleproxy… lifting it into the air!

Flynn backs up, amazed, as the machine gently rockets a few inches off the ground.

Theo smiles.

“There, see. Now, let us enter the gym of True Korean Wrestling…”

Theo presses forward… The robot surges forther.

“And see how your selfishness and green has affected those around y-”

The robot… is just a few millimeters short of clearing the stair.

The thing’s wheels trip. It lands face-first…

…

As its circular trashcan body rolls back down the steps.

…

***

A few moments later, the door opens. A number of young athletes in tights have entered through the front door.

Behind them, Flynn rolls in, a cylindrical trash-can looking robot over his shoulder.

As the wrestlers close the door behind them, Flynn (unseen) sets the robot down. Its wheels set creakily on the floor.

“Thank you...” Theo begrudgingly nods.

Flynn ruffles the top of the robot’s head.

“Like that jail cell in Colorado, Pryce. Always need ol’ Mark to bail you out.”

“ENTER, YOUNG TALENT.”

The wrestlers head down the hall… Pushing past a set of double-doors…

To a smaller-than-traditionally-so wrestling ring. Surrounding by blue gymnastics mats.

In the center of the ring…

Is The War Criminal’s second-in-command, Kato! Standing beside an easel covered by a tarp.

“Come, come! We have no time to dilly and/or dally!”

Flynn’s eyes widen!

“Oh shit! K-Man! I haven’t seen him since…” Flynn trails off.

“Since you electrocuted his commander to near-death?”

…Flynn side-eyes Theo. “Don’t make me kick you over, Pryce.”

The wrestlers all surround the ring.

Kato is sporting a megaphone and wearing a pair of sunglasses.

“Gather, gather!”

The talent steps through the ropes and joins the True Korean’s number two in the squared circle.

Flynn rolls up to the side of the ring and peers upwards and inwards.

“Man, Kato… Good guy. Level-headed. NK’s voice of reason.”

The wrestlers all chitter and chatter under their breath, as Kato walks over to the easel.

“You all must be wondering what the ad I put in the local paper referred to. ‘Unique, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be remembered in wrestling forever!’...”

This quiets the group.

Kato pulls off the sheet.

It’s a black-and-white picture of NK.

“This is…” Kato’s shaky hands pull off his sunglasses.

His eyes are beet-red. From constant weeping.

“My commander. My l-l-leader. The sun whose journey we all followed… *sniff*... that would lead us to a brighter tomorrow…”

…Flynn’s smile fades.

…

Kato closes his sunglasses and places them in his pocket.

“This man… The greatest man I have worked under. Was struck down at the precipice of greatness…” Kato gently grips the beautiful NK in-memorium picture, before setting it down against the ropes.

“BY THIS COWARD…” Kato strikes his finger against the easel.

Behind the NK picture is a snapshot of…

You guessed it.

Mark Flynn. Smiling. Sunglasses. Selling the Optimal Path.

“This DEMON. This JUDAS… (if you’ll pardon the religious allusion)... Gained my commander’s trust. Rode his coattails to victory.”

Flynn’s eyebrow twitches. “*I* rode *NK’S* COATTAILS…”

“And STOLE MY COMMANDER’S UNIVERSAL TITLE SHOT…”

…Flynn scoffs.

“I pledged the day I lost my commander… That I would devote my every waking breath… My every thought. TO STRIPPING MARK FLYNN OF HIS ILL-GOTTEN GOODS. TO TAKING EVERYTHING FROM MARK FLYNN… AS HE HAS TAKEN FROM ME…”

…Flynn pulls out his phone… Pulls up a Note labelled ‘Winter Solstice Card List’...

And deletes Kato’s name.

“And, with one of you… The best among you… I shall impart upon you what I learned being so close to Mark Flynn… His weakness! And the means by which we shall liberate him from his falsely-earned gold!”

…A wrestler in the ring raises his hand.

Kato is surprised. “Erm, yes! A question? A comment? Or, perhaps, a pledge of loyalty to our mission?”

The wrestler coughs. “Is this gig paid?”

…

“Er… Pay?”

The wrestler reaches into his pocket and unfolds a slip of paper “The flyer said, untold riches await those who answer this opportunity…”

…Kato stammers. “W-w-well… When I said, untold riches, I meant the riches of doing the right thing! Of avenging a fallen hero wh- HEY! WAIT!”

Before Kato can justify his false advertising, the dozens of wrestlers are all making a clean break for the exit!

“NO! I NEED THE STRONGEST AMONG YOU!” Kato tries to grab one by the arm.

“Get off, you little weirdo!”

WHOOSH! Kato gets shoved back against the ropes! Trips over his own feet…

SMSH! And lands ass-first…

Onto the in-memorium NK picture.

“COMMANDER!” Kato is immediately weepy, he spins, alternating between cradling the picture to his chest… And dusting it clean with his tears. “I-I-I-I… I am so sorry… I c-c-c-an’t believe I’m failing you… When you n-n-n-need me most…” Kato lies, defeated in the ring as the talent pool recedes back outside.

…Outside the ring, Flynn bites his tongue.

“...Shit.”

…

“Look, Kato just doesn’t get it. NK *would* understand, right? He and I both knew how important the Uni title is…”

…

Flynn scratches his head.

“I mean, I know NK’s ghost told me earlier tonight that I’ve lost my way, but…”

…

Flynn exhales.

“Did I fuck up?”

…

“Well, Theo? I’m genuinely asking if I’m in the wrong… Here’s your chance to rub it in.”

…

“Theo?”

Flynn checks over his shoulder.

The Theo-Bot’s back is turned, facing the corner.

“You get stuck on the carpet or something, R2?”

Flynn walks up behind it.

“-ee, that’s the thing about this part, Stephen. It almost feels like I’m not acting at all. Sometimes I get so deep into the scene, I forget I’m not Phillip. You see, my last film, on the set of TimeSplit, the director and I ag-”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, YOU’RE ON COLBERT RIGHT NOW?”

“...Er, one moment, Stephen, I’m so sorry. *click*” The robot spins around.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, THEO.”

The on-screen Theo pulls down his headset and tries to assume a somber, ghostly voice.

“You see, Flynn. Your actions have hurt those you once called friend. And now, y-”

“NO NO NO.” Flynn shakes his finger in front of the robot’s face. “WE’RE DONE WITH THAT NOW.”

Flynn covers his face with both hands. His face is turning purple he’s so angry.

“See… Theo.” Flynn exhales, squeezing his fists. “The thing about being the Ghost of the Present? YOU NEED TO BE IN THE FUCKING HERE AND NOW FOR IT.”

…

Flynn smiles, still gritting his teeth angrily.

“But, that’s never been your vibe has it? Let’s get real FUCKIN’ honest, Theo. Who’s in your circle of friends? Who would count on you for help that you’re letting down right now?”

“Dolly is on relapse number eight this year and disappeared into fucking rural Kentucky. Who knows what cult or pyramid scheme she throws in with next, but she’s lost and helpless.”

“Thad is so desperate to make you proud as his weird surrogate business daddy that he bought a stake in OCW just to play dress-up as Lil’ Theo…”

Flynn covers his mouth like he’s telling a secret.

“By the way, I dunno if you remember what happened to his real dad, but I’d watch out for that.”

Flynn grits his teeth.

“OH WAIT, YES, YOU FUCKING DO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. YOU WERE THE LAST GUY OL’ PAPA DUKE SPOKE TO BEFORE HE AND HIS HEAD PARTED WAYS.”

“Luca is missing, presumed dead. Azzy Erebus shot off like a rocket-man into the Sun. Madison is serving a life sentence. And poor Vinny really thinks his all-women football league is going to work out financially.”

Flynn shakes his head.

“And here you are. Giving it 15% at all times. Putting in just e-fucking-nough that people think you’re the voice of reason around here, Theo. The glue that holds all the madness together.”

…

Flynn draws the robot screen right up to his face.

“Well, that glue has gotten weak, Theo. You can play office manager for your new kids, The Trilogy. And maybe you’ll even keep them happy with occasional midcard title shots… But, at some fucking point, Theo. You’re going to get tired of them being human and flawed. Just like you do everyone else.”

“Just like you did your ol’ pal, Flynn. The one who bailed you out of a Colorado jail cell. The one you ABANDONED after YOU fucked that Trios Title shot.”

…

“You’re NEVER going to drop that, are you?”

Flynn scoffs.

“Someone needs to keep track of everyone else’s transgressions, Theo. And I’m the fucking recordkeeper around these parts.”

…Pryce bitterly sighs.

And on his keyboard, he hits escape.

In a flash, Flynn is back in his office.

Alone.

…

Flynn glances at the Uni belt hanging on his mantle.

…

And sighs.

***

“And as for your future Atty? Does it look bright? Sure, you’ve had a hard road… But, I mean, things are only going to get better with age, right At-At?”

“After all, you’re only… 27! You know what they say about women in entertainment! The older, the better!”

…

The creature smiles bitterly.

“I’m joking, of course. Ask any former teenage Hollywood starlet. By 24, you’re considered used goods and tossed into a fucking geriatric facility as your body atrophies into total averageness.”

…

“Or, even worse, you start directing.”

The creature chuckles as he reaches into his desk drawer…

“You’re past your prime, whenever that was. I guess that half-hour that you had three belts, like, a year ago?”

“But, now, you and Jim are raising your brood of future-entitled wrestling royalty. Everybody loves babies. Surely, a bundle of joy every eighteen months will keep you in the limelight, right?”

The homunculus scoffs, shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, no. See, the trick to royalty… Is POWER… And… as a POWER couple…”

The monster retrieves from his desk… A miniature guillotine.

“You and Jimmy are running dangerously low on the stuff…”

The creature’s haunting guillotine sits atop the desk.

“Hell, even Jimbo Raven, that talent rocket you attached yourself to… Sure seems out of fuel recently…”

“He was eliminated FIRST at the Tara Fenix Charity Event, representing CCPE.”

“He got pinned in four minutes flat, by Johnny Madison’s doofus son.”

“And even when he does find the will to cut a promo on time, he’s usually slurry-drunk as he does it…”

The monster reaches back into his desk…

And retrieves…

Dolls.

Two dolls.

One man. One woman. Gleaming, frozen smiles.

Both with small plastic crowns resting on their heads…

“See, that’s the thing about royalty, Atty.”

The monster slips the male doll’s neck into the small model guillotine.

“It looks real glamorous from the outside. When you’re a fucking peasant, scraping together wins against gutter-trash and losing against everyone worth a damn. I imagine you see an overrated slob like Raven and think…”

“That guy’s got it. The looks. The physique. And the smarts… I mean, you can’t deny…”

The creature’s cheekbones lift into a grin…

“He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

CHOP.

The monster reaches into the basket the size of a thimble under the guillotine. And retrieves the doll’s smiling, disembodied skull…

“Or rather, he used to…”

“Now, you’re in the royal family. And you’re learning Prince Charming is an over-the-hill drunk. Desperately clinging onto his relevance by taking an executive position in WGWF. Feeling his greatness atrophy and die.”

The creature tosses the male doll into his trash can…

Before moving onto the female doll…

“Are you wrestling royalty, Atty? Perhaps. Are your worthless, shitty broodspawn royalty? Yep. Is your drunk, slovenly, overrated husband? Fine.”

“But, after you lost to Angie and Maddy? The gold on your crowns are rusted.”

“The Treasure Room of the woman once called Atty-Three-Belts… Sure doesn’t have much around her waist these days…”

“Except maybe a belly band for pregnancy weight…”

“And people don’t tolerate weak royalty, Atty.”

The freak slips the female doll into the guillotine. He reaches down… And retrieves the doll’s crown.

“Lose too many times and you lose your crown.”

CHOP...

“Among other things.”

The creature takes the tiny circular crown.

Pinching it on both sides like a wishbone.

And snaps it in half.

“It’s time for a revolution, Atty.”

“No more kings.”

“No more queens.”

“ONLY THE OPTIMAL PATH.”

“EQUALIZING.”

“ACCESSIBLE.”

“FAIR.”

...The Creature slides the dolls off the desk and into the trash can beside his desk.

"Atty. Since I came back, I've beaten the very best of the past (Kieran King), the present (Charlie Nickles), and the future (Raion Kido)."

"And all I can say about you? Is that your time is up."

***

Chirp.

3 AM.

The fog rolls i-.

Before it can even finish the effect, Flynn’s door pops open.

“Let’s get this over with.” Flynn pulls his arms through his coat as he closes his door behind him.

“I take it you’re the ghost of Winter Solstice Fut-...”

Flynn turns around.

And finds himself face-to-face with…

[Image: reaper-death.png]

…

Flynn sighs, slightly off-his-game, but still some confidence up-his-sleeve.

“Okay… So, what are we gonna see now, huh? Some match I’ll lose four years from now? My body in an unmarked grave? Some meeting of talentless hacks I’ve beaten all whining that they would have beaten me if they had one more chance?”

…A bony hand extends outwards.

And snaps.

In a flash, Flynn finds himself in a graveyard.

The fields are white. The grass long-since dead. The ground is bare and lifeless.

The only thing present…

Headstones.

…Flynn exhales.

“Fucking called it.” Flynn spins on the Future Spirit.

“Oh, woe is me!” Flynn presses the back of hand to his forehead, in mock drama… “Someday, I’ll DIE!” Flynn spins, as if his whole world is ending….

“OH, TO BE CONFRONTED WITH MY OWN MORTALITY…”

Flynn drops to his knees, grasping his hands in the most desperate prayer.

“PLEASE, SPIRIT! Are these portents of things that WILL be? Or only what MAY be? I beseech thee! Tell me I won’t really die! Tell me I’ll just go live on a farm with big fields I can run all-day in, like my childhood pet goldfish…”

…Despite Flynn’s over-the-top, melodramatic speech, the Grim-Reaper-looking spirit remains unmoved… Pointing forward ominously, with a single bony finger…

Flynn sighs, and stands up, dusting off his knees.

“Look, I get the song-and-dance here. We gotta go through the motions. Just don’t be surprised when that take is better than anything *genuine* you’ll get outta me.”

The Spirit points once more ominously.

Flynn sighs. And follows his finger, stepping forward.

Flynn finds himself walking among the gravestones, the reaper gliding behind him…

“I’m just saying… Have I MAIMED a few people on my SUCCESS STORY? Yes. Should I have NOT ended NK’s career? Debatable.”

Flynn calls over his shoulder. “But, THAT is the beauty of the Optimal Path. The choices I made have culminated in the most dominant Universal Title Reign of All-Time. You want an omelette without breaking any eggs? You’re gonna go hungry.”

Finally, the pair stop.

At a headstone.

Flynn side-eyes ‘Death’.

“Look, I already got the twist. It’s my grave. Wow, crazy. Can we skip this bit already?”

…

The bony finger remains pointing forward.

Flynn sighs.

“All right. Your funeral.”

…

“Er… You get what I meant.”

Flynn steps forward as leaves dance across the grave, clearing off the engraving on the headstone…

The headstone reads…

MARK FLYNN_ _ _ _ _


Flynn yawns.

…Until more leaves clear off the stone.

MARK FLYNN’S UNI TITLE REIGN


“nooooooOOOOOOOOOOO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOO!”

Flynn dives on top of the grave, like he was breaking up a pinfall… He scratches the headstone.

“No NO NO NO NO No NO. NO NO NO!” Flynn smashes his fists ineffectually against the stone.

“No… I can’t lose this belt… Not after what I’ve done to get it.”

…Flynn spins and points at the Spirit.

“YOU! What do I gotta do, huh? When does it happen?”

The Spirit’s finger unfurls back into his hand. He hovers silently over Flynn

“OH! Mister Pointy wants me to walk all the way to my title reign’s fucking grave…Then, I guess your fucking job’s done, huh?”

Flynn grips the figure by his robe…

“WHO DOES IT, HUH? Chuck? Maddie, Junior? Kiki? I’LL PUT THEM ALL IN THE GROUND!”

The Spirit remains silent, his face shrouded.

“Some kid who hasn’t been called up yet? Like King Herod himself, I’ll have every son killed if that’s what it takes to keep my fucking gold!”

…

Flynn throttles the Spirit.

“ANSWER ME. WHO DOES IT?”

…Flynn shakes the Spirit once more.

And the hood drops.

[Image: 70796-v9-ba.jpg]

“hey.”

Flynn screams.]]> <![CDATA[Meatloaf for Angie]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45288 Fri, 16 Dec 2022 20:08:33 -0800 John Madison Jr.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45288
Speaking of Angie, I feel obligated to explain my actions for our last match against the other girls as far as my promo is concerned. The truth of the matter is that I fell into too deep with my approach to that match with my training method. The plan was to submerge myself into my father's approach to the dark side of the business. I told myself that in order to understand where my father went wrong, I must take a moment to follow in his footsteps into the unsavory shadows. My mentor in Calgary warned me not to use this strategy for a match of that magnitude, but I did it anyway for myself. I needed to understand what my father was going through, and sometimes you go against your mentor's advice in order to learn more about yourself.

That's why my plan then was to get blackout drunk with my new friends, Them No Good Bastards, in order to see my career through the lenses of John Madison Sr. Since I was a sober man at the time, I needed some no-good bastard guidance, so I turned to Them No Good Bastards. My production team recorded the events from that night for what was supposed to be my full-length promo for that week, but once I reviewed the footage, I was ashamed of myself and ended up cutting everything except for the small bits that you saw. I couldn't let Angie see what had become of me, so I cut out everything except the least bad part. I also told Them No Good Bastards that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES is anyone allowed see the footage of what took place on that drunken night. It's so important that I took the initiative to rig their house with explosives in case they go back on their word. If the videos leaks, then so will their black hearts when I flip the trigger. 

Onto 
the present...

The Opportunity to become Maddy Midcard belt

I learned that I have a title match against one of my greatest rivals Jessica Myst, aka "Jenny" Myst. I respect Jessica as a talent. Anyone who loses as consistently as her against the top stars and bottom stars, and everyone in between, is someone to admire. It takes a lot of courage to pick yourself up after so many disappointments. I know that's what I've been doing for the past two weeks even though I was victorious despite my hungover state. Jessica, I want you to know that I've picked myself up, just like you have many times, after that lackluster performance on my side. I hope that I've earned your respect as a fellow loser, or do I need several more years of failure like you?

You know, I wish I could give my spot away to someone who deserves it more, and that person is: Angelica Effing Vaugn, aka "AEV". I'm not going to sugar coat things and please pardon my language; AEV carried my @#! that night. Angelica deserves the opportunity more than me because A) She's a beautiful woman and B) She's my babe. I love hearing her angelic voice yell out, "tag me babe!" Those three words are more powerful to me than a packed Dallas Stadium chanting my name. Perhaps it's the only thing that kept me pushing through our match.

I hate to switch back to the topic of a lesser woman like Jenny Jessica Myst who's been around forever, and doesn't do anything, but we have business to get down to. I think it's crazy that she's been in the XWF for five years. That's a lot of time to devote to your craft and not have much to show for it. Her accomplishments seem kind of bleh for someone who's been around that long. I don't think some of these belts I'm looking at are even relevant today, and some reek of midcarder stench. For instance, I couldn't even find the Queen of the XWF listed anywhere in the title history. That tells me that the XWF is either sexist or nobody cares about what Jessica Myst is doing with her career. Midcarder titles are usually designated to those performers in the bottom 10 percentile which is the vibe I get from Myst. I'm sure she tries her hardest, and all the boys pat her on the back and tell her that she's a queen in order to lift her spirits. You know how emotional little girls get, except Angie. Angie is not like other girls and keeps her emotions in check.

I'm competing against her for the Xtreme title and I don't know why. I'm clearly in the midst of the greatest tag team run of all time with Angie V. Truthfully, I would feel bad about taking something away from Jessica Myst that's as precious to her as my partnership with Angie. She clearly needs every advantage she can get and that's what holding the X-treme Title affords you. I'd rather pat her on the butt and tell her, "go get'em tiger!" than take away her equalizer. Surely this is the run that amounts to something big, right? I could see her sliding under the rope and drilling Mark Flynn with the briefcase like Arya Stark stabbing the Night King with her little girl dagger. I then imagine she would stand tall over a defeated Mark Flynn with her Barbie doll sized shoe planted firmly over his chest. But that's just a fantasy, isn't it? It's tough molding fantasy into reality, in fact I have a personal story to tell about that later in this promo.

However, I will not be throwing this match. If that happened, my mentor would catch the next flight out of Calgary and stretch me in the middle of a Taco Cabana. You see, every match is a learning experience for me, win/lose/draw. My mentor in Calgary always taught me that quitters never win. So yes, I will be going into this match with the expectation of walking out with the girl belt. If it looks like I'm not trying, I'm probably just thinking about Angie in her skirt in that moment which is a habit that I'm trying to break. I can't help it, she's so beautiful and talented, but my mentor in Calgary always taught me to stay focused. He would then finish with, "work hard now so you can play with your Angie later." I find it remarkable to this day that my mentor in Calgary knew that I would eventually meet Angie, the love of my life. I wonder if he put in a good word for me and that's how we ended up as teammates. My mentor knows good talent when he sees it and Angie has it in spades. She's a goddess and a real queen. She deserves the title "Queen of the XWF" and to be honored in the record books. I would kneel for her, and anyone who doesn't; I'll kick them in the back of their knees!

Now about the match itself, I can't say that I'm impressed with what the booking committee has implemented in the rules and stipulations. Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge supporter of Christmas, Hanukkah, and all other winter holidays. I go and see Santa every year and the one thing I ask for is my crowning moment in the XWF. "Crowning" moment, that reminds me. I remember one Christmas eve when my father gifted me his King of the XWF crown that he cherished so much. That night, I ran around the house pretending that I was the King of the XWF and it scared Santa coming to the house from that point on. Even a man as magical as Santa Claus knows better than to enter the house of the King of the XWF without an invitation. He looked in and saw a young me posing on the kitchen counter with the King of the XWF crown and tucked his big red sack between his legs. Now I have a chance to make that fantasy a reality by beating Jessica Myst for control of the X-treme Title.

At that point, it's game time in a serious way. I'm not going to "Jessica Myst" the X-Treme Title by having it lead to a missed opportunity.

I'm going to make my father proud.

My mentor in Calgary proud. 

All the boys in the back will be proud to see the belt come off of a placeholder champion.

And finally, when it's all said and done, and I've got two belts hanging off of my muscular shoulders, I'm going to kick down Angie's door and make love to her on top of all the gold because I'm the man of the house and she's a sexy queen. Angie, we're going to need to install a perimeter fence if this happens because I'm going to have enemies trying to take me out left and right. 

I've even been looking up sexual positions on Google image search. For instance, I can't have Angie ride on top of me, or she might pass out from all the crazy sex and pin me by mistake. Giving oral sex is risky as well due to my vision being blocked. Same with something called "face sitting." Therefore, our best strategy would be doggy style, missionary position, or her giving me oral sex aka "a BJ." It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make as the X-Treme Champ!

I might even propose to Angie with the belt. I know it's early but like I said earlier, Angie deserves the opportunity, and I think me and Angie are soulmates. In fact, that's our tag team name: "The Soulmates." Write it down, and put it on shirts, caps, and cups! Me and Angie are going to bring romance and cutting-edge combat to professional wrestling, and no one can stop us!

Jessica/Jenny Myst, whatever the heck you call yourself, I'll see you on the monorail if you even meet the height requirements. Ahahaha! A height joke! I'm hilarious. Make sure to hide your green wrist band and wear really tall shoes, Jessica Myst! 

"Did you hear what I just said in my promo, Angie?"

I look back at Angie who's in the kitchen, not cooking you sexist weirdos, but extinguishing a fire in the oven. I "obvs" forgot to take the meatloaf out of the oven and now we'll have to eat some garbage Panda Express.

"Noooo, my meatloaf!"]]>
Speaking of Angie, I feel obligated to explain my actions for our last match against the other girls as far as my promo is concerned. The truth of the matter is that I fell into too deep with my approach to that match with my training method. The plan was to submerge myself into my father's approach to the dark side of the business. I told myself that in order to understand where my father went wrong, I must take a moment to follow in his footsteps into the unsavory shadows. My mentor in Calgary warned me not to use this strategy for a match of that magnitude, but I did it anyway for myself. I needed to understand what my father was going through, and sometimes you go against your mentor's advice in order to learn more about yourself.

That's why my plan then was to get blackout drunk with my new friends, Them No Good Bastards, in order to see my career through the lenses of John Madison Sr. Since I was a sober man at the time, I needed some no-good bastard guidance, so I turned to Them No Good Bastards. My production team recorded the events from that night for what was supposed to be my full-length promo for that week, but once I reviewed the footage, I was ashamed of myself and ended up cutting everything except for the small bits that you saw. I couldn't let Angie see what had become of me, so I cut out everything except the least bad part. I also told Them No Good Bastards that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES is anyone allowed see the footage of what took place on that drunken night. It's so important that I took the initiative to rig their house with explosives in case they go back on their word. If the videos leaks, then so will their black hearts when I flip the trigger. 

Onto 
the present...

The Opportunity to become Maddy Midcard belt

I learned that I have a title match against one of my greatest rivals Jessica Myst, aka "Jenny" Myst. I respect Jessica as a talent. Anyone who loses as consistently as her against the top stars and bottom stars, and everyone in between, is someone to admire. It takes a lot of courage to pick yourself up after so many disappointments. I know that's what I've been doing for the past two weeks even though I was victorious despite my hungover state. Jessica, I want you to know that I've picked myself up, just like you have many times, after that lackluster performance on my side. I hope that I've earned your respect as a fellow loser, or do I need several more years of failure like you?

You know, I wish I could give my spot away to someone who deserves it more, and that person is: Angelica Effing Vaugn, aka "AEV". I'm not going to sugar coat things and please pardon my language; AEV carried my @#! that night. Angelica deserves the opportunity more than me because A) She's a beautiful woman and B) She's my babe. I love hearing her angelic voice yell out, "tag me babe!" Those three words are more powerful to me than a packed Dallas Stadium chanting my name. Perhaps it's the only thing that kept me pushing through our match.

I hate to switch back to the topic of a lesser woman like Jenny Jessica Myst who's been around forever, and doesn't do anything, but we have business to get down to. I think it's crazy that she's been in the XWF for five years. That's a lot of time to devote to your craft and not have much to show for it. Her accomplishments seem kind of bleh for someone who's been around that long. I don't think some of these belts I'm looking at are even relevant today, and some reek of midcarder stench. For instance, I couldn't even find the Queen of the XWF listed anywhere in the title history. That tells me that the XWF is either sexist or nobody cares about what Jessica Myst is doing with her career. Midcarder titles are usually designated to those performers in the bottom 10 percentile which is the vibe I get from Myst. I'm sure she tries her hardest, and all the boys pat her on the back and tell her that she's a queen in order to lift her spirits. You know how emotional little girls get, except Angie. Angie is not like other girls and keeps her emotions in check.

I'm competing against her for the Xtreme title and I don't know why. I'm clearly in the midst of the greatest tag team run of all time with Angie V. Truthfully, I would feel bad about taking something away from Jessica Myst that's as precious to her as my partnership with Angie. She clearly needs every advantage she can get and that's what holding the X-treme Title affords you. I'd rather pat her on the butt and tell her, "go get'em tiger!" than take away her equalizer. Surely this is the run that amounts to something big, right? I could see her sliding under the rope and drilling Mark Flynn with the briefcase like Arya Stark stabbing the Night King with her little girl dagger. I then imagine she would stand tall over a defeated Mark Flynn with her Barbie doll sized shoe planted firmly over his chest. But that's just a fantasy, isn't it? It's tough molding fantasy into reality, in fact I have a personal story to tell about that later in this promo.

However, I will not be throwing this match. If that happened, my mentor would catch the next flight out of Calgary and stretch me in the middle of a Taco Cabana. You see, every match is a learning experience for me, win/lose/draw. My mentor in Calgary always taught me that quitters never win. So yes, I will be going into this match with the expectation of walking out with the girl belt. If it looks like I'm not trying, I'm probably just thinking about Angie in her skirt in that moment which is a habit that I'm trying to break. I can't help it, she's so beautiful and talented, but my mentor in Calgary always taught me to stay focused. He would then finish with, "work hard now so you can play with your Angie later." I find it remarkable to this day that my mentor in Calgary knew that I would eventually meet Angie, the love of my life. I wonder if he put in a good word for me and that's how we ended up as teammates. My mentor knows good talent when he sees it and Angie has it in spades. She's a goddess and a real queen. She deserves the title "Queen of the XWF" and to be honored in the record books. I would kneel for her, and anyone who doesn't; I'll kick them in the back of their knees!

Now about the match itself, I can't say that I'm impressed with what the booking committee has implemented in the rules and stipulations. Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge supporter of Christmas, Hanukkah, and all other winter holidays. I go and see Santa every year and the one thing I ask for is my crowning moment in the XWF. "Crowning" moment, that reminds me. I remember one Christmas eve when my father gifted me his King of the XWF crown that he cherished so much. That night, I ran around the house pretending that I was the King of the XWF and it scared Santa coming to the house from that point on. Even a man as magical as Santa Claus knows better than to enter the house of the King of the XWF without an invitation. He looked in and saw a young me posing on the kitchen counter with the King of the XWF crown and tucked his big red sack between his legs. Now I have a chance to make that fantasy a reality by beating Jessica Myst for control of the X-treme Title.

At that point, it's game time in a serious way. I'm not going to "Jessica Myst" the X-Treme Title by having it lead to a missed opportunity.

I'm going to make my father proud.

My mentor in Calgary proud. 

All the boys in the back will be proud to see the belt come off of a placeholder champion.

And finally, when it's all said and done, and I've got two belts hanging off of my muscular shoulders, I'm going to kick down Angie's door and make love to her on top of all the gold because I'm the man of the house and she's a sexy queen. Angie, we're going to need to install a perimeter fence if this happens because I'm going to have enemies trying to take me out left and right. 

I've even been looking up sexual positions on Google image search. For instance, I can't have Angie ride on top of me, or she might pass out from all the crazy sex and pin me by mistake. Giving oral sex is risky as well due to my vision being blocked. Same with something called "face sitting." Therefore, our best strategy would be doggy style, missionary position, or her giving me oral sex aka "a BJ." It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make as the X-Treme Champ!

I might even propose to Angie with the belt. I know it's early but like I said earlier, Angie deserves the opportunity, and I think me and Angie are soulmates. In fact, that's our tag team name: "The Soulmates." Write it down, and put it on shirts, caps, and cups! Me and Angie are going to bring romance and cutting-edge combat to professional wrestling, and no one can stop us!

Jessica/Jenny Myst, whatever the heck you call yourself, I'll see you on the monorail if you even meet the height requirements. Ahahaha! A height joke! I'm hilarious. Make sure to hide your green wrist band and wear really tall shoes, Jessica Myst! 

"Did you hear what I just said in my promo, Angie?"

I look back at Angie who's in the kitchen, not cooking you sexist weirdos, but extinguishing a fire in the oven. I "obvs" forgot to take the meatloaf out of the oven and now we'll have to eat some garbage Panda Express.

"Noooo, my meatloaf!"]]> <![CDATA[Let's be poetic here - It's time for a change]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45283 Fri, 16 Dec 2022 14:35:17 -0800 Mastermind]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45283 IT'S POETRY TIME

POEM #1: ISAIAH KING THE XWF TV CHAMPION

Oh Isaiah King, the XWF TV Champion
He's a real tough guy, or so we've been given
But let's be real, he's just a wimp
Hiding behind his championship belt, like a chimp

He thinks he's tough, but we all know the truth
He's just a phony, a fake, and a youth
He can't handle a real challenge, no sir
He's just a champion in his own little world, a blur

So here's to you, Isaiah King
The XWF TV Champion, but not for long, I'll bet
You may have the title now, but it won't last
You're just a joke, a character from the past

So go ahead and strut your stuff
But we all know you're not tough enough
You're just a boy playing at being a man
But the truth will come out, and then you'll be canned

So here's to you, Isaiah King
The XWF TV Champion, but not for long
You're just a fraud, a fake, a pretender
But eventually, your reign will come to an end, my dear friend



POEM #2: GERI VAYDEN

Oh Geri Vayden, what can we say
You're the queen of drama, in your own little way
You love to stir the pot, and create a scene
But let's be real, you're just a queen

You think you're hot stuff, but we all know the truth
You're just a little fish, in a big old pond
You may think you're important, but you're not
You're just a nobody, who's easily forgot

So go ahead and try to be grand
But we all see through your little charade
You're just a wannabe, trying to be seen
But the truth is, you're just a queen

So here's to you, Geri Vayden
The queen of drama, but not for long
You may think you're special, but you're not
You're just a blip on the radar, easily forgot


POEM #3: ISAIAH KING THE XWF TV CHAMPION

Isaiah King, the XWF TV Champion
We bow down to your greatness
Your reign as champion is one of legend
Or at least it is in your own mind

But let's be real, no one cares
About your little championship of the tv title
In the grand scheme of things, it means nothing that you are the champion
Yet you hold it up like it's the key to the universe

So go ahead, Isaiah, keep on pretending
That you're something special
While the rest of us just roll our eyes
At your delusions of grandeur


FINAL POEM: GERI VAYDEN

Geri Vayden, oh how great you must be
To have a name that's so unique
You must be the envy of all your peers
With a name that stands out like a sore thumb

But don't let that go to your head
Because let's be real, you're just like the rest of them
No better or worse, just another face in the crowd
Trying to make your way through life

So go ahead, Geri, keep on pretending
That your name sets you apart from the rest
While the rest of us just laugh at the absurdity
Of trying to be someone special with a name like that




THURSDAY 15TH DECEMBER
SANTA'S VILLAGE
JEFFERSON, NEW HAMPSHIRE
NEW HAMPSHIRE
UNITED STATES

The camera fades in to Mastermind who is walking around Santa's Village in Jefferson, New Hampshire.
  He stops and sits down on a bench.

"So this is where the XWF is going to have Saturday Night Solstice.  I thought I would come here and have a look around before my big match on Saturday.    My triple threat match for the XWf Television Title against Geri Vayden, and XWF Television Champion Isaiah King.    The winner of this match will go on to the final Wednesday Night Warfare ever, and go face-to-face with one of my favorite opponents, Ned Kaye, who is now the Supercontinental Champion.    That match is a Unification match to bring the Supercontinental and the Television titles together, because the powers that be, Vinnie and Theo in particular, want one less title going into the only normal show in the XWF going forwards, never mind the side attractions like Thursday Night Anarchy or Monday Night Madness or whatever else may come along."

Mastermind gets up and starts walking again.  He stops outside the Christmas Ferri Wheel attraction, and at first, watches it go around.

"Where was I? Ah yes, my upcoming Triple Threat match.  Oh boy, where to begin with the dynamic duo of Isaiah King and Geri Vayden? First of all, let's just get one thing straight: these two think they are the cream of the crop, the absolute best in the XWF. I think not.

"I mean, it's not like they've ever lost a match or anything. Oh wait, that's right - they have. In fact, they've lost a few here or there, especially Geri, who's lost quite a lot. But hey, who's counting? Not Isaiah and Geri, that's for sure. They're too busy basking in their own self-proclaimed greatness to worry about pesky little details like actual victories."

Mastermind starts walking again, and stops outside the Little Drummer Boy attraction, a venue that has small spinning ride with six drum-themed ride vehicles.  He watches the vehicles move around the venue.

"That's what Isaiah and Geri are doing, drumming to their own beat.  We all do I guess.
But they do it so well.  After all, it's not like they're defined by their failures or anything. No, these guys are all about their impressive wins, of which there are definitely a ton. Oh wait, that's right - there aren't. In fact, their record is pretty abysmal. But hey, at least they look good doing it, right?"

Mastermind smirks his infamous smirk.

"Don't get me wrong, Isaiah is the Television Champion after all.  He won that title fair and square, but if you ask me, he does not deserve it.  I don't think he will hold onto it very long.
  Because he won't, because I am going to take that title from him, and going to make him look foolish in the process."

Mastermind moves on again, this time to the Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree venue, a venue that has a  Classic chair swing ride with the structure themed like a Christmas tree.  He watches the action for a few minutes, before talking.

"Isaiah and Geri are both confused on what they think is going to happen judging by their opening promos, they both suggest that with me and each one of them that we are better than our opponent, like Isaiah and I against Geri or Geri and I against Isaiah, but when it came to me that they contradict themselves by stating they are better as well.    You can't have both Geri and Isaiah, let me tell you that.  Either pick one or don't.  Stop confusing yourselves, because confusion is not a good look.

"I know what I have to do to take the title from Isaiah, I'm not sure Geri has any idea, or I am really sure that Isaiah doesn't know how to defend his title against me, and I will show them both how I am the biggest threat in this triple threat match.    I will make sure of that.  They won't know what has hit them until it's too late,"

Mastermind moves on to the next venue. The Jingle Bell Express Train.  Which is a Miniature railway. The engine is named the "Jingle Bell Express".  He watches the train move about, and everyone enjoying themselves.

Oh, and let's not forget about their personalities. Isaiah is known for his cocky attitude and penchant for trash talk, while Geri is infamous for her hot temper and tendency to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. These two are the epitome of sportsmanship and grace under pressure.

"But hey, at least they're entertaining, right? I mean, who doesn't love a good old fashioned temper tantrum or ego-driven rant? These two certainly know how to put on a show, even if it's not exactly a high-quality one.

"One final thought before I head off to start my last lot of training for Saturday Night.  Isaiah King and Geri Vayden think they are the absolute best that the XWF has to offer. Just kidding, they're actually mediocre at best and not worth paying attention to. But hey, at least they're entertaining in their own, ridiculous way.  And that's my final thought on the matter.

"I'm coming for the Television title Isaiah.    If you want a challenge, I'm that challenge.  I'm ready to be TV Champion once more.  Your time is up.    Geri is there as a third wheel, and that's all she is good for.  As a third wheel.  Don't focus on her, focus on me.  Because I'm in your head Kingy boy.  And you know it.

"As for you Geri.  I've played your little 'look at me' game these last few weeks, but not anymore.
  Before I take care of Kingi boy, I'll take care of you first, and take you out of the match before you even think you are a chance.  You are no chance at all.  Just a mediocre girl, who's put in this match to try and make a difference, but the difference you make is by sitting there on the outside watching the best of the best at work.  After all, I am a 3 time X-treme Champion, and a former TV Champion myself, and a former Anarchy champion.  I know what it takes to win.  DO YOU?

"Kingi boy, I see you!!!!  But do you have any chance of seeing me?  or better yet beating me?  I think not.  So go ahead and spew all the trash talk you want, you will come up short, once is all said and done,"

Mastermind turns and heads for the exit.  He's had enough.  He'd rather train for his vital upcoming match than look at people having fun on amusement rides.]]> IT'S POETRY TIME

POEM #1: ISAIAH KING THE XWF TV CHAMPION

Oh Isaiah King, the XWF TV Champion
He's a real tough guy, or so we've been given
But let's be real, he's just a wimp
Hiding behind his championship belt, like a chimp

He thinks he's tough, but we all know the truth
He's just a phony, a fake, and a youth
He can't handle a real challenge, no sir
He's just a champion in his own little world, a blur

So here's to you, Isaiah King
The XWF TV Champion, but not for long, I'll bet
You may have the title now, but it won't last
You're just a joke, a character from the past

So go ahead and strut your stuff
But we all know you're not tough enough
You're just a boy playing at being a man
But the truth will come out, and then you'll be canned

So here's to you, Isaiah King
The XWF TV Champion, but not for long
You're just a fraud, a fake, a pretender
But eventually, your reign will come to an end, my dear friend



POEM #2: GERI VAYDEN

Oh Geri Vayden, what can we say
You're the queen of drama, in your own little way
You love to stir the pot, and create a scene
But let's be real, you're just a queen

You think you're hot stuff, but we all know the truth
You're just a little fish, in a big old pond
You may think you're important, but you're not
You're just a nobody, who's easily forgot

So go ahead and try to be grand
But we all see through your little charade
You're just a wannabe, trying to be seen
But the truth is, you're just a queen

So here's to you, Geri Vayden
The queen of drama, but not for long
You may think you're special, but you're not
You're just a blip on the radar, easily forgot


POEM #3: ISAIAH KING THE XWF TV CHAMPION

Isaiah King, the XWF TV Champion
We bow down to your greatness
Your reign as champion is one of legend
Or at least it is in your own mind

But let's be real, no one cares
About your little championship of the tv title
In the grand scheme of things, it means nothing that you are the champion
Yet you hold it up like it's the key to the universe

So go ahead, Isaiah, keep on pretending
That you're something special
While the rest of us just roll our eyes
At your delusions of grandeur


FINAL POEM: GERI VAYDEN

Geri Vayden, oh how great you must be
To have a name that's so unique
You must be the envy of all your peers
With a name that stands out like a sore thumb

But don't let that go to your head
Because let's be real, you're just like the rest of them
No better or worse, just another face in the crowd
Trying to make your way through life

So go ahead, Geri, keep on pretending
That your name sets you apart from the rest
While the rest of us just laugh at the absurdity
Of trying to be someone special with a name like that




THURSDAY 15TH DECEMBER
SANTA'S VILLAGE
JEFFERSON, NEW HAMPSHIRE
NEW HAMPSHIRE
UNITED STATES

The camera fades in to Mastermind who is walking around Santa's Village in Jefferson, New Hampshire.
  He stops and sits down on a bench.

"So this is where the XWF is going to have Saturday Night Solstice.  I thought I would come here and have a look around before my big match on Saturday.    My triple threat match for the XWf Television Title against Geri Vayden, and XWF Television Champion Isaiah King.    The winner of this match will go on to the final Wednesday Night Warfare ever, and go face-to-face with one of my favorite opponents, Ned Kaye, who is now the Supercontinental Champion.    That match is a Unification match to bring the Supercontinental and the Television titles together, because the powers that be, Vinnie and Theo in particular, want one less title going into the only normal show in the XWF going forwards, never mind the side attractions like Thursday Night Anarchy or Monday Night Madness or whatever else may come along."

Mastermind gets up and starts walking again.  He stops outside the Christmas Ferri Wheel attraction, and at first, watches it go around.

"Where was I? Ah yes, my upcoming Triple Threat match.  Oh boy, where to begin with the dynamic duo of Isaiah King and Geri Vayden? First of all, let's just get one thing straight: these two think they are the cream of the crop, the absolute best in the XWF. I think not.

"I mean, it's not like they've ever lost a match or anything. Oh wait, that's right - they have. In fact, they've lost a few here or there, especially Geri, who's lost quite a lot. But hey, who's counting? Not Isaiah and Geri, that's for sure. They're too busy basking in their own self-proclaimed greatness to worry about pesky little details like actual victories."

Mastermind starts walking again, and stops outside the Little Drummer Boy attraction, a venue that has small spinning ride with six drum-themed ride vehicles.  He watches the vehicles move around the venue.

"That's what Isaiah and Geri are doing, drumming to their own beat.  We all do I guess.
But they do it so well.  After all, it's not like they're defined by their failures or anything. No, these guys are all about their impressive wins, of which there are definitely a ton. Oh wait, that's right - there aren't. In fact, their record is pretty abysmal. But hey, at least they look good doing it, right?"

Mastermind smirks his infamous smirk.

"Don't get me wrong, Isaiah is the Television Champion after all.  He won that title fair and square, but if you ask me, he does not deserve it.  I don't think he will hold onto it very long.
  Because he won't, because I am going to take that title from him, and going to make him look foolish in the process."

Mastermind moves on again, this time to the Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree venue, a venue that has a  Classic chair swing ride with the structure themed like a Christmas tree.  He watches the action for a few minutes, before talking.

"Isaiah and Geri are both confused on what they think is going to happen judging by their opening promos, they both suggest that with me and each one of them that we are better than our opponent, like Isaiah and I against Geri or Geri and I against Isaiah, but when it came to me that they contradict themselves by stating they are better as well.    You can't have both Geri and Isaiah, let me tell you that.  Either pick one or don't.  Stop confusing yourselves, because confusion is not a good look.

"I know what I have to do to take the title from Isaiah, I'm not sure Geri has any idea, or I am really sure that Isaiah doesn't know how to defend his title against me, and I will show them both how I am the biggest threat in this triple threat match.    I will make sure of that.  They won't know what has hit them until it's too late,"

Mastermind moves on to the next venue. The Jingle Bell Express Train.  Which is a Miniature railway. The engine is named the "Jingle Bell Express".  He watches the train move about, and everyone enjoying themselves.

Oh, and let's not forget about their personalities. Isaiah is known for his cocky attitude and penchant for trash talk, while Geri is infamous for her hot temper and tendency to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. These two are the epitome of sportsmanship and grace under pressure.

"But hey, at least they're entertaining, right? I mean, who doesn't love a good old fashioned temper tantrum or ego-driven rant? These two certainly know how to put on a show, even if it's not exactly a high-quality one.

"One final thought before I head off to start my last lot of training for Saturday Night.  Isaiah King and Geri Vayden think they are the absolute best that the XWF has to offer. Just kidding, they're actually mediocre at best and not worth paying attention to. But hey, at least they're entertaining in their own, ridiculous way.  And that's my final thought on the matter.

"I'm coming for the Television title Isaiah.    If you want a challenge, I'm that challenge.  I'm ready to be TV Champion once more.  Your time is up.    Geri is there as a third wheel, and that's all she is good for.  As a third wheel.  Don't focus on her, focus on me.  Because I'm in your head Kingy boy.  And you know it.

"As for you Geri.  I've played your little 'look at me' game these last few weeks, but not anymore.
  Before I take care of Kingi boy, I'll take care of you first, and take you out of the match before you even think you are a chance.  You are no chance at all.  Just a mediocre girl, who's put in this match to try and make a difference, but the difference you make is by sitting there on the outside watching the best of the best at work.  After all, I am a 3 time X-treme Champion, and a former TV Champion myself, and a former Anarchy champion.  I know what it takes to win.  DO YOU?

"Kingi boy, I see you!!!!  But do you have any chance of seeing me?  or better yet beating me?  I think not.  So go ahead and spew all the trash talk you want, you will come up short, once is all said and done,"

Mastermind turns and heads for the exit.  He's had enough.  He'd rather train for his vital upcoming match than look at people having fun on amusement rides.]]> <![CDATA[Marfy the red nosed coke addict]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45284 Fri, 16 Dec 2022 07:08:57 -0800 Marf]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45284

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?
In the lane, snow is glistening.
A beautiful sight,
We're happy tonight,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Gone away is the bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird.
To sing a love song,
While we stroll along,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow, we can build a snowman.
We'll pretend that he is Parson Brown.
He'll say, are you married?
We'll say, no man,
But you can do the job when you're in town.

Later on, we'll conspire.
As we dream by the fire.
To face unafraid,
The plans that we've made,
Walking in a winter wonderland.


There might have been a time when we would have been opening up to something magical and whimsical. Marf haphazardly travelling through the seven levels of the candy cane forest. Or Marf getting bombarded with paint cans tied to ropes. Or perhaps even good ole saint Marf suddenly being terrorized by three ghosts over the course of a drunken evening. Any of these scenarios could and is likely playing out right now somewhere in an alternate universe. There might even be a universe out there where Marf’s nose lights up bright red and it’s not just from cocaine.

…but?

But those times aren’t happening now. There is no sparkling landscape of puffy snow. Just the same ugly carpet. The same, uncomfortable couch. The same god damn expensive desk. And the same, poorly hidden, judgemental stare from the therapist. Except, this time there was something else hidden much better in those eyes. Marf missed it at first but halfway through the session, he’s picked up on it. Behind the usual judgments he saw guilt weighing deep in those tiny eyes.

So are we going to talk about why you didn’t make a better effort to win the television title?

Marf smirks to the dismay of the therapist.

What do you care if I win or lose? Aren’t you supposed to be unbiased in that regard or some shit?

Believe it or not I actually do care about you, Marf.

And there it was. She thought she kept it in but Marf heard the quiet crack in her tone.

And why is that, doc? I’m a horrible murderer, remember?

Cue obnoxiously long and awkward pause. Finally their eye contact breaks as the doctor lowers her head. She speaks softly now.

I have to tell you something, Marf. I understand the risk I’m about to take but the guilt has overwhelmed my soul.

An intrigued Marf cocks his head.

Your soul eh? You good, doc?

No, but I have to tell you the truth.

And what truth is that?

The therapist takes a long breath and then let’s it out.

You never killed Reika or Lycana. Theo Pryce never hired me nor has anything to do with our meetings. I’m a plant. I’m supposed to steer you away from what’s been happening. But knowing now what you’ve gone through I just can’t…

In a daze, Marf cuts her off.

They’re alive…?

I am not sure but I know you never murdered them in cold blood. It took a long time to coax you into believing that but I assure you it isn’t true…

Marf slumps in the couch while staring at the not so good doctor. His face is blank.

I never killed them…are they still alive?

Marf’s face begins to go beet red as a rush of emotions swarm him. He slowly shifts and starts to get up.

I uh, I h-have no idea that infuh-information has n-nuh-never been shared with me…

The bulking shadow of Marf begins to swallow her whole while he stands over her now.

You will find out and you will tell me everything next week when I come back here. Don’t respond, just do it.

Marf briskly leaves the room while she shivers in her spot. Unfortunately it would be the last time Marf would see his therapist alive.


P-p-promo times!



At the request of absolutely nobody, Marf will open with a lovely Christmas ballad. His voice will be more soothing than a pair of Alberta raccoons making love on a hot August eve…

Wrestling bells ring, are you listening?
It’s Vinnie Lane, his eyes are glistening.
A beautiful sight,
We’re making money tonight,
Walking in an XWF wonderland…

Gone away, are Cor and Thad,
Here to stay, are Kido and a King that’s mad.
To sing a Greek song,
Atara strolls in her thong,
Walking in an XWF wonderland…

In the back we can see Jenny blow a man,
We'll pretend that he is Chris Chaos.
He'll say, are you a real champ?
She’ll say, no man,
But they let me pretend so my infected vagina doesn’t frown...

Later on, Theo will conspire,
Why he lets, Charlie stay hired.
To face a gorilla,
Ned Kaye is vanilla,
Walking in an XWF wonderland!


Marf smiles warmly and bows while a roaring applause is played on several loops. Finally it’s turned off and Marf clears his throat.

So, has everyone been paying close attention? No, I’m not referring to the last Savage. Although, that was a lot of fun. I said my intention was not to win the television title but to simply hurt ole Isaiah and that is exactly what I did. He fucked me up and I fucked him up. I made Isaiah truly earn that win. He may have went home with the belt that night but every morning after when he wakes up sore and in pain, that’s all because of me. Each ache will stir a violent memory and Isaiah will forever know going to war with Marf is a battle every man should fear.

Cue the ole quick lean in trick.

You will never make it out unscathed…

And a shift back to a normal stance again.

No, I want to know if all the sheep out there have been watching. Keeping an eye on what’s been happening. Body after body being left behind by yours truly. Most recently was a pit stop at a true shit stop otherwise known as Thursday Anarchy. I had the pleasure of welcoming Major Jung to the XWF. I also got to see up close just why everyone is begging Jessica Anderson to hang ‘em up. And much like my pal Isaiah, those two fuck goofs get to wake up with aches and pains they’ll only remember as warnings to avoid ever seeing Marf again.

But that’s a big part of the fun of it! You can’t see it coming, nobody can. Anarchy, Savage, Warfare…it doesn’t matter. Nobody and I mean nobody out there is safe. I have no plans to stop destroying this roster. Not until I get my one on one shot at Jenny…she is the root of all this evil. It’s her fault these people are winding up hurt. She stole a title and a win from me. I fucking want them back! And if I can’t have such a simple request as a match granted…well then I will keep picking off the roster one by one until there’s nobody else left but her.

Marf shrugs because clearly he doesn’t make the rules here. A light smirk appears and he moves on just like that.

Gee, I wonder if Bam Bam will be gloating about his big win over Theo Pryce as if that is going to guide him through our match. I’m sure a few years ago that would be considered a decent accomplishment but these days? Nah, not so much. But kudos to you, Bam, at least you can say you didn’t lose to Theo. You know who you can’t say that about though? Yours fuckin’ truly! I don’t give a shit what victories you bring up over who and where. None of that matters when you don’t have a win against me!

But we both know I already walked out of a match against you as victor. And not just some throwaway match either. The Xtreme title was on the line in that fatal four way. In fact, it took place on pay per view, just in case your light beer drinking ass forgot. On a grand stage like that, with so much at stake you fuckin’ fizzled out like a wet fire cracker. The fuck makes you think this time will be different Bam? Are you expecting some magic in Santa’s village? Or do you think the bullshit food fight stipulation is going to protect you?

Marf leans in a bit painfully close for this.

Spoiler alert Bam, it’s not. I’ll gladly scarf down some mashed potatoes while shoving a turkey baster up your loose ass. I’m not sure what is weirder though, how well that thing will fit or the gentle look of satisfaction that will spread across your face.

A look of disgust crosses Marf’s face as he leans back.

Ya know, if you’re not sure what I mean I’m sure your little CCPE buddies can help show you. It’s a damn good thing you found them to cling onto. Let’s be real, if you weren’t with chris page and pals you would be back working part time at Sephora while driving your moms eight year old Lexus. Bam the coaster. You’re just kind of here, fucking coasting along waiting for someone to hand you another opportunity. Waiting for Chris Page to grab hold of your creepy carny looking hands and guide you to relevance.

Here we go again with the leaning forward and being all serious shtick.

Looks like your special boys forgot to grab hold of your hand and steer you the fuck away from me. Now I get to take whatever momentum you think you have and stop it dead. Check your watch Bam Bam, because Miller time is fuckin’ up. At the solstice food fight it’s time to cave your dopey fucking head in. Then I can continue my mission. And you, Bam Bam? Well you get to go back to doing what you do best, fuckin’ coasting bud. So crack a light beer and brace yourself for some coal. Santa Marf is about to fuck your shit up…

And despite being indoors it begins to snow as we fade to a Yuletide black. ]]>

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?
In the lane, snow is glistening.
A beautiful sight,
We're happy tonight,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Gone away is the bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird.
To sing a love song,
While we stroll along,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow, we can build a snowman.
We'll pretend that he is Parson Brown.
He'll say, are you married?
We'll say, no man,
But you can do the job when you're in town.

Later on, we'll conspire.
As we dream by the fire.
To face unafraid,
The plans that we've made,
Walking in a winter wonderland.


There might have been a time when we would have been opening up to something magical and whimsical. Marf haphazardly travelling through the seven levels of the candy cane forest. Or Marf getting bombarded with paint cans tied to ropes. Or perhaps even good ole saint Marf suddenly being terrorized by three ghosts over the course of a drunken evening. Any of these scenarios could and is likely playing out right now somewhere in an alternate universe. There might even be a universe out there where Marf’s nose lights up bright red and it’s not just from cocaine.

…but?

But those times aren’t happening now. There is no sparkling landscape of puffy snow. Just the same ugly carpet. The same, uncomfortable couch. The same god damn expensive desk. And the same, poorly hidden, judgemental stare from the therapist. Except, this time there was something else hidden much better in those eyes. Marf missed it at first but halfway through the session, he’s picked up on it. Behind the usual judgments he saw guilt weighing deep in those tiny eyes.

So are we going to talk about why you didn’t make a better effort to win the television title?

Marf smirks to the dismay of the therapist.

What do you care if I win or lose? Aren’t you supposed to be unbiased in that regard or some shit?

Believe it or not I actually do care about you, Marf.

And there it was. She thought she kept it in but Marf heard the quiet crack in her tone.

And why is that, doc? I’m a horrible murderer, remember?

Cue obnoxiously long and awkward pause. Finally their eye contact breaks as the doctor lowers her head. She speaks softly now.

I have to tell you something, Marf. I understand the risk I’m about to take but the guilt has overwhelmed my soul.

An intrigued Marf cocks his head.

Your soul eh? You good, doc?

No, but I have to tell you the truth.

And what truth is that?

The therapist takes a long breath and then let’s it out.

You never killed Reika or Lycana. Theo Pryce never hired me nor has anything to do with our meetings. I’m a plant. I’m supposed to steer you away from what’s been happening. But knowing now what you’ve gone through I just can’t…

In a daze, Marf cuts her off.

They’re alive…?

I am not sure but I know you never murdered them in cold blood. It took a long time to coax you into believing that but I assure you it isn’t true…

Marf slumps in the couch while staring at the not so good doctor. His face is blank.

I never killed them…are they still alive?

Marf’s face begins to go beet red as a rush of emotions swarm him. He slowly shifts and starts to get up.

I uh, I h-have no idea that infuh-information has n-nuh-never been shared with me…

The bulking shadow of Marf begins to swallow her whole while he stands over her now.

You will find out and you will tell me everything next week when I come back here. Don’t respond, just do it.

Marf briskly leaves the room while she shivers in her spot. Unfortunately it would be the last time Marf would see his therapist alive.


P-p-promo times!



At the request of absolutely nobody, Marf will open with a lovely Christmas ballad. His voice will be more soothing than a pair of Alberta raccoons making love on a hot August eve…

Wrestling bells ring, are you listening?
It’s Vinnie Lane, his eyes are glistening.
A beautiful sight,
We’re making money tonight,
Walking in an XWF wonderland…

Gone away, are Cor and Thad,
Here to stay, are Kido and a King that’s mad.
To sing a Greek song,
Atara strolls in her thong,
Walking in an XWF wonderland…

In the back we can see Jenny blow a man,
We'll pretend that he is Chris Chaos.
He'll say, are you a real champ?
She’ll say, no man,
But they let me pretend so my infected vagina doesn’t frown...

Later on, Theo will conspire,
Why he lets, Charlie stay hired.
To face a gorilla,
Ned Kaye is vanilla,
Walking in an XWF wonderland!


Marf smiles warmly and bows while a roaring applause is played on several loops. Finally it’s turned off and Marf clears his throat.

So, has everyone been paying close attention? No, I’m not referring to the last Savage. Although, that was a lot of fun. I said my intention was not to win the television title but to simply hurt ole Isaiah and that is exactly what I did. He fucked me up and I fucked him up. I made Isaiah truly earn that win. He may have went home with the belt that night but every morning after when he wakes up sore and in pain, that’s all because of me. Each ache will stir a violent memory and Isaiah will forever know going to war with Marf is a battle every man should fear.

Cue the ole quick lean in trick.

You will never make it out unscathed…

And a shift back to a normal stance again.

No, I want to know if all the sheep out there have been watching. Keeping an eye on what’s been happening. Body after body being left behind by yours truly. Most recently was a pit stop at a true shit stop otherwise known as Thursday Anarchy. I had the pleasure of welcoming Major Jung to the XWF. I also got to see up close just why everyone is begging Jessica Anderson to hang ‘em up. And much like my pal Isaiah, those two fuck goofs get to wake up with aches and pains they’ll only remember as warnings to avoid ever seeing Marf again.

But that’s a big part of the fun of it! You can’t see it coming, nobody can. Anarchy, Savage, Warfare…it doesn’t matter. Nobody and I mean nobody out there is safe. I have no plans to stop destroying this roster. Not until I get my one on one shot at Jenny…she is the root of all this evil. It’s her fault these people are winding up hurt. She stole a title and a win from me. I fucking want them back! And if I can’t have such a simple request as a match granted…well then I will keep picking off the roster one by one until there’s nobody else left but her.

Marf shrugs because clearly he doesn’t make the rules here. A light smirk appears and he moves on just like that.

Gee, I wonder if Bam Bam will be gloating about his big win over Theo Pryce as if that is going to guide him through our match. I’m sure a few years ago that would be considered a decent accomplishment but these days? Nah, not so much. But kudos to you, Bam, at least you can say you didn’t lose to Theo. You know who you can’t say that about though? Yours fuckin’ truly! I don’t give a shit what victories you bring up over who and where. None of that matters when you don’t have a win against me!

But we both know I already walked out of a match against you as victor. And not just some throwaway match either. The Xtreme title was on the line in that fatal four way. In fact, it took place on pay per view, just in case your light beer drinking ass forgot. On a grand stage like that, with so much at stake you fuckin’ fizzled out like a wet fire cracker. The fuck makes you think this time will be different Bam? Are you expecting some magic in Santa’s village? Or do you think the bullshit food fight stipulation is going to protect you?

Marf leans in a bit painfully close for this.

Spoiler alert Bam, it’s not. I’ll gladly scarf down some mashed potatoes while shoving a turkey baster up your loose ass. I’m not sure what is weirder though, how well that thing will fit or the gentle look of satisfaction that will spread across your face.

A look of disgust crosses Marf’s face as he leans back.

Ya know, if you’re not sure what I mean I’m sure your little CCPE buddies can help show you. It’s a damn good thing you found them to cling onto. Let’s be real, if you weren’t with chris page and pals you would be back working part time at Sephora while driving your moms eight year old Lexus. Bam the coaster. You’re just kind of here, fucking coasting along waiting for someone to hand you another opportunity. Waiting for Chris Page to grab hold of your creepy carny looking hands and guide you to relevance.

Here we go again with the leaning forward and being all serious shtick.

Looks like your special boys forgot to grab hold of your hand and steer you the fuck away from me. Now I get to take whatever momentum you think you have and stop it dead. Check your watch Bam Bam, because Miller time is fuckin’ up. At the solstice food fight it’s time to cave your dopey fucking head in. Then I can continue my mission. And you, Bam Bam? Well you get to go back to doing what you do best, fuckin’ coasting bud. So crack a light beer and brace yourself for some coal. Santa Marf is about to fuck your shit up…

And despite being indoors it begins to snow as we fade to a Yuletide black. ]]> <![CDATA[Diamond Dust]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45281 Thu, 15 Dec 2022 10:43:10 -0800 Raion Kido]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45281 “That should have taught anyone watching not to pick a fight for which they’re not ready. And now it’s time to get back on track!”

Bad Medicine had ended as it had been supposed to end - with Raion Kido victorious, with his mind and spirit still intact - and with his name back in the title hunt scene.

Or had it?

“But first, it’s time to end the year on a high note - and to give Holden Ross the match he wanted!”

Two of those objectives had been achieved; however, there was no sign of the title hunt part yet. But then again, the Lion still held the briefcase.

Had the time to use it finally arrived?

“That would be something to think about… if I wasn’t freezing my can off!”

Of course, the biting cold of Mount Moosilauke in New Hampshire made these thoughts difficult at present - as the Lion was hiking among the Gentle Giant - as was this mountain called - among a Mount Washington Observatory expedition. Even the thick mountain jacket, the hat and the gloves the Lion was wearing were not enough to keep out the chilling sensation produced by the icy wind - nor did the clear skies and the shining sun above the snow-covered rocky trail.

“Sorry for the temperature, folks, but this wind is exactly what we came here to find! This may look like a blizzard to you, but watch very closely at the wind currents we’re having. Do you see anything in particular?”

Thus spoke the guide that led the group down the path of the Gentle Giant. The group try the hardest to look through the foggy mist, but soon they are rendered silent.

“No one? No one has anything?”

At that point, the silence is broken by the voice of Raion, who throws an exaggerated punch for dramatic effect.

“DIAMOND DUST!”

“Ha! Our wrestling guest here got it, people! Nice move by the way.”

“There is a move called that in Saint Seiya, sir! The guy that does it likes to stand up one-legged and wave his arms like a swan, but I’ll spare you that sight, I promise.”

“This being you, we’ll be seeing it next Saturday for sure! But can you tell us a bit about diamond dust?”

“Nothing too complicated - just tiny ice crystals that form in the air this time of year. Looks like fog but fog is mostly water, and diamond dust does not generally reduce visibility. Diamond dust also forms near clear skies, like we currently have.”

“Very good. This is a very scenic view here, folks, and that’s why we’re here. Diamond dust helps to make it all the more beautiful!”

And indeed, the crowd seems to share in that sentiment, as their cold is soon forgotten by the wondrous excitement with which they set about to film and take pictures. For his part, though, the Lion sets the box of his golden cloth that has so far been strapped to his back on the ground, and sits on it to take a much-deserved breather. He is then approached by a group of fans.

“Great to have you here with us, Mr. Kido! What about that briefcase you still have?”

“We really want to see you go for gold once more! Go take on Flynn again!”

“Thank you, thank you for your interest but these things are not easily solved. Besides, I have Holden Ross to think about first. He’s been wanting this match with me for a while and I would not want to disappoint him!”

“The guy that doesn’t like fighting women? Please smack him around for me, sir!”

“Yeah, he really stuck his foot up his mouth with that, huh?”

For all response, the Lion shrugs.

“I don’t think it was so much about women, so much as it was about size. But then again, I too am smaller than him. And I just happen to pack a punch without the need for going hardcore.”

A sly smile crosses his face.

“So he won’t have any excuse when he loses either.”

“I need you to help me understand something though, man. Why are you here, freezing your ass off with the rest of us in the middle of a mountain in New Hampshire, when you could be training to face this guy somewhere nicer?”

“This is part of my training, sir. Holden Ross is a man whose temper flares up easily - especially when he’s dishing out his own particular brand of violence. His soul burns as strongly as mine when he’s in his element;  and here, in this Winter Wonderland match that we’re about to have, there is only one way to defeat him - to stop his momentum cold before he even gains it, and to bring his aerial aficionado skills to an absolute halt.”

The expedition guide comes to join the conversation nest.

“This makes me want to do you a little test, Raion. Surely you know that not all things freezes at the same temperature. Water turns to ice at 89.6°, alcohol freezes at 174.6°.

But there is a temperature at which all things will inevitably freeze. Do you happen to know what that is?”

One more time does Raion flash his radiant smile, and answers without hesitation.

“The answer is 459°. Absolute zero.”

“You’ve clearly done your research. Well done!”

“I knew this long ago, sir. This is yet another thing that Saint Seiya taught me, and it’s more than appropriate for this match.”

At that point, he rises from the golden box on which he sat, and begins to open it.

“And after Holden Ross and I are done, that is exactly what he is going to be.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Winter is coming, ladies and gentlemen, and so is the last show of Savage Saturday Night, and of this year as a whole in the XWF.”

The initial words of the Lion sound strongly among the whisper of the wind and the diamond dust that falls over Mount Moosilauke, and the sound of his footsteps as he walks through the snow-covered mountain - deep footprints left by his golden boots.

“And as such, there was absolutely no way I would be missing it - especially since it may very well be yet another statement, next to every other one I have so far made since Relentless, as to why the name of Raion Kido should be among those in title contention once more.

I therefore say, people of the XWF Universe, that; coming into this final show of 2022, it is my hope that we all have learned a lesson at Bad Medicine.”

The Osaka wrestler comes to a halt, and, with a swift motion of his crossed arms, throws his cape behind him, the diamond dust in the air falling upon his burnished golden Cloth, and evaporating almost as instantly after landing.

“I hope we all have learned that Raion Kido does not choke when the stakes are high. I hope we all have learned that Raion Kido is not, and never has been, a name to trifle with lightly. Perhaps Chris Chaos and Jenny Myst will give it a long, hard thought before coming at me again now, but above everything else, perhaps this shall serve to put me back in title contention.

Because let’s not be mistaken, friends. I keep getting asked when I shall use that briefcase I have obtained at Leap of Faith. I keep getting told to finally use it to put some gold around my waist, but there’s a point I want to make the same way I did before. Regardless of when I use it, I want to make clear that I am perfectly capable of earning the chances on my own merit - as I did when I became Universal Champion at the Cannabis Cup.

But that, however, shall be a discussion for 2023. For the moment, here we are, at the final episode of Savage Saturday Night of the year 2022, and on this winter solstice, I am here to be a dream match for Mr. Holden Ross. So let’s get to it, shall we?”

A gust of wind blows the Lion’s white cape back, as does his wild mane of hair, but Raion Kido hardly makes a motion - instead directing his gaze square at the camera lens.

This was, after all, an opponent that looked forward to facing him.

And that meant that, to meet his expectations in earnest, it was time for the cosmos to burn.


“So, Mr. Holden. Ultraviolent fighting machine, Action Wrestling star, still getting used to the ways of the XWF. Nice meeting you finally in the ring, sir.

I know you’ve left a trail of death and destruction in your way through Madness, even if your victories so far equal your defeats. I know a man of your stature is not defined by what the books say, but this time, you’ve taken your first steps into a larger world - and here the records do carry some weight.

Because this time, Mr. Ross, you’re not on Madness, or Action Wrestling, or the WGWF, and this time I’m not standing with you against the rest of CCPE. This time you’re in the temple of the Lion, and you’re facing someone that has left a mark in XWF history and across CCP Enterprises that no one shall ever remove, and that, just like the snow that covers these mountains, shall last for as long as the world does.”

The Lion now pumps a clenched fist in a downward motion as his eyebrows raise. He had come this far since Relentless with Chris Chaos constantly hounding him, and he had finally sent him back to oblivion.

This was the time to end 2022 on as high a note as it began - with a resounding victory that would turn heads his way once more.

“But not only that, Mr. Bastard. This time you are facing someone that comes from teaching a very hard-learned lesson to those that would take me for granted. While you were demonstrating your power and your viciousness in Madness, I have been showing newcomers and returning people to the XWF that the game has changed - that even without the XWF Universal Title, the name of Raion Kido cannot be denied.

And the last person that decided to make a target out of me for his own personal gain ended up empty-handed and shown to the world as a fraud, and his one shining moment was dulled flat.

Therein should be a cautionary tale for you to heed, Mr. Bastard. You’re not the only one here that has targeted people for wanton violence. Chris Chaos did that ever since he attacked me at Relentless, and every single of those occasions was a message directed towards me. He thought that he would make me snap - that he would turn me into something akin to him, or to you.

But I am a Saint of Athena - and just like the ice and snow that you may see around me, my spirit is constant, and though my soul may burn, my mind always stays cold. So at Relentless, Mr. Ross, I did what I had to do to someone that targeted the innocent - I delivered them justice, and a resounding defeat that ruined their entire purpose.

If you have been paying attention, Mr. Ross, you should probably have seen the similarities by now, and there should be no mistake about what I’m coming to do to you at Saturday Night Solstice.”

A roguish grin begins to form upon the Lion’s lips. Had he just not defeated someone whose entire life - and name - revolves around causing chaos? What was Holden Ross but just another example of that?

And what reason was there for Raion Kido not to be the righteous fist of justice once more?

“And if that sounds like a threat, it’s because it is, because a man of your quality and stature should expect nothing less. Mr. Mac Bane and Mr. John Cable contacted me exactly because of that, and Chris Page is looking to face me in his own event for the same reason - because they know that no matter my disposition outside the ring, once I am inside those four sets of ropes, the only way for me to speak is with the power of the cosmos, for that is my charge as a Saint of Athena, one that I shall not shirk until the day comes where I must leave this world.

Now then, Mr. Holden, it’s your turn to tell me. Once you’re faced with the power I bring, what shall avail you? Your love of fighting? That high you claim to get when in the midst of violence? I’ve been among the likes of ALIAS, Charlie Nickles, Dolly Waters, Bobby Bourbon, and Micheal Graves. I’ve fought through all the floors of the Burj Khalifa at Leap of Faith to earn the briefcase I still hold.

I’ve been in a brawl that spanned the entirety of the Velvet Rabbit and spilled into the streets of New York City to win the biggest prize in the wrestling world. I defended that prize in a Last Man Standing Match, where the only way it ends is when one is no longer capable of rising.

There is little you may have that I have not already seen and done, so the challenge shall be for you to top any of that.

For do not forget, Mr. Ross - you might want to prove you’re one of the most dangerous and violent among Chris Page’s misfit toys, but even now, I am still thought to be one of the best in the entirety of the XWF, and that is exactly what you are coming to face.”

The young Saint of Athena points a gold-clad finger at the camera, grinning ear to ear. Let no one in the XWF forget - this was a man that had already been Universal Champion, and did not settle for that to be his only accomplishment.

There were expectations to fulfill. Let it never be said he failed to do so.

“You should consider this a compliment, for now, when you lose to someone smaller than you are, you won’t have to fear ridicule as you are so fond of stating whenever you face a woman - losing against the fangs of the Lion is entirely what’s expected, and better men and women than you have been known to fall to Raion Kido.

And that should ring yet another familiar bell, Mr. Bastard. You claim one does not fight Holden Ross, but survives him; however, you’re about to find out that when you face the Lion, death is not merely a possibility; it is a certainty that only a precious few have managed to avoid during this year - and even that was only temporary.

Because just like with this cold that we will be facing, there is a point where all things freeze, where all motion comes to a halt. Just as the atoms on the body of every living thing stop moving at a cold enough temperature, so it happens to everything that comes into contact with my fist. Whether it’s on a single instant in my Lightning Bolt, or repeatedly in my Lightning Plasma, there always comes the eventual, inescapable point where they are rendered lifeless.

At least for enough time for me to score yet another victory.”

This time, Raion gives a small, almost friendly wink. There was no particular animosity from him to Holden Ross in the end - otherwise, he would not have made his appearance in WGWF.

Besides, this was a match the Bastard had long wanted, and the Lion was more than happy to comply.

But of course - that also meant that he would come to get the win. And it was the onus of Holden Ross to be worthy of the match he sought.

“Therefore, Mr. Bastard, this is a challenge for you. You face one of the biggest names in the XWF, the undeniable 2022 Newcomer of the Year, and you do so in the last episode of the year of the show that he decided to make his home.

So bring all the violence you can muster. Get your organism excited with the thrill of carnage and mayhem better than any drug would make you. And know that the only way to match the power I bring to bear is to put that madness and that bloodlust of yours to the absolute limit!

As for myself, this is my final statement of the year 2022 in the XWF. This shall be my fifth victory since Relentless, and my stepping stone to the stage where I belong, and should never have left. This is my way to come into 2023 with a victory streak that shall make the thousands in attendance, the millions watching at home, and anyone in the front office think about where the Lion should be.

And this victory, just like my standing in the XWF, shall be defined by one word:

Absolute."

At this point, the Lion’s grin is gone, replaced by a face as cold and serious as the snow in the ground and the diminutive crystals in the air around him - and a likewise silence, broken only by another whisper of the wind.

He had said his peace, and it was time for the Madness wrestler to say his own.

“For in this Saturday Night Solstice, Mr. Holden, you’re going to experience absolute zero. And after we’re done…”

Now letting out his almighty roar, Raion Kido throws a punch forward, scattering the crystals of diamond dust in the air in the trajectory of his golden gauntleted fist.

“The only thing that shall remain of you, is going to be diamond dust.”

Fade to black.
3000 words (wordcounter.net)]]> “That should have taught anyone watching not to pick a fight for which they’re not ready. And now it’s time to get back on track!”

Bad Medicine had ended as it had been supposed to end - with Raion Kido victorious, with his mind and spirit still intact - and with his name back in the title hunt scene.

Or had it?

“But first, it’s time to end the year on a high note - and to give Holden Ross the match he wanted!”

Two of those objectives had been achieved; however, there was no sign of the title hunt part yet. But then again, the Lion still held the briefcase.

Had the time to use it finally arrived?

“That would be something to think about… if I wasn’t freezing my can off!”

Of course, the biting cold of Mount Moosilauke in New Hampshire made these thoughts difficult at present - as the Lion was hiking among the Gentle Giant - as was this mountain called - among a Mount Washington Observatory expedition. Even the thick mountain jacket, the hat and the gloves the Lion was wearing were not enough to keep out the chilling sensation produced by the icy wind - nor did the clear skies and the shining sun above the snow-covered rocky trail.

“Sorry for the temperature, folks, but this wind is exactly what we came here to find! This may look like a blizzard to you, but watch very closely at the wind currents we’re having. Do you see anything in particular?”

Thus spoke the guide that led the group down the path of the Gentle Giant. The group try the hardest to look through the foggy mist, but soon they are rendered silent.

“No one? No one has anything?”

At that point, the silence is broken by the voice of Raion, who throws an exaggerated punch for dramatic effect.

“DIAMOND DUST!”

“Ha! Our wrestling guest here got it, people! Nice move by the way.”

“There is a move called that in Saint Seiya, sir! The guy that does it likes to stand up one-legged and wave his arms like a swan, but I’ll spare you that sight, I promise.”

“This being you, we’ll be seeing it next Saturday for sure! But can you tell us a bit about diamond dust?”

“Nothing too complicated - just tiny ice crystals that form in the air this time of year. Looks like fog but fog is mostly water, and diamond dust does not generally reduce visibility. Diamond dust also forms near clear skies, like we currently have.”

“Very good. This is a very scenic view here, folks, and that’s why we’re here. Diamond dust helps to make it all the more beautiful!”

And indeed, the crowd seems to share in that sentiment, as their cold is soon forgotten by the wondrous excitement with which they set about to film and take pictures. For his part, though, the Lion sets the box of his golden cloth that has so far been strapped to his back on the ground, and sits on it to take a much-deserved breather. He is then approached by a group of fans.

“Great to have you here with us, Mr. Kido! What about that briefcase you still have?”

“We really want to see you go for gold once more! Go take on Flynn again!”

“Thank you, thank you for your interest but these things are not easily solved. Besides, I have Holden Ross to think about first. He’s been wanting this match with me for a while and I would not want to disappoint him!”

“The guy that doesn’t like fighting women? Please smack him around for me, sir!”

“Yeah, he really stuck his foot up his mouth with that, huh?”

For all response, the Lion shrugs.

“I don’t think it was so much about women, so much as it was about size. But then again, I too am smaller than him. And I just happen to pack a punch without the need for going hardcore.”

A sly smile crosses his face.

“So he won’t have any excuse when he loses either.”

“I need you to help me understand something though, man. Why are you here, freezing your ass off with the rest of us in the middle of a mountain in New Hampshire, when you could be training to face this guy somewhere nicer?”

“This is part of my training, sir. Holden Ross is a man whose temper flares up easily - especially when he’s dishing out his own particular brand of violence. His soul burns as strongly as mine when he’s in his element;  and here, in this Winter Wonderland match that we’re about to have, there is only one way to defeat him - to stop his momentum cold before he even gains it, and to bring his aerial aficionado skills to an absolute halt.”

The expedition guide comes to join the conversation nest.

“This makes me want to do you a little test, Raion. Surely you know that not all things freezes at the same temperature. Water turns to ice at 89.6°, alcohol freezes at 174.6°.

But there is a temperature at which all things will inevitably freeze. Do you happen to know what that is?”

One more time does Raion flash his radiant smile, and answers without hesitation.

“The answer is 459°. Absolute zero.”

“You’ve clearly done your research. Well done!”

“I knew this long ago, sir. This is yet another thing that Saint Seiya taught me, and it’s more than appropriate for this match.”

At that point, he rises from the golden box on which he sat, and begins to open it.

“And after Holden Ross and I are done, that is exactly what he is going to be.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Winter is coming, ladies and gentlemen, and so is the last show of Savage Saturday Night, and of this year as a whole in the XWF.”

The initial words of the Lion sound strongly among the whisper of the wind and the diamond dust that falls over Mount Moosilauke, and the sound of his footsteps as he walks through the snow-covered mountain - deep footprints left by his golden boots.

“And as such, there was absolutely no way I would be missing it - especially since it may very well be yet another statement, next to every other one I have so far made since Relentless, as to why the name of Raion Kido should be among those in title contention once more.

I therefore say, people of the XWF Universe, that; coming into this final show of 2022, it is my hope that we all have learned a lesson at Bad Medicine.”

The Osaka wrestler comes to a halt, and, with a swift motion of his crossed arms, throws his cape behind him, the diamond dust in the air falling upon his burnished golden Cloth, and evaporating almost as instantly after landing.

“I hope we all have learned that Raion Kido does not choke when the stakes are high. I hope we all have learned that Raion Kido is not, and never has been, a name to trifle with lightly. Perhaps Chris Chaos and Jenny Myst will give it a long, hard thought before coming at me again now, but above everything else, perhaps this shall serve to put me back in title contention.

Because let’s not be mistaken, friends. I keep getting asked when I shall use that briefcase I have obtained at Leap of Faith. I keep getting told to finally use it to put some gold around my waist, but there’s a point I want to make the same way I did before. Regardless of when I use it, I want to make clear that I am perfectly capable of earning the chances on my own merit - as I did when I became Universal Champion at the Cannabis Cup.

But that, however, shall be a discussion for 2023. For the moment, here we are, at the final episode of Savage Saturday Night of the year 2022, and on this winter solstice, I am here to be a dream match for Mr. Holden Ross. So let’s get to it, shall we?”

A gust of wind blows the Lion’s white cape back, as does his wild mane of hair, but Raion Kido hardly makes a motion - instead directing his gaze square at the camera lens.

This was, after all, an opponent that looked forward to facing him.

And that meant that, to meet his expectations in earnest, it was time for the cosmos to burn.


“So, Mr. Holden. Ultraviolent fighting machine, Action Wrestling star, still getting used to the ways of the XWF. Nice meeting you finally in the ring, sir.

I know you’ve left a trail of death and destruction in your way through Madness, even if your victories so far equal your defeats. I know a man of your stature is not defined by what the books say, but this time, you’ve taken your first steps into a larger world - and here the records do carry some weight.

Because this time, Mr. Ross, you’re not on Madness, or Action Wrestling, or the WGWF, and this time I’m not standing with you against the rest of CCPE. This time you’re in the temple of the Lion, and you’re facing someone that has left a mark in XWF history and across CCP Enterprises that no one shall ever remove, and that, just like the snow that covers these mountains, shall last for as long as the world does.”

The Lion now pumps a clenched fist in a downward motion as his eyebrows raise. He had come this far since Relentless with Chris Chaos constantly hounding him, and he had finally sent him back to oblivion.

This was the time to end 2022 on as high a note as it began - with a resounding victory that would turn heads his way once more.

“But not only that, Mr. Bastard. This time you are facing someone that comes from teaching a very hard-learned lesson to those that would take me for granted. While you were demonstrating your power and your viciousness in Madness, I have been showing newcomers and returning people to the XWF that the game has changed - that even without the XWF Universal Title, the name of Raion Kido cannot be denied.

And the last person that decided to make a target out of me for his own personal gain ended up empty-handed and shown to the world as a fraud, and his one shining moment was dulled flat.

Therein should be a cautionary tale for you to heed, Mr. Bastard. You’re not the only one here that has targeted people for wanton violence. Chris Chaos did that ever since he attacked me at Relentless, and every single of those occasions was a message directed towards me. He thought that he would make me snap - that he would turn me into something akin to him, or to you.

But I am a Saint of Athena - and just like the ice and snow that you may see around me, my spirit is constant, and though my soul may burn, my mind always stays cold. So at Relentless, Mr. Ross, I did what I had to do to someone that targeted the innocent - I delivered them justice, and a resounding defeat that ruined their entire purpose.

If you have been paying attention, Mr. Ross, you should probably have seen the similarities by now, and there should be no mistake about what I’m coming to do to you at Saturday Night Solstice.”

A roguish grin begins to form upon the Lion’s lips. Had he just not defeated someone whose entire life - and name - revolves around causing chaos? What was Holden Ross but just another example of that?

And what reason was there for Raion Kido not to be the righteous fist of justice once more?

“And if that sounds like a threat, it’s because it is, because a man of your quality and stature should expect nothing less. Mr. Mac Bane and Mr. John Cable contacted me exactly because of that, and Chris Page is looking to face me in his own event for the same reason - because they know that no matter my disposition outside the ring, once I am inside those four sets of ropes, the only way for me to speak is with the power of the cosmos, for that is my charge as a Saint of Athena, one that I shall not shirk until the day comes where I must leave this world.

Now then, Mr. Holden, it’s your turn to tell me. Once you’re faced with the power I bring, what shall avail you? Your love of fighting? That high you claim to get when in the midst of violence? I’ve been among the likes of ALIAS, Charlie Nickles, Dolly Waters, Bobby Bourbon, and Micheal Graves. I’ve fought through all the floors of the Burj Khalifa at Leap of Faith to earn the briefcase I still hold.

I’ve been in a brawl that spanned the entirety of the Velvet Rabbit and spilled into the streets of New York City to win the biggest prize in the wrestling world. I defended that prize in a Last Man Standing Match, where the only way it ends is when one is no longer capable of rising.

There is little you may have that I have not already seen and done, so the challenge shall be for you to top any of that.

For do not forget, Mr. Ross - you might want to prove you’re one of the most dangerous and violent among Chris Page’s misfit toys, but even now, I am still thought to be one of the best in the entirety of the XWF, and that is exactly what you are coming to face.”

The young Saint of Athena points a gold-clad finger at the camera, grinning ear to ear. Let no one in the XWF forget - this was a man that had already been Universal Champion, and did not settle for that to be his only accomplishment.

There were expectations to fulfill. Let it never be said he failed to do so.

“You should consider this a compliment, for now, when you lose to someone smaller than you are, you won’t have to fear ridicule as you are so fond of stating whenever you face a woman - losing against the fangs of the Lion is entirely what’s expected, and better men and women than you have been known to fall to Raion Kido.

And that should ring yet another familiar bell, Mr. Bastard. You claim one does not fight Holden Ross, but survives him; however, you’re about to find out that when you face the Lion, death is not merely a possibility; it is a certainty that only a precious few have managed to avoid during this year - and even that was only temporary.

Because just like with this cold that we will be facing, there is a point where all things freeze, where all motion comes to a halt. Just as the atoms on the body of every living thing stop moving at a cold enough temperature, so it happens to everything that comes into contact with my fist. Whether it’s on a single instant in my Lightning Bolt, or repeatedly in my Lightning Plasma, there always comes the eventual, inescapable point where they are rendered lifeless.

At least for enough time for me to score yet another victory.”

This time, Raion gives a small, almost friendly wink. There was no particular animosity from him to Holden Ross in the end - otherwise, he would not have made his appearance in WGWF.

Besides, this was a match the Bastard had long wanted, and the Lion was more than happy to comply.

But of course - that also meant that he would come to get the win. And it was the onus of Holden Ross to be worthy of the match he sought.

“Therefore, Mr. Bastard, this is a challenge for you. You face one of the biggest names in the XWF, the undeniable 2022 Newcomer of the Year, and you do so in the last episode of the year of the show that he decided to make his home.

So bring all the violence you can muster. Get your organism excited with the thrill of carnage and mayhem better than any drug would make you. And know that the only way to match the power I bring to bear is to put that madness and that bloodlust of yours to the absolute limit!

As for myself, this is my final statement of the year 2022 in the XWF. This shall be my fifth victory since Relentless, and my stepping stone to the stage where I belong, and should never have left. This is my way to come into 2023 with a victory streak that shall make the thousands in attendance, the millions watching at home, and anyone in the front office think about where the Lion should be.

And this victory, just like my standing in the XWF, shall be defined by one word:

Absolute."

At this point, the Lion’s grin is gone, replaced by a face as cold and serious as the snow in the ground and the diminutive crystals in the air around him - and a likewise silence, broken only by another whisper of the wind.

He had said his peace, and it was time for the Madness wrestler to say his own.

“For in this Saturday Night Solstice, Mr. Holden, you’re going to experience absolute zero. And after we’re done…”

Now letting out his almighty roar, Raion Kido throws a punch forward, scattering the crystals of diamond dust in the air in the trajectory of his golden gauntleted fist.

“The only thing that shall remain of you, is going to be diamond dust.”

Fade to black.
3000 words (wordcounter.net)]]> <![CDATA[Innocence Lost in a SAVAGE Way for the Final Time]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45279 Wed, 14 Dec 2022 23:04:22 -0800 Jenny Myst]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45279 2004

The sun was due to start rising on Christmas morning over Henderson, Nevada. There was no snow, as expected, but it had been a chillier than usual night in the Southern Nevada desert this year. Nine year old Jennifer Sambuca woke up from her slumber, rubbing her eyes. It was her favorite time of year, CHRISTMAS. She wasn’t really expecting presents, seeing as she was a homeless orphan before Mark and Patricia brought her in, but she always liked how festive and cheery things were. People were actually nice. Everybody smiled.

Her “parents” were relatively well off, and they made sure that the house was well-lit and festive. They even let little Jennifer pick which lights went on the outside of the house–she ALWAYS picked colored ones.

This particular day, however, was a day she dreaded because she knew after the day ended, all the festivities went away and everyone went back to being their same, boring, negative selves. She always woke up early on this day so she can make the most of it. Get as many hours of holiday cheer in as possible.

As she rubbed her eyes and made her way down the stairs, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was a sound from the living room…..a sound as if someone was picking up and putting down boxes, and not being gentle about it. She had passed her “parents” room, making sure to tip top, and heard her “father” snoring from inside. It couldn’t be him.

Her little kid logic clicked in, and her eyes went wide with a sharp intake of breath.

SANTA CLAUS!

She had to be careful, though. She didn’t want to spoil her chances of staying firmly on the nice list. She tip-toed around, peaking into the living room. Her little heart hit the ceiling when she saw a heavy set (though, not as fat as she imagined), man in a red velvet suit, hunched over some boxes under the family Christmas tree. She gasped, quickly putting a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise.

The man was grumbling a bit to himself, and swayed slightly back and forth, catching himself on the tree every now and then as he struggled to keep his balance. The cookies and milk she had left out were eaten and drank, but it raised an eyebrow for her when she noticed the plate on the floor. It must have fallen off the mantle.

Santa wouldn’t be that careless.

Would he?

She slinked back behind the wall, watching as Santa OPENED one of the presents under the tree. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was for someone else?

He shook the box, and when girls' clothes fell out he groaned a throaty groan, and kicked another box. It hit the wall with a thud. Something in the box turned on, and started playing music. “AAAARGHH” he said, stomping on the noisy package. Tears welled up in Jenny’s eyes, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Santa turned around, and his suit was open. Under it was a hairy chest covered by a stained wife beater. He wasn’t even wearing boots, but rather a dingy looking pair of black running shoes. Off-brand. In his hand was a bottle of whiskey, which explained the stumbling. She tried to stay hidden behind the wall of the foyer, not wanting to let this strange man–this imposter–see her. How had he even gotten in?!

She smiled to herself as the first thought that popped into her head was through the chimney, but her jubilation sank like a rock in the ocean when she realized that one, they didn’t have a chimney, and two, this man was here for less than jolly reasons.

He began to rummage through drawers and things too, flipping over couch cushions and pocketing family valuables. Jenny’s eyes, still filled with tears in realizing that her literal only source of happiness in an otherwise miserable existence, was now hurting the closest things she had ever had to “family.” Her little mind came up with a plan.

JENNY WOULD SAVE CHRISTMAS!!!!

She disappeared into the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible. There was a crash from the other room that she swore could have woken up her parents. The man had banged his leg on something.

“Ahh–burp–goddamnit!”

Her hands were shaking now as she slowly stood up on a chair and reached for a knife from the cutlery. When she finally grabbed the biggest one of the set, she shoved it behind her back and got down from the chair.

Making her way back to the room where the man was back to present stealing, she took a deep breath and stepped out into the middle of the living room. Clearing her throat seemed to startle the man, but he smiled when he turned around. His beard was off white, and had mustard stains on it.

“What in the motherfuck—--oh…..well….hey there little girl.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth crinkled like foil-wrapping into a devious grin.

"Have you been on the nice list this year?"

He began to approach her, his grin turned into a look of bliss as his eyes locked onto the blonde pre-teen in pajamas.

“Come on now, little one, show Santa what you got HIM for Christmas. Ho ho hoooooooooarrghhh!”

His fake Ho’ Ho’s were cut short, turning into a gravely scream as Jenny plunged the knife into his abdomen.

The man swung, and she ducked, pushing it further into his beer gut and twisting. He dropped to his knees, a look of sheer terror in his eyes now as they made contact. Jenny pulled the knife out of the impostor Santa and crawled on top of him, looking down over the man who had ruined her happiness.

He was trying to talk, sputtering a bit between the stab wound and being extremely intoxicated, but she didn’t give him the chance. She brought the kitchen knife down on him, again and again and again Blood splattered all over the room and drenched her face and chest. She let out a yell as she brought it down a final time, leaving it in him as she rolled off and cried.

The next sound she heard was a woman scream. Her parents had heard the commotion and came downstairs, only to find their adopted daughter covered in blood next to a man they did not recognize in a filthy Santa suit.

She came too when she heard “Jingle Bells” coming from the radio of a Nevada State Police patrol car.

“25 stab wounds” one person said. “25, how ironic.”

Turns out the man was a convicted rapist and murderer who had gotten out due to a technicality in state bail reform laws, and had been drunkenly robbing houses Christmas eve.

The neighborhood had gathered around the house now. Many of the kids Jenny knew from school were in the crowd.. The entire house was surrounded by caution tape.

“Are you hurt?” an officer asked her, as she shook her head sheepishly. “If he didn’t hurt you, why did you stab him?”

“JENNY KILLED SANTA CLAUS!" one girl shouted from the crowd.

Jenny looked around, tears still in her eyes and the man's blood still on her face.

“He was trying to take my happiness away.”

The next few weeks of her life were filled with counselors of all sorts. Trauma, mental, emotional, sexual abuse.

Jenny had killed a Savage man on the final holiday of the year. Something so dark and primal when she tried only to do something right.

Never again would she feel happiness, never again would truly feel the Savage Christmas Spirit.

[Image: F7wLmk5.gif]

"Many have tried, many have failed. Line them up, knock them down. John Madison Jr., is no exception. How many times has he tried to cheap shot me now and take this belt he doesn't deserve? When is someone gonna tell him that lifting weights doesn’t mean you can fight? Johnny boy, stick to being carried by Angie Vaughn and leave well enough alone. I worked with Angie at War Games, I know what she can do in the ring. She made the cover on Dolly to take the belts off one of the top tag teams of the year. You were just along for the ride. Bad Medicine? She dragged your puss ridden carcass to the finish line and made XWF legend James Raven TAP OUT. Where were you? Lying on the outside, broken damn near in half. Angie did all the heavy lifting, but you get the glory of calling yourself a Tag Team Champion. You’re a tumor, John, a tumor that Angie will get cut off as soon as the earliest opportunity presents itself. You’re dead weight. On your own, you’re nothing. Look how many times you’ve failed already. Hell you were after this belt for weeks, and you couldn’t get your spray tanned hands on it. Even tried to steal it during my triple threat on the Halloween Savage, only for me to flatten your ass and claim what is mine. You had just ‘won’ the tag titles a match before, but it wasn’t good enough, was it? It killed you to know that you’re a useless growth on the development of Angie Vaughn, and you needed to show the world you were worth your weight in piss.

All you showed the world is exactly what you are, a failure. Flexing doesn’t make your roid penis bigger, so there’s no need to keep showing off your weird body. No need to flaunt all that muscle when you are incapable of putting it to use. How are you jacked but still look like a pussy? You look like you open up jars for people when they didn’t ask you to. The only jar being opened on the final Savage ever is a jar of whoop ass, courtesy of yours truly. A show I helped make famous now gets to be remembered with ME holding MY title over my head while you do what you do best--lie flat on your back.

Your daddy can’t hold a candle stick to what I have done to help develop this brand into the top show in the XWF, and we all know how much you adore daddy dearest.

Jesus Christ I thought I had daddy issues. Your relationship with your pops makes my past look like bad foreplay. Maybe that’s what it is? Looking good in the eyes of a man that can’t look at you without dry heaving? You’re so busy trying to live in his shadow, trying to impress someone who wasn’t even smart enough to not get caught. You want to surpass him? You’re already there. You’ve become a bigger douche bag lowlife nobody than he could have ever thought of being! No matter how much you try to change your outward appearance you obviously will always be dead inside. I can smell the mental illness and mint juul pods from one look at you, and after the beating I give you on Savage maybe your father will finally hang himself with those prison bed sheets so he doesn’t have to be disappointed in you any longer.

I am your kryptonite, Johnny. You can’t get under my skin, throw me off my game, live inside my head. Your biggest strength is your mental game, but I am out of my mind. In recent weeks, I have had ‘competitors’ of all shapes and sizes try to pin me, I have had matches with stipulations never heard of before, and I have had everyone here picking against me. Rooting against me. Praying for my downfall. I have bested them all. When Marf Swaysons stole this belt in a petty backstage attack, it woke something up in me. To see a useless sack of shit hold the second best title in professional wrestling at my expense–it lit a fire that I never knew I had. To be the champion that nobody wants me to be is what fuels me, drives me, pushes me to go to lengths that a year ago would have horrified me. What drives you? Do you even have a motivation outside of fondling your fathers balls for a little bit of attention he never gave you as a child? Do you have a driving force that propels you to be the best every single night?

No, you don’t.

Life is peachy keen if you’re John Madison Junior. You get to be a champion and not work for it, you get notoriety and your fifteen minutes in a light that isn’t a tanning bed, and you get to come and go as you please. I have to not only defend this title at the highest level every single show, but fend off these blood sucking mosquitos trying to undercut my accomplishments seemingly every couple of hours. Do you know how hard it makes it to have a normal life when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder? But I’ll tell you what John………

I wouldn't have it any other way.

What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, and at this rate, I bet I could out-bench you. I could out-eat Robbie Bourbon I could out-fact Mark Flynn. What didn’t kill me made me the most dangerous champion on this roster and at Savage Solstice, I am going to show you why the Queen of X-Treme is exactly who the fuck she says she is.”

A laugh echoes through the empty monorail station. The lights had been shut off, employees home for the night. The occasional security guard roamed the premises, but on his salary, his roaming was more sitting in a chair eating Cinnabaon “watching” the cameras, scrolling through fantasy football and Chaturbate cam girls. The laugh continues, bouncing off the walls of the empty facility, taking over the aurora of emptiness that after hours at the monorail dock  can look like.

Footsteps.

There was a dragging sound, as if something heavy was being pulled a long distance, with small grunts and curses under the breath, as if the one pulling was having trouble pulling whatever was in the sack.

There was something so surreal about the finality of savageness. About the last time someone gets to do something, go somewhere, use a name, call a place home. There is something so peaceful in death. This was the last time this monorail would be used, and it came about rather sporadically after some deliberation. Some people didn’t like the idea, some did. Some people could never get used to the savageness, some people preferred all out warfare, and some people showed up to either whenever it suited them. After tonight, the savageness would be gone, but people would remember.

Oh yes, they shant not forget.

Pulling the sack was a small figure. A petite little thing. Dressed in all black they heaved and grunted their way down the rail pavilion, not really caring all that much that they were in direct view of the “security” camera. Security is an illusion anyway.

When the small figure made it to the parked monorail, they pulled a crowbar out of the sack. Dropping the sack for a moment, they shoved the crowbar between the slit in the automatic doors and pulled. Their entire body weight went into prying the doors open, but after some effort, they were successful.

Shaking their head slightly, as if annoyed by the slight inconvenience of the doors being more stuck than anticipated, the figure picked the top end of the sack back up. The small figure dragged it through the doors and heaved it onto one of the monorail seats. Standing there for a moment, panting, they notice a small smudge on their hand. Looking back there is a trail of blood from the bottom of the sack that had made a path towards where they currently sat, almost a full football field from the entrance.

They open the sack, and a piece of paper flutters out as they begin to peel the sack back to reveal the contents.

On the paper read an ominous message.

LOCAL MALL SANTA MISSING
REAL NAME: JAMES MADISON
LAST SEEN: LEAVING SHIFT AT SNOWBALL MALL, SANTA’S VILLAGE
REWARD FOR ANY KNOWN WHEREABOUTS, FAMILY EXTREMELY WORRIED
DESCRIPTION: 5’7” 270 lbs.  WHITE HAIR, WHITE BEARD. ROSEY CHEEKS.
PLEASE CALL (603) 788-4402 WITH ANY PERTINENT INFORMATION

The sack peels back to reveal a bloody face. Stained white hair and beard. Blunt force trauma appears to be the cause at first view. The blood ran down and into the suit, where it formed crimson blotches on the cardinal velvet.

SANTA CLAUS.

JENNY KILLED SANTA CLAUS, AGAIN!

The sack is all the way pulled down, revealing the childhood icon for millions of people.
Pulling the black mask off, Jenny smiles at the work she has done. If they were going to take her happiness and joy away with Savage, she was going to take their happiness and joy away with the man who brought them it from a young age.

BOMBSHELL TITLE
GENERAL MANAGER
QUEENS COURT
SHOOTING STAR TITLE
TELEVISION TITLE
X-TREME TITLE

So many of the best moments in her life had happened on Savage and now….like all those kids in the mall, and this prick’s family….she felt….empty.

Climbing into the control panel of the monorail she switched it on. Pressing the “GO!” button, she felt it begin to move. Opening the window (only the conductor had a working window–which didn’t make sense to her and probably led to several conductor suicides because, lets face it, who wants to be a monorail conductor?) and jumped out just as the monorail left the track.

She stood back and admired her work. Now, anyone who looks at the monorail would see their idol, beaten and bloody, sitting on the monorail–human, just like them–vulnerable, just like them.

She grinned as she looked down at her arm. Fresh cut marks.


JOHN MADISON JR. 


[Image: xAEKcL6.gif]

Victim.

[Image: wcxW8EB.png]
]]> 2004

The sun was due to start rising on Christmas morning over Henderson, Nevada. There was no snow, as expected, but it had been a chillier than usual night in the Southern Nevada desert this year. Nine year old Jennifer Sambuca woke up from her slumber, rubbing her eyes. It was her favorite time of year, CHRISTMAS. She wasn’t really expecting presents, seeing as she was a homeless orphan before Mark and Patricia brought her in, but she always liked how festive and cheery things were. People were actually nice. Everybody smiled.

Her “parents” were relatively well off, and they made sure that the house was well-lit and festive. They even let little Jennifer pick which lights went on the outside of the house–she ALWAYS picked colored ones.

This particular day, however, was a day she dreaded because she knew after the day ended, all the festivities went away and everyone went back to being their same, boring, negative selves. She always woke up early on this day so she can make the most of it. Get as many hours of holiday cheer in as possible.

As she rubbed her eyes and made her way down the stairs, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was a sound from the living room…..a sound as if someone was picking up and putting down boxes, and not being gentle about it. She had passed her “parents” room, making sure to tip top, and heard her “father” snoring from inside. It couldn’t be him.

Her little kid logic clicked in, and her eyes went wide with a sharp intake of breath.

SANTA CLAUS!

She had to be careful, though. She didn’t want to spoil her chances of staying firmly on the nice list. She tip-toed around, peaking into the living room. Her little heart hit the ceiling when she saw a heavy set (though, not as fat as she imagined), man in a red velvet suit, hunched over some boxes under the family Christmas tree. She gasped, quickly putting a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise.

The man was grumbling a bit to himself, and swayed slightly back and forth, catching himself on the tree every now and then as he struggled to keep his balance. The cookies and milk she had left out were eaten and drank, but it raised an eyebrow for her when she noticed the plate on the floor. It must have fallen off the mantle.

Santa wouldn’t be that careless.

Would he?

She slinked back behind the wall, watching as Santa OPENED one of the presents under the tree. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was for someone else?

He shook the box, and when girls' clothes fell out he groaned a throaty groan, and kicked another box. It hit the wall with a thud. Something in the box turned on, and started playing music. “AAAARGHH” he said, stomping on the noisy package. Tears welled up in Jenny’s eyes, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Santa turned around, and his suit was open. Under it was a hairy chest covered by a stained wife beater. He wasn’t even wearing boots, but rather a dingy looking pair of black running shoes. Off-brand. In his hand was a bottle of whiskey, which explained the stumbling. She tried to stay hidden behind the wall of the foyer, not wanting to let this strange man–this imposter–see her. How had he even gotten in?!

She smiled to herself as the first thought that popped into her head was through the chimney, but her jubilation sank like a rock in the ocean when she realized that one, they didn’t have a chimney, and two, this man was here for less than jolly reasons.

He began to rummage through drawers and things too, flipping over couch cushions and pocketing family valuables. Jenny’s eyes, still filled with tears in realizing that her literal only source of happiness in an otherwise miserable existence, was now hurting the closest things she had ever had to “family.” Her little mind came up with a plan.

JENNY WOULD SAVE CHRISTMAS!!!!

She disappeared into the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible. There was a crash from the other room that she swore could have woken up her parents. The man had banged his leg on something.

“Ahh–burp–goddamnit!”

Her hands were shaking now as she slowly stood up on a chair and reached for a knife from the cutlery. When she finally grabbed the biggest one of the set, she shoved it behind her back and got down from the chair.

Making her way back to the room where the man was back to present stealing, she took a deep breath and stepped out into the middle of the living room. Clearing her throat seemed to startle the man, but he smiled when he turned around. His beard was off white, and had mustard stains on it.

“What in the motherfuck—--oh…..well….hey there little girl.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth crinkled like foil-wrapping into a devious grin.

"Have you been on the nice list this year?"

He began to approach her, his grin turned into a look of bliss as his eyes locked onto the blonde pre-teen in pajamas.

“Come on now, little one, show Santa what you got HIM for Christmas. Ho ho hoooooooooarrghhh!”

His fake Ho’ Ho’s were cut short, turning into a gravely scream as Jenny plunged the knife into his abdomen.

The man swung, and she ducked, pushing it further into his beer gut and twisting. He dropped to his knees, a look of sheer terror in his eyes now as they made contact. Jenny pulled the knife out of the impostor Santa and crawled on top of him, looking down over the man who had ruined her happiness.

He was trying to talk, sputtering a bit between the stab wound and being extremely intoxicated, but she didn’t give him the chance. She brought the kitchen knife down on him, again and again and again Blood splattered all over the room and drenched her face and chest. She let out a yell as she brought it down a final time, leaving it in him as she rolled off and cried.

The next sound she heard was a woman scream. Her parents had heard the commotion and came downstairs, only to find their adopted daughter covered in blood next to a man they did not recognize in a filthy Santa suit.

She came too when she heard “Jingle Bells” coming from the radio of a Nevada State Police patrol car.

“25 stab wounds” one person said. “25, how ironic.”

Turns out the man was a convicted rapist and murderer who had gotten out due to a technicality in state bail reform laws, and had been drunkenly robbing houses Christmas eve.

The neighborhood had gathered around the house now. Many of the kids Jenny knew from school were in the crowd.. The entire house was surrounded by caution tape.

“Are you hurt?” an officer asked her, as she shook her head sheepishly. “If he didn’t hurt you, why did you stab him?”

“JENNY KILLED SANTA CLAUS!" one girl shouted from the crowd.

Jenny looked around, tears still in her eyes and the man's blood still on her face.

“He was trying to take my happiness away.”

The next few weeks of her life were filled with counselors of all sorts. Trauma, mental, emotional, sexual abuse.

Jenny had killed a Savage man on the final holiday of the year. Something so dark and primal when she tried only to do something right.

Never again would she feel happiness, never again would truly feel the Savage Christmas Spirit.

[Image: F7wLmk5.gif]

"Many have tried, many have failed. Line them up, knock them down. John Madison Jr., is no exception. How many times has he tried to cheap shot me now and take this belt he doesn't deserve? When is someone gonna tell him that lifting weights doesn’t mean you can fight? Johnny boy, stick to being carried by Angie Vaughn and leave well enough alone. I worked with Angie at War Games, I know what she can do in the ring. She made the cover on Dolly to take the belts off one of the top tag teams of the year. You were just along for the ride. Bad Medicine? She dragged your puss ridden carcass to the finish line and made XWF legend James Raven TAP OUT. Where were you? Lying on the outside, broken damn near in half. Angie did all the heavy lifting, but you get the glory of calling yourself a Tag Team Champion. You’re a tumor, John, a tumor that Angie will get cut off as soon as the earliest opportunity presents itself. You’re dead weight. On your own, you’re nothing. Look how many times you’ve failed already. Hell you were after this belt for weeks, and you couldn’t get your spray tanned hands on it. Even tried to steal it during my triple threat on the Halloween Savage, only for me to flatten your ass and claim what is mine. You had just ‘won’ the tag titles a match before, but it wasn’t good enough, was it? It killed you to know that you’re a useless growth on the development of Angie Vaughn, and you needed to show the world you were worth your weight in piss.

All you showed the world is exactly what you are, a failure. Flexing doesn’t make your roid penis bigger, so there’s no need to keep showing off your weird body. No need to flaunt all that muscle when you are incapable of putting it to use. How are you jacked but still look like a pussy? You look like you open up jars for people when they didn’t ask you to. The only jar being opened on the final Savage ever is a jar of whoop ass, courtesy of yours truly. A show I helped make famous now gets to be remembered with ME holding MY title over my head while you do what you do best--lie flat on your back.

Your daddy can’t hold a candle stick to what I have done to help develop this brand into the top show in the XWF, and we all know how much you adore daddy dearest.

Jesus Christ I thought I had daddy issues. Your relationship with your pops makes my past look like bad foreplay. Maybe that’s what it is? Looking good in the eyes of a man that can’t look at you without dry heaving? You’re so busy trying to live in his shadow, trying to impress someone who wasn’t even smart enough to not get caught. You want to surpass him? You’re already there. You’ve become a bigger douche bag lowlife nobody than he could have ever thought of being! No matter how much you try to change your outward appearance you obviously will always be dead inside. I can smell the mental illness and mint juul pods from one look at you, and after the beating I give you on Savage maybe your father will finally hang himself with those prison bed sheets so he doesn’t have to be disappointed in you any longer.

I am your kryptonite, Johnny. You can’t get under my skin, throw me off my game, live inside my head. Your biggest strength is your mental game, but I am out of my mind. In recent weeks, I have had ‘competitors’ of all shapes and sizes try to pin me, I have had matches with stipulations never heard of before, and I have had everyone here picking against me. Rooting against me. Praying for my downfall. I have bested them all. When Marf Swaysons stole this belt in a petty backstage attack, it woke something up in me. To see a useless sack of shit hold the second best title in professional wrestling at my expense–it lit a fire that I never knew I had. To be the champion that nobody wants me to be is what fuels me, drives me, pushes me to go to lengths that a year ago would have horrified me. What drives you? Do you even have a motivation outside of fondling your fathers balls for a little bit of attention he never gave you as a child? Do you have a driving force that propels you to be the best every single night?

No, you don’t.

Life is peachy keen if you’re John Madison Junior. You get to be a champion and not work for it, you get notoriety and your fifteen minutes in a light that isn’t a tanning bed, and you get to come and go as you please. I have to not only defend this title at the highest level every single show, but fend off these blood sucking mosquitos trying to undercut my accomplishments seemingly every couple of hours. Do you know how hard it makes it to have a normal life when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder? But I’ll tell you what John………

I wouldn't have it any other way.

What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, and at this rate, I bet I could out-bench you. I could out-eat Robbie Bourbon I could out-fact Mark Flynn. What didn’t kill me made me the most dangerous champion on this roster and at Savage Solstice, I am going to show you why the Queen of X-Treme is exactly who the fuck she says she is.”

A laugh echoes through the empty monorail station. The lights had been shut off, employees home for the night. The occasional security guard roamed the premises, but on his salary, his roaming was more sitting in a chair eating Cinnabaon “watching” the cameras, scrolling through fantasy football and Chaturbate cam girls. The laugh continues, bouncing off the walls of the empty facility, taking over the aurora of emptiness that after hours at the monorail dock  can look like.

Footsteps.

There was a dragging sound, as if something heavy was being pulled a long distance, with small grunts and curses under the breath, as if the one pulling was having trouble pulling whatever was in the sack.

There was something so surreal about the finality of savageness. About the last time someone gets to do something, go somewhere, use a name, call a place home. There is something so peaceful in death. This was the last time this monorail would be used, and it came about rather sporadically after some deliberation. Some people didn’t like the idea, some did. Some people could never get used to the savageness, some people preferred all out warfare, and some people showed up to either whenever it suited them. After tonight, the savageness would be gone, but people would remember.

Oh yes, they shant not forget.

Pulling the sack was a small figure. A petite little thing. Dressed in all black they heaved and grunted their way down the rail pavilion, not really caring all that much that they were in direct view of the “security” camera. Security is an illusion anyway.

When the small figure made it to the parked monorail, they pulled a crowbar out of the sack. Dropping the sack for a moment, they shoved the crowbar between the slit in the automatic doors and pulled. Their entire body weight went into prying the doors open, but after some effort, they were successful.

Shaking their head slightly, as if annoyed by the slight inconvenience of the doors being more stuck than anticipated, the figure picked the top end of the sack back up. The small figure dragged it through the doors and heaved it onto one of the monorail seats. Standing there for a moment, panting, they notice a small smudge on their hand. Looking back there is a trail of blood from the bottom of the sack that had made a path towards where they currently sat, almost a full football field from the entrance.

They open the sack, and a piece of paper flutters out as they begin to peel the sack back to reveal the contents.

On the paper read an ominous message.

LOCAL MALL SANTA MISSING
REAL NAME: JAMES MADISON
LAST SEEN: LEAVING SHIFT AT SNOWBALL MALL, SANTA’S VILLAGE
REWARD FOR ANY KNOWN WHEREABOUTS, FAMILY EXTREMELY WORRIED
DESCRIPTION: 5’7” 270 lbs.  WHITE HAIR, WHITE BEARD. ROSEY CHEEKS.
PLEASE CALL (603) 788-4402 WITH ANY PERTINENT INFORMATION

The sack peels back to reveal a bloody face. Stained white hair and beard. Blunt force trauma appears to be the cause at first view. The blood ran down and into the suit, where it formed crimson blotches on the cardinal velvet.

SANTA CLAUS.

JENNY KILLED SANTA CLAUS, AGAIN!

The sack is all the way pulled down, revealing the childhood icon for millions of people.
Pulling the black mask off, Jenny smiles at the work she has done. If they were going to take her happiness and joy away with Savage, she was going to take their happiness and joy away with the man who brought them it from a young age.

BOMBSHELL TITLE
GENERAL MANAGER
QUEENS COURT
SHOOTING STAR TITLE
TELEVISION TITLE
X-TREME TITLE

So many of the best moments in her life had happened on Savage and now….like all those kids in the mall, and this prick’s family….she felt….empty.

Climbing into the control panel of the monorail she switched it on. Pressing the “GO!” button, she felt it begin to move. Opening the window (only the conductor had a working window–which didn’t make sense to her and probably led to several conductor suicides because, lets face it, who wants to be a monorail conductor?) and jumped out just as the monorail left the track.

She stood back and admired her work. Now, anyone who looks at the monorail would see their idol, beaten and bloody, sitting on the monorail–human, just like them–vulnerable, just like them.

She grinned as she looked down at her arm. Fresh cut marks.


JOHN MADISON JR. 


[Image: xAEKcL6.gif]

Victim.

[Image: wcxW8EB.png]
]]> <![CDATA[The Newborn King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45264 Sat, 10 Dec 2022 23:59:05 -0800 Isaiah King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45264 OOC: AHHH, I accidentally fully [whited] my text - after ages of color coding. I am, a clown. Pls enjoy this white promo - in light of Christmas.
[Image: giphy.gif?cid=790b7611fb8c4d24ebd39a817a...y.gif&ct=g]

Isaiah King Corporation Said:The following is a work of art, a visceral experience, an unparalleled masterpiece produced by Isaiah King Corporation. It will be best enjoyed along with its musical accompaniment and your full attention, any less and you should be ashamed of yourself. Try to keep your hand(s) out of your pants, if you can - you have been warned.










Your screen flickers to life, a screen of grey. The concrete sideway the camera is pointed at is wet, left splotchy from years of gum, piss and other bodily fluid.. It’s as cold as ya’ mother’s bed, ladies and gentlemen, this is some horrid weather to be filming in.. The camera shakes, as if it’s being handle.

Isaiah’s clad in a beautifully warm looking coat, the neck area covered with a grey fur… Yeah, probably wolf fur from somewhere in Russia, just because he’s that kind of sexy. . Beside him is a baby pink-clad petite figure, an arm wrapped around the elbow of Isaiah.

The camera follows creepily a few steps behind the pair.

“Iz, you’ve really got to slow down or I’m gonna break something.”

“You know I’ll catch you if you do.”

“Uhm, I’m not so sure - part of me thinks you’ll let me fall just to laugh at me… A pretty big part at that.”

“Always thought you knew me better than I knew myself.”

“I do.”

Isaiah chuckles, squeezing his elbow, and Chae’s arm, into his side. The two continue walking down the pavement, in what looks to be somewhere near Times Square, New York.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to get my head out of the ring.”

“There you go again, lying.”

“Whadd-“

“In the six years I’ve known you, your heads never once been outside of the ring.”

“Ah, but I do try.”

“Not sure about that pretty boy, when you try - you do. And you haven’t done… So you’re certainly not trying.”

“Is that a lil whine I hear in that voice?”

“Hmm, it would be nice to not think I’m competing with Roided Up Man-child and Undead Mikey for your attention when we’re in bed.”

“You d-“

“I know I do.”

“Sorry.”

The two take a turn off the mainstream, sliding into one of the many off streets. They’re huddled close together, and it’s only the honks and bustle of the New York crowd that’s kept them from noticing the camera man following them.

“You don’t apologise for being too focused, it’s literally what makes you… You. If you were off dealing with every last thing, and focusing on every other endeavour, you wouldn’t have goal around your waist or a girl around your arm.”

“Yes ma’m, that’s why I pay you.”

“To do your marketing… Not sleep with you, for the record.”

“Oh, is that what I pay you for? Damn, I’m getting ripped-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

With a chuckle, you catch Isaiah slide a hand across the Chae’s face and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. As his beautiful lips lift off her flawless skin, a voice breaks through the speakers.

“Mr King! Right over here, glad you could make it!”

A well-dressed man, draped in the finest Italian suit and long overcoat is standing on the street with a tray in his hands. On the silver tray lies two glasses of champagne. He extends the tray out to the pair as they turn to the door he’s standing before. The sign above it reads “Les Bouchons”.

“Phillipe, it’s good to see you again, it’s been quite awhile.”

“Ah yes sir, what with you winning titles and kicking asses.”

“You allowed to have a dirty mouth like that?”

“As long as you keep tipping, I’m allowed to do whatever I want.”

“Yeah, give us some of that south of France ass-kickery and I might bump that tip up a percentage.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Mr King.”

The camera follows the two as they brush the frost off their shoes and walk into the warm interior of Les Bouchons. The restaurant looks simple, with red carpet floors and white table clothes. The feed cuts, before the feed returns from the perspective of someone in the kitchen.  He walks past a mirror, and you realise the camera seems to be mounted onto his glasses.

“Mr King, your first course, deep fried duck skin garnished with local herbs - I call it, duck hunting season.”

“Ah, Chef Henry, I cannot wait.”

The chef, who’s also second-hatting as the cameraman stands aside, keeping an “eye” on the pair as they dig into the first plate.

“Fancy lunch, is that how you say sorry for always being too busy for me?”

“Well… That and Chef knows the kinda macros I need to stay healthy - it’s good right?”]

“Phenomenal.”

“Also, Chae… Have we already dropped a promotional video for the Solstice show or am I beginning to lose my mind.”

Chae’s eyes widen and she looks down at her plate.

“Yeah… About that, we’re sorting it out don’t worry about it.”

“But, that was supposed to have been… Today, right?”

“Hun, I sort stuff like that out right - you can trust me.. Right? That’s why you pay me. Don’t. Worry. About. It.”

“If you say so, I just don’t want to give those sad wigs any excuse to strip me of this title.”

“They wouldn’t dare - who’d they give it to?”

“Probably on someone who lost their shot at every other title in this business, to be honest.”

“They really have no respect for you.”

“And that’s fine Chae, they don’t know who I am. But the fact that they have no respect for this title? That’s what gets under my skin.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re going to unify it.”

“Not quite how I expected to claim my second title… But I’m not complaining. The faster the XWF realise they’re a sinking ship with sinking admirals… The faster I’ll be able to patch the leaks.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“This company has 9 titles, one’s even lying vacant. I’d be damned if I could name 9 people, let alone tag-teams that deserve to hold any gold. Titles are meant to mean something, to reveal some standing, some mastery - but they jump from hand to hand, they get handed over to the dirtiest, most un-entertaining mongrels in this business… And we’re meant to flourish? If the creme is sour, the dairy’s gone bad. And the XWF has been… Bad for a while.”

“Not the best PR to call out every champion.”

“Why, cos their fans are going to hate me?”

“Well… Yeah, and they’re not the nicest men and women… What if they come after you?”

“Then I’ll expose how weak they are, it’s pretty simple.”

“What then?”

“Then I’ll train them. Once I humble them, I’ll lift them up, I’ll give them wings to fly on - you know what they say - Gotta break a wall down to built it bigger, re-lay the foundation if you will. There are a few other wrestlers here worth keeping as pillars though… Maybe bring some guys in myself.”

“Zeke? Have you seen him around recently?”

“He’s training, but I’m not exactly sure for what yet… But if I could get him to join me, they wouldn’t know what hit em.”

“The King’s Court. Always been a dream, hm?”

“More than a dream, a destiny. A destiny only a real leader can bring out -“

“A King, I know the cheesy spiel, I was there, remember.”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

“Do I think you’re ready, you mean. I'll be honest, no.”

Isaiah puts his cutlery down, lifting a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth. He exhales deeply and closes his eyes. That was ice-cold, Chae. Curiously the backing track for your stream switches up at this time. You better be watching this with the musical accompaniment, if it’s on mute… Ugh.





“What else.”

“You haven’t had a single, real fight Isaiah. You’ve been dominant, you’ve been on top, you’ve won - but against who?”

“Spineless cowards.”

"Exactly, hun, a king isn’t made on the severed heads of peasants, it’s made on the heads of challengers to the throne, of royalty.”

“You’re right, of course you are.”

“But soon. They’ve already started to take you seriously right?”

“That they have, the game of patience seems to have worked out. When I found out Ring Master was unable to take his title shot I was certain they’d throw some debutant or make me fight that punk Nickles just to give him another shot at goal after losing his title. I’m glad they gave me real fighters.”

“You know enough about Vayden and Mastermind?”

“Mastermind seems to have kept his toes in the water and his body well trained on Anarchy - a workhorse type that seems to dish out fine matches regularly… Vayden though. It’s been awhile since she’s seen the inside of a XWF ring, young but is no rookie. I’m just glad they gave me people who cared about this business, who have a shred of dignity, who actually want to win… Y’know what I mean?”

“Yeah, they really dealt you a bad hand the last few matches - filler TV.”

“And you’re right, nobody respects a filler champion. Nobody respects the ad-break warrior. You can tell with how they booked the last SAVAGE of the year. Still, my match is third-to-last. On my own damn show, they won’t book me in the main event. I’ve got King plastered on all my merchandise, blasting through the speakers when I come out… Yet - I can hardly call myself one.”

Chae reaches out across the table and wraps her beautifully manicured fingers across Isaiah’s tense arm.

“Good thing it’s Christmas.”

“Hm?”

“The birth of a newborn king.”

Isaiah’s eyes twinkle with an intensity.

“Does that make you my north star? Guiding the masses to my doorstep, guiding them to my birth.”

“That’s right My king . Woo Chaeryoung, Marketing Executive and North Star to the greatest baby king the XWF, no the world, has ever seen.”

“And what kind of songs will they sing for this king?”

“Songs of bloodlust, songs of cheer, songs of victory and songs of fear. They’ll come to your manger in a week’s time, lavish you with gifts and praise - when they see you lying in that trough, covered in the blood and sweat of your opponents for the day.”

“Sounds like my kind of Christmas.”

“You are but an heir, and your throne still awaits you. Each step so far is negligible Isaiah. Each victory forgettable.”

“I need to prove myself.”

"Every hero has his journey, a dragon to slay, a veteran to learn from, a rival to dethrone.”

“You do tell a good story don’t you?”

“Slay one dragon in Mastermind, and give birth to a rival in Geri. The fans will be flocking to you like crazed kids after meth-filled starbursts. A King needs his fables, and this is where you can right them. This is where your legend can be born.”

“This is my show.”

“What more, on the last Savage of the year. On the last Savage of perhaps forever. A Savage Television Champion forces his way into the headlines. Overshadows the main event, humiliates the universal champion - and puts up the single greatest Savage match in all of history.”

“A night to remember.”

“The birth of a newborn king.”

“I've got it.”

“What’s that?”

“The match stipulation - I’m not usually one for shows and flashiness… But the time is as ripe as any. A King’s birth is meant to be grand… And grand it shall be. They took Savage out of the last Savage of the year, so it’s champion will put it back in. Take this down and let Desmond know.”

Chae’s eyes twinkle with a similar mischief, as she whips her phone out. She can’t help but glance at the chef whose still recording this late promo for her in secret.

“A Christmas Spree of Savagery. A ring laden with gifts, of weapons of all sorts. From shepherd staffs with nails hammered in, to Christmas trees made of barbed wire, steel-enforced fairy lights and baubles made of iron. We’ll leave kids scarred for Christmas and adults wanting to crawl back into bed. I’ll reign their blood all over the ring - until one of them screams for me to stop, until one of them screams - “I Give Up.”

“Dark.”

Chaeryong looks at him eyes wide, she’s never quite seen him like this. Isaiah’s eyes are glistening and his knuckles white from how hard he has them squeezed. He’s sick and tired of the matches he’s had to fight, the lack of respect and attention he’s received.

“If they won’t acknowledge me, I’ll just have to make them. I’ll make them bend the knee to me, both Geri and Mastermind - I won’t send one back to retirement, nor the other back to Anarchy. They’ll kneel before me and bring my vision to reality, right here, right on my brand. My Savage.”

“That’s a wrap.”

Isaiah snaps out of his comic villain stupor, and tilts his head quizzically at Chae. Chef Henry takes off the glasses, shifting your view of the scene and places it on the table infront of Chaeryoung. You are welcomed with a close up of Isaiah and Chaeryong.

“Was getting kinda awkward standing there in the corner, Miss.”

“You did wonderfully Chef, thank’s for helping a girl out.”

“What are the two of you on about?”

“So… That promotional video that was due yesterday? Yeah, I kinda fluffed it and got the Corporation to come in clutch.” 

“The Corporation?”

“Yeah, you know.. Your people. IKC, the hardworking backstage gang of hooligans.”

“You mean you and that one snivelly cameraman who stalks me everywhere right?”

Chaeryoung furrows her eyebrows, a look of clear confusion on her face as she mimics Isaiah’s head tilt.

“No… I mean the Corporation.”

Isaiah’s gaze flickers to look deep into the lens of the camera-cum-glasses. His eyelids flutter to a close and reopen, head untilting.

“Right, right. The Corporation. Don’t worry about the late video, it happens. Let’s just get back to this lunch in peace shall we?”

“You seem a little odd Iz, maybe we should get you back and in bed - can’t have you off your game before the big title defence.”

“No, no no - don’t worry about it. Chef’s got a great menu prepped for us doesn’t he?”

Isaiah looks off the screen and smiles at presumably the chef.

“Uh… Yeah - Gonna need you to cut a slightly cleaner segment later cos I think we’re only allowed to drop one. Gotta get the King’s followers pumped and paying the big bucks come Saturday.”

“I’ll do it later, please, let’s eat.”

Isaiah reaches out towards the glasses, pointing  them down at the table. You hear the clink of cutlery, before the feed cuts to black.




Your screen returns to life in the chilly interior of The King’s Court gymnasium. The ring looks different now, littered with oversized gift boxes, a tree in the corner. A chair in the middle is flanked by three empty ones, forming a little diamond. Isaiah is seated in the middle, in a tanned suit, the tree sparkling behind him.

[shadow=grey]“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome back to the King’s Court. Your very own, exclusive time with the number one rising star of the XWF. The heir to every throne that exists. The saviour of this corporation. The messiah complex cometh in flesh. The soon-to-be proven cure to mundanity.

I am Isaiah King, and I am the newborn king.

This Christmas ushers in the end to Savage as we know it.

And as your champion, my heart is truly broken at the thought.

No brilliance on my part has been able to keep this ship afloat, the rot runs too deep, the corruption too debilitating.

But as one long, painful, sad chapter comes to a close… A new one is born.

A chapter penned by your king.

A chapter written in blood.

So this Saturday will be both a glorious death and a Savage birth. A funeral and a kings day.

Every hero has his journey - as Geri Vayden and Mastermind get to be mine.

Two souls put on the chopping block. Two sheep, led to slaughter.

Geri, a young, warm-blooded wife, mother, fighter. Someone who represents the present age and the future of this business. A fighter who I’ll conquer now and probably again and against for years to come. She will cement my place as the lifeblood of this business, as the future to stake careers on.

I welcome her into my kingdom warmly, as she seeks to return to our borders. I welcome here to bring her freshness to my locker room. I welcome her to show me what she’s made of, to earn a place in my round table. My kingdom needs its knights.

And you, Mastermind.

A name for a villain if there ever was one. An old, gristled veteran who has made his name and his mark on XWF history. History.

There’s no doubt that you’re equally deserving of a shot at this belt. Few remaining have achieved more and more consistently than you have, and I look forward to sharing the ring with you.

I look forward to reinvigorating you, and lifting you up from the sewage of mediocrity you’ve had to wade in all these years. You witnessed the glory days of true legends and yet stuck around when they all deserted you. You have had to tread water, barely keeping your chin up as week after week you’ve had to face men and women half as talented, half as driven as you.

Take my hand, feel my pain, suffer under my boot and be reborn - motivated to keep swimming.

It’s time I had help to save this place. And you two… You two show promise. The Kings Court is always recruiting men and women from all the land, men and women worth their weight in gold. Show me what you’re worth, bleed for me. Bleed for your King.”

Black.

]]> OOC: AHHH, I accidentally fully [whited] my text - after ages of color coding. I am, a clown. Pls enjoy this white promo - in light of Christmas.
[Image: giphy.gif?cid=790b7611fb8c4d24ebd39a817a...y.gif&ct=g]

Isaiah King Corporation Said:The following is a work of art, a visceral experience, an unparalleled masterpiece produced by Isaiah King Corporation. It will be best enjoyed along with its musical accompaniment and your full attention, any less and you should be ashamed of yourself. Try to keep your hand(s) out of your pants, if you can - you have been warned.










Your screen flickers to life, a screen of grey. The concrete sideway the camera is pointed at is wet, left splotchy from years of gum, piss and other bodily fluid.. It’s as cold as ya’ mother’s bed, ladies and gentlemen, this is some horrid weather to be filming in.. The camera shakes, as if it’s being handle.

Isaiah’s clad in a beautifully warm looking coat, the neck area covered with a grey fur… Yeah, probably wolf fur from somewhere in Russia, just because he’s that kind of sexy. . Beside him is a baby pink-clad petite figure, an arm wrapped around the elbow of Isaiah.

The camera follows creepily a few steps behind the pair.

“Iz, you’ve really got to slow down or I’m gonna break something.”

“You know I’ll catch you if you do.”

“Uhm, I’m not so sure - part of me thinks you’ll let me fall just to laugh at me… A pretty big part at that.”

“Always thought you knew me better than I knew myself.”

“I do.”

Isaiah chuckles, squeezing his elbow, and Chae’s arm, into his side. The two continue walking down the pavement, in what looks to be somewhere near Times Square, New York.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to get my head out of the ring.”

“There you go again, lying.”

“Whadd-“

“In the six years I’ve known you, your heads never once been outside of the ring.”

“Ah, but I do try.”

“Not sure about that pretty boy, when you try - you do. And you haven’t done… So you’re certainly not trying.”

“Is that a lil whine I hear in that voice?”

“Hmm, it would be nice to not think I’m competing with Roided Up Man-child and Undead Mikey for your attention when we’re in bed.”

“You d-“

“I know I do.”

“Sorry.”

The two take a turn off the mainstream, sliding into one of the many off streets. They’re huddled close together, and it’s only the honks and bustle of the New York crowd that’s kept them from noticing the camera man following them.

“You don’t apologise for being too focused, it’s literally what makes you… You. If you were off dealing with every last thing, and focusing on every other endeavour, you wouldn’t have goal around your waist or a girl around your arm.”

“Yes ma’m, that’s why I pay you.”

“To do your marketing… Not sleep with you, for the record.”

“Oh, is that what I pay you for? Damn, I’m getting ripped-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

With a chuckle, you catch Isaiah slide a hand across the Chae’s face and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. As his beautiful lips lift off her flawless skin, a voice breaks through the speakers.

“Mr King! Right over here, glad you could make it!”

A well-dressed man, draped in the finest Italian suit and long overcoat is standing on the street with a tray in his hands. On the silver tray lies two glasses of champagne. He extends the tray out to the pair as they turn to the door he’s standing before. The sign above it reads “Les Bouchons”.

“Phillipe, it’s good to see you again, it’s been quite awhile.”

“Ah yes sir, what with you winning titles and kicking asses.”

“You allowed to have a dirty mouth like that?”

“As long as you keep tipping, I’m allowed to do whatever I want.”

“Yeah, give us some of that south of France ass-kickery and I might bump that tip up a percentage.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Mr King.”

The camera follows the two as they brush the frost off their shoes and walk into the warm interior of Les Bouchons. The restaurant looks simple, with red carpet floors and white table clothes. The feed cuts, before the feed returns from the perspective of someone in the kitchen.  He walks past a mirror, and you realise the camera seems to be mounted onto his glasses.

“Mr King, your first course, deep fried duck skin garnished with local herbs - I call it, duck hunting season.”

“Ah, Chef Henry, I cannot wait.”

The chef, who’s also second-hatting as the cameraman stands aside, keeping an “eye” on the pair as they dig into the first plate.

“Fancy lunch, is that how you say sorry for always being too busy for me?”

“Well… That and Chef knows the kinda macros I need to stay healthy - it’s good right?”]

“Phenomenal.”

“Also, Chae… Have we already dropped a promotional video for the Solstice show or am I beginning to lose my mind.”

Chae’s eyes widen and she looks down at her plate.

“Yeah… About that, we’re sorting it out don’t worry about it.”

“But, that was supposed to have been… Today, right?”

“Hun, I sort stuff like that out right - you can trust me.. Right? That’s why you pay me. Don’t. Worry. About. It.”

“If you say so, I just don’t want to give those sad wigs any excuse to strip me of this title.”

“They wouldn’t dare - who’d they give it to?”

“Probably on someone who lost their shot at every other title in this business, to be honest.”

“They really have no respect for you.”

“And that’s fine Chae, they don’t know who I am. But the fact that they have no respect for this title? That’s what gets under my skin.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re going to unify it.”

“Not quite how I expected to claim my second title… But I’m not complaining. The faster the XWF realise they’re a sinking ship with sinking admirals… The faster I’ll be able to patch the leaks.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“This company has 9 titles, one’s even lying vacant. I’d be damned if I could name 9 people, let alone tag-teams that deserve to hold any gold. Titles are meant to mean something, to reveal some standing, some mastery - but they jump from hand to hand, they get handed over to the dirtiest, most un-entertaining mongrels in this business… And we’re meant to flourish? If the creme is sour, the dairy’s gone bad. And the XWF has been… Bad for a while.”

“Not the best PR to call out every champion.”

“Why, cos their fans are going to hate me?”

“Well… Yeah, and they’re not the nicest men and women… What if they come after you?”

“Then I’ll expose how weak they are, it’s pretty simple.”

“What then?”

“Then I’ll train them. Once I humble them, I’ll lift them up, I’ll give them wings to fly on - you know what they say - Gotta break a wall down to built it bigger, re-lay the foundation if you will. There are a few other wrestlers here worth keeping as pillars though… Maybe bring some guys in myself.”

“Zeke? Have you seen him around recently?”

“He’s training, but I’m not exactly sure for what yet… But if I could get him to join me, they wouldn’t know what hit em.”

“The King’s Court. Always been a dream, hm?”

“More than a dream, a destiny. A destiny only a real leader can bring out -“

“A King, I know the cheesy spiel, I was there, remember.”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

“Do I think you’re ready, you mean. I'll be honest, no.”

Isaiah puts his cutlery down, lifting a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth. He exhales deeply and closes his eyes. That was ice-cold, Chae. Curiously the backing track for your stream switches up at this time. You better be watching this with the musical accompaniment, if it’s on mute… Ugh.





“What else.”

“You haven’t had a single, real fight Isaiah. You’ve been dominant, you’ve been on top, you’ve won - but against who?”

“Spineless cowards.”

"Exactly, hun, a king isn’t made on the severed heads of peasants, it’s made on the heads of challengers to the throne, of royalty.”

“You’re right, of course you are.”

“But soon. They’ve already started to take you seriously right?”

“That they have, the game of patience seems to have worked out. When I found out Ring Master was unable to take his title shot I was certain they’d throw some debutant or make me fight that punk Nickles just to give him another shot at goal after losing his title. I’m glad they gave me real fighters.”

“You know enough about Vayden and Mastermind?”

“Mastermind seems to have kept his toes in the water and his body well trained on Anarchy - a workhorse type that seems to dish out fine matches regularly… Vayden though. It’s been awhile since she’s seen the inside of a XWF ring, young but is no rookie. I’m just glad they gave me people who cared about this business, who have a shred of dignity, who actually want to win… Y’know what I mean?”

“Yeah, they really dealt you a bad hand the last few matches - filler TV.”

“And you’re right, nobody respects a filler champion. Nobody respects the ad-break warrior. You can tell with how they booked the last SAVAGE of the year. Still, my match is third-to-last. On my own damn show, they won’t book me in the main event. I’ve got King plastered on all my merchandise, blasting through the speakers when I come out… Yet - I can hardly call myself one.”

Chae reaches out across the table and wraps her beautifully manicured fingers across Isaiah’s tense arm.

“Good thing it’s Christmas.”

“Hm?”

“The birth of a newborn king.”

Isaiah’s eyes twinkle with an intensity.

“Does that make you my north star? Guiding the masses to my doorstep, guiding them to my birth.”

“That’s right My king . Woo Chaeryoung, Marketing Executive and North Star to the greatest baby king the XWF, no the world, has ever seen.”

“And what kind of songs will they sing for this king?”

“Songs of bloodlust, songs of cheer, songs of victory and songs of fear. They’ll come to your manger in a week’s time, lavish you with gifts and praise - when they see you lying in that trough, covered in the blood and sweat of your opponents for the day.”

“Sounds like my kind of Christmas.”

“You are but an heir, and your throne still awaits you. Each step so far is negligible Isaiah. Each victory forgettable.”

“I need to prove myself.”

"Every hero has his journey, a dragon to slay, a veteran to learn from, a rival to dethrone.”

“You do tell a good story don’t you?”

“Slay one dragon in Mastermind, and give birth to a rival in Geri. The fans will be flocking to you like crazed kids after meth-filled starbursts. A King needs his fables, and this is where you can right them. This is where your legend can be born.”

“This is my show.”

“What more, on the last Savage of the year. On the last Savage of perhaps forever. A Savage Television Champion forces his way into the headlines. Overshadows the main event, humiliates the universal champion - and puts up the single greatest Savage match in all of history.”

“A night to remember.”

“The birth of a newborn king.”

“I've got it.”

“What’s that?”

“The match stipulation - I’m not usually one for shows and flashiness… But the time is as ripe as any. A King’s birth is meant to be grand… And grand it shall be. They took Savage out of the last Savage of the year, so it’s champion will put it back in. Take this down and let Desmond know.”

Chae’s eyes twinkle with a similar mischief, as she whips her phone out. She can’t help but glance at the chef whose still recording this late promo for her in secret.

“A Christmas Spree of Savagery. A ring laden with gifts, of weapons of all sorts. From shepherd staffs with nails hammered in, to Christmas trees made of barbed wire, steel-enforced fairy lights and baubles made of iron. We’ll leave kids scarred for Christmas and adults wanting to crawl back into bed. I’ll reign their blood all over the ring - until one of them screams for me to stop, until one of them screams - “I Give Up.”

“Dark.”

Chaeryong looks at him eyes wide, she’s never quite seen him like this. Isaiah’s eyes are glistening and his knuckles white from how hard he has them squeezed. He’s sick and tired of the matches he’s had to fight, the lack of respect and attention he’s received.

“If they won’t acknowledge me, I’ll just have to make them. I’ll make them bend the knee to me, both Geri and Mastermind - I won’t send one back to retirement, nor the other back to Anarchy. They’ll kneel before me and bring my vision to reality, right here, right on my brand. My Savage.”

“That’s a wrap.”

Isaiah snaps out of his comic villain stupor, and tilts his head quizzically at Chae. Chef Henry takes off the glasses, shifting your view of the scene and places it on the table infront of Chaeryoung. You are welcomed with a close up of Isaiah and Chaeryong.

“Was getting kinda awkward standing there in the corner, Miss.”

“You did wonderfully Chef, thank’s for helping a girl out.”

“What are the two of you on about?”

“So… That promotional video that was due yesterday? Yeah, I kinda fluffed it and got the Corporation to come in clutch.” 

“The Corporation?”

“Yeah, you know.. Your people. IKC, the hardworking backstage gang of hooligans.”

“You mean you and that one snivelly cameraman who stalks me everywhere right?”

Chaeryoung furrows her eyebrows, a look of clear confusion on her face as she mimics Isaiah’s head tilt.

“No… I mean the Corporation.”

Isaiah’s gaze flickers to look deep into the lens of the camera-cum-glasses. His eyelids flutter to a close and reopen, head untilting.

“Right, right. The Corporation. Don’t worry about the late video, it happens. Let’s just get back to this lunch in peace shall we?”

“You seem a little odd Iz, maybe we should get you back and in bed - can’t have you off your game before the big title defence.”

“No, no no - don’t worry about it. Chef’s got a great menu prepped for us doesn’t he?”

Isaiah looks off the screen and smiles at presumably the chef.

“Uh… Yeah - Gonna need you to cut a slightly cleaner segment later cos I think we’re only allowed to drop one. Gotta get the King’s followers pumped and paying the big bucks come Saturday.”

“I’ll do it later, please, let’s eat.”

Isaiah reaches out towards the glasses, pointing  them down at the table. You hear the clink of cutlery, before the feed cuts to black.




Your screen returns to life in the chilly interior of The King’s Court gymnasium. The ring looks different now, littered with oversized gift boxes, a tree in the corner. A chair in the middle is flanked by three empty ones, forming a little diamond. Isaiah is seated in the middle, in a tanned suit, the tree sparkling behind him.

[shadow=grey]“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome back to the King’s Court. Your very own, exclusive time with the number one rising star of the XWF. The heir to every throne that exists. The saviour of this corporation. The messiah complex cometh in flesh. The soon-to-be proven cure to mundanity.

I am Isaiah King, and I am the newborn king.

This Christmas ushers in the end to Savage as we know it.

And as your champion, my heart is truly broken at the thought.

No brilliance on my part has been able to keep this ship afloat, the rot runs too deep, the corruption too debilitating.

But as one long, painful, sad chapter comes to a close… A new one is born.

A chapter penned by your king.

A chapter written in blood.

So this Saturday will be both a glorious death and a Savage birth. A funeral and a kings day.

Every hero has his journey - as Geri Vayden and Mastermind get to be mine.

Two souls put on the chopping block. Two sheep, led to slaughter.

Geri, a young, warm-blooded wife, mother, fighter. Someone who represents the present age and the future of this business. A fighter who I’ll conquer now and probably again and against for years to come. She will cement my place as the lifeblood of this business, as the future to stake careers on.

I welcome her into my kingdom warmly, as she seeks to return to our borders. I welcome here to bring her freshness to my locker room. I welcome her to show me what she’s made of, to earn a place in my round table. My kingdom needs its knights.

And you, Mastermind.

A name for a villain if there ever was one. An old, gristled veteran who has made his name and his mark on XWF history. History.

There’s no doubt that you’re equally deserving of a shot at this belt. Few remaining have achieved more and more consistently than you have, and I look forward to sharing the ring with you.

I look forward to reinvigorating you, and lifting you up from the sewage of mediocrity you’ve had to wade in all these years. You witnessed the glory days of true legends and yet stuck around when they all deserted you. You have had to tread water, barely keeping your chin up as week after week you’ve had to face men and women half as talented, half as driven as you.

Take my hand, feel my pain, suffer under my boot and be reborn - motivated to keep swimming.

It’s time I had help to save this place. And you two… You two show promise. The Kings Court is always recruiting men and women from all the land, men and women worth their weight in gold. Show me what you’re worth, bleed for me. Bleed for your King.”

Black.

]]> <![CDATA[The Return]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45259 Fri, 09 Dec 2022 23:59:06 -0800 Charlie Nickles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45259 My hands are shaking

My heart's beating fast

I'm sweating through my bedsheets


How much longer can this last?


I’m Charlie fucking Nickles


And my life is one sick joke


I can’t have my kids for Christmas…..


So I’d better smoke more coke!


I toss my sweat stained linens onto the other side of the bed as I swing my aching legs off the mattress. As my feet slam onto the hard wooden floorboards I can feel the shock moving through my aged joints. I grit my teeth in pain as I rub both my knees with my calloused hands. The morning’s are usually the most painful part of the day for me, because the nightmares always feel fresh but my bones never do. I feel the strain on my lower back as I lean over and rub my legs, it feels like the weight of the entire universe is resting on my spine: because to me, it is! 

As I sit shirtless on the bed I feel a chilling breeze blow through the shoddy walls of this Steubenville shed. The Ohio winters were never pleasant, but raw-dogging this brutal weather while sober was the absolute worst. I shivered instinctively as the goosebumps sat up all along my skin. I brought my hands up to my arms to warm them before shaking my head and staring at my own frosty breath.


What the fuck am I doing with my life?

It was a question I asked myself often, but rarely wanted to answer. The chase for championship gold had preoccupied my mind for the greater part of the year, but where do I go from here? I looked over at the empty highchair tucked away in the corner, dropping my gaze to the floor and sighing deeply, as if I were trying to exhale the pain itself.


I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, Connie…


I clasped my sweating palms together before I prepared to stand up off the bed. I avert my gaze from the empty highchair, instead choosing to look through the only window in the room. To my chagrin, the suffocating darkness beyond the window held no comfort.


But they were going to destroy you either way…..they would never let someone as beautiful as you live…..your kind of beauty has no place in this sick and twisted world.


I leave the bed and walk briskly towards a nightstand across from the highchair. From the nightstand I grab my pipe, my baggie, and my lighter before taking my real best friends back to bed with me. I lay the goodies on my mattress as I grab the white bedsheets and wrap myself in them like some kind of sweaty looking klansman: but it’s purely aesthetic. 


I spread my friends across the bed and feel a little giddy as I palm them with my hands. I knew I was just moments away from the bliss, moments away from escaping the lingering pain in both body and mind. The weight of the universe was about to be lifted from my shoulders, if only for a moment. The pressures, expectations, and limitations that define existence were about to melt into something entirely different, my life itself would meld to match the slow burning of the rock cocaine.


I looked up at the XWF drone flying above my bed, silently watching me, mocking me, like it always does. I sneered at the drone that never left, even if this drone in particular had only been with me a week. I knew that the faces behind the cameras were the same sniveling pricks as always. The producers, standards and practices, and the fans were all exactly like drones themselves: one and the same. Cheering for the men they’re told are heroes, never quite grasping the subtle similarities between virtue and vitriol.


The universe can’t stomach my success, so it wants to revel in my failure: it’s all they want to see. It’s a satisfaction I’ll never give them, because as long as I live I’m going to slay titans and kill gods. As I pack a rock into my bowl my mind drifts to another group of bitches that wants to see me fail.

My family.

Maybe it was just the bugs crawling on my skin telling me things, but I felt like they all wanted me to die. I felt like Emily and Tyler would be happier if I wasn’t around to embarrass them anymore. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if I just wasn’t here anymore….I shook my head and sighed as I lit the pipe, taking quiet relief in the knowledge that this pain would soon be soothed. I knew that Charles Nichols: the man, the father, and the husband would soon give way to something far greater.

The Nickleman: the myth, the icon, and the legend killer would soon be born again from the ashes inside his pipe!


[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]


Charlie Nickles.

Doc D’Ville.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they?

We can sit here and spin those wheels, we can beat off this dead horse until it fucking cumbusts, but at the end of the day everyone knows exactly what to fucking expect next week- and that’s why everyone is tuning into this match. It’s the real Main Event of the night, everyone knows that. Even Mark fucking Flynn knows that; that’s why he’s only asking for half the airtime I’m getting this week!

So what else am I being paid to do, but sit here and belabor points to you? You imbeciles and ingrates behind the camera need everything perfectly spelled out for you these days. You jackmonkeys already know what’s going to happen like it was fucking predestined by the one true TV God, the living Nickleman in the flesh.

Because it is. 

Yet still, you freakish fiends beg and plead to feel the full force of my tongue, each and every week. It’s like you sick fucks need your filthy fix of my afflictions and curses. So fine, fuck it, I’ll roll with you dirty bitches and play my part. For those of you following along at home, this means it’s time to start sharpening your Devil Hooks....we’ve got a squawking Dawk to Drop- and I’m the only NICKLE  MAN enough to do it!

I’m the most powerful man in this business, and the proof is in the blood pudding! I ended Caedus and Granger, I drove ALIAS into EXILE while pushing the EXILE down to Bad Medicine’s fucking undercard! I ended War Crim’s years-long winning streak, causing Flynn to ditch him like a bad fucking habit….and then I still beat Mark Flynn in a tag match anyways, just for the fuck of it! I’m a fucking PROBLEM in these streets, and the Doctor’s prescriptions for me just won’t work anymore!

The good bitch is going to come to the mic and start reciting our match results from YEARS AGO, as if that means fucking anything anymore. The truth of the matter is the Doc’ used to be a topstar in the XWF, he used to be the headliner- but those days are past. THOSE DAYS ARE MINE NOW, BITCH! Jealous much? You should be. I know I was jealous back when Doc was on top…..my my my how the tables have turned. Nowadays, I’m the only headlining act of the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular and Doc is just another Elijah Martin coming on through for a cheap sequel.

But honestly, what would the XWF be without the good Doctor?

……………..

The same it’s been all year, not a damn thing lost!

The good Doctor is a relic of the past, and in the past he shall remain. I bet you 20 X-bux half the people booked for this final Savage don’t even know WHO Doc is….or was.

But can you even imagine what the XWF would look like without the NIckleman’s fingerprints all over it?

We’d still have an unbeaten War Criminal running around, ALIAS and Peter Vaughn would still be champions. Marf would still be a Dissentient and Jim Caedus would still be roaming these halls causing problems. The Brotherhood of Bastards would’ve never been born: Them No Good Bastards would still be a 2-man band and the BOB of old would just be collecting dust. Even my unwrapped cumshots from 20 years ago have grown up and are now dominating the XWF Anarchy brand! Like it or not, I’ve pissed all over the XWF and claimed it as my backyard and now there’s no going back.

And next week, I’m going to piss all over the good Doctor’s legacy by stuffing him down that chimney and then literally pissing right the fuck down it! The good Doc’s gonna think he’s all the way back in 2016 with all the human excrement coming his way next week! You know….back in the shitty days when Doc D’Ville was a ‘Charlie Nickles’ level draw! But then, the competition got tougher and the Doctor got sparser….now, the only doctor anyone cares about is the doctor they have to see after they have a match with the Nickleman!


[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]

We cut back to a shot of The Nickleman absolutely wilin’ out inside of a shed, clearly hopped up on crack. He’s running around shirtless while shadow boxing the shadowmen he sees. He celebrates each knock out blow with a hearty ‘HOO-RAH’ and a raise of the fist. On the bed just behind The Nickleman we can see that the ash inside of his pipe is still smoldering.

Fuck, I feel great! No pain, no aches, no stress! They should definitely make this shit medicinal….I should smoke more of this stuff before I wrestle! I feel like SUPAH-MAN!

The Nickleman jumps up into the air and strikes a superman pose, giving a smile and a thumbs up to the drone camera before he lands on his bed. As the fat man lands on his bed the pipe flies into the air, spreading smoldering ash all over the sheets. The Nickleman stands up off his bed with a big smile before placing his hands on his hips and looking right at the camera. Multiple fires are starting on the bed behind him.

Don’t listen to the propaganda, this is truly a victimless drug! …..is it really cold in here for anybody else?


The Nickleman looks down and realizes that he is wearing nothing but basketball shorts, so he starts looking around the floor for a tshirt to put on. The bed is now engulfed in crackling flames.

Is something burning?

The Nickleman looks around the floor before he both sees and smells the smoke. He jumps to his feet in a fright as he realizes his bed is aflame! He places his hands on his head as he looks around the room for something to put the fire out. Seeing a half empty vodka bottle from last night, The Nickleman leaps into action and pours it on the bed.

FUCK!

The flames grow more intense as he adds more fuel to the fire in classic Charlie fashion. The Nickleman is forced to charge through the front door as a fiery explosion blasts throughout the room.

NOOO! I FORGOT MY COKE BAG!

The drone flies out with The Nickleman before flying above him to give the audience a greater perspective of the scene. We see Charlie, of course, laying on a wooden door in the middle of an empty field while bemoaning the loss of his week’s supply. Behind him, the shed is being burned to a crisp.

Charlie Nickles has, yet again, sparked the fire and fanned the flames: because that’s all he does anymore. Knowingly or unknowingly, The Nickleman has set perfect the stage for his next crackventure. The Nickleman holds up his LEFT HAND and, with the light from the inferno, he can see that it is BURNED……but why doesn’t he feel the pain?



[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]


Charlie Nickles.

Doc-da-Vil’.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they?

Or at least I thought they did…..they used to…..but one of these names has barely spoken a word all year. The other name has marquee victories over every XWF Universal champion from 2022!

Do you know who’s who?

Raion Kido does; he was knocked off twice. Mark Flynn, Peter Vaughn? You’re god-damned right. ALIAS? Well, that checkmark was picked off with a pinfall!

Do YOU know who’s who?

Charlie Nickles.

Doctor Vil’.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they? Even if one only speaks with the sounds of silence. I’m sure he’ll finally be speaking up this week….and you know what I think he’s going to say? My name, his name, match results. It’s going to be like a god-damned cat stole his tongue, but the truth is, his tongue shriveled up and lost its sharp edge ages ago.

Because ALIAS stole it from him.

Ol’ Cheddar Al ran a train on him, picked his pockets, stole his confidence and his manhood and left him st-st-stutering like a damned r-r-r-r-r-re-DAWK! That was a full-on fucking blunder, wasnnit’? Ol’ Doctor Demos over here must’ve let my losing streak demon possess him. But at least Demos fell ass-backwards into championship gold; Dawk just fell ass-backwards into a god-damned retcon!

I took ALIAS to his limits 3 times in bout’ as many months; Doc fought him once and folded up like a little bitch for months on-end. Dude lost one time to Alias and went full r-r-r-r-r-re-DAWK! You should never go full D-D-D-D-D-D-AWK! It just makes things awkward for everyone, especially when you don’t have charisma like Dicaprio in Gilbert Grape!

I want to see REAL development with the Doctor…I want to hear him say FUCK!....and I think I know just the trick. I think after I stuff this bitch down the chimney he’ll be saying ‘FUCK THIS SHIT!!!!!!’....just like we all know he was really saying after ALIAS beat him a second time!

DAWK had all the charisma of a wet diaper…probably because the name ALIAS is all it takes to make Doc wet his diaper these days! So it’s no wonder that when DAWK went up against Ol’ Cheddar, he pulled a Nickles and fell flat on his fucking face. But he ain’t handle those sour nickels like a REAL MAN does…like the real Nickleman did! DAWK was never a man at all….just the projection of a torn up pussy who never stopped bleeding, blabbering, and trying to excuse his own failed inadequacies.

But don’t you worry one bit good Doctor, because I’ve made the XWF a safe space just for you. I drove away the bad man who kept touching you, bloodying you, brutalizing you, embarrassing you. Everyone admits it when they don’t think I’m watching. Everyone who was here this summer knows I made live shows a living hell for the Doc dream-crusher.

I know Doc can’t handle the pain like I can, because his bones are too brittle and his ego is too big. I took all the big-boy lumps this year so he wouldn’t have to, because we both know his body can’t handle the main event scene anymore. I stared down the face of the golden calf and I spat a big fat fucking loogie in it, over and over again, until he was so covered in my slime that even Raion fucking Kido could do what Doc never could! I chopped ALIAS’S legs out from underneath him, so it’s no great mystery how someone who’s beneath my level was able to sneak off with his belt!

You know the ‘modern era of the XWF’ is dead when guys like Raion Kido can move the boulders Doc never could. We’re entering into a new age of professional bloodletting, a twilight zone and a zenith all at once.

We are in the ‘NICKLEMAN era of the XWF’, baby! And fuck it, if you just take on gander at how I’m doing over in I.I.W. and O.C.W. you might just call it the ‘NICKLEMAN era of professional wrasslin!’. I’m a 5-TIME CHAMPION…….and that’s just counting the belts I’ve won this year! Across three different promotions! While Doc was resting his aching back in a hospice bed somewhere, I was putting all of pro wrestling on my back and carrying us into uncharted waters. That’s why Marf keeps calling me Captain Charlie, even though the only War Games I played this year was the XWF invasion of OCW!

I’m the god-damned Nickleman baby, and after all I’ve done this year, that name is certifiably twitter-famous…and I don’t even have an account! But can you imagine the havoc I’d cause if I did?


[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]



"Follow my voice."

The Nickleman looked past his BURNED left hand as he stared into the inferno engulfing the shed. He squinted through the darkness as he tried to make out the origin of the sound. Was it coming from within the flames?


“Return to Otherworld…Smoking Vagabond….”
The Nickleman cocked his head as he sat there in the darkness, staring into the fire. Within the flames Charlie saw all sorts of shapes, and perhaps even the outline of a familiar face….but could it really be? Or was his mind just playing tricks on him?


"Follow my voice."
The Nickleman picked himself up and stood tall as he shook his head from side to side. He looked back into the fire overtaking the shed, and within the inferno he saw a face he never thought he’d see again.


I finally send you to hell, bitch? Heh. I’m not ready to join you down there quite yet.


The Nickleman approaches the char-charred shed as the flames slowly burn it to a crisp. The mysterious face inside the flames twists and contorts, as if in pain….before bursting out in disembodied laughter….that was coming from behind The Nickleman!


Charlie turned around on the defensive, ready for a fight: but he saw nothing there. A chilling breeze ran down The Nickleman’s exposed spine, which was known to stand firm against all odds.


"Follow my voice."
The Nickleman looked down at the origin of the sound and saw an antique radio resting on the cold earth, just a few feet away from him. He recognized this radio immediately…


What the fuck kind of games are you playing?


The Nickleman turned back around to confront the face in the flames, only now, everything was BURNED. The flames and the shed had vanished, both replaced with ASH. Confusion washed across Charlie’s face.


“Do you hear me?”
The antique radio called out to Charlie Nickles in the middle of an otherwise empty field.


I wish I fucking didn’t.


“Return to Otherworld.”
The Nickleman stared down at the mysterious radio with equal parts contempt and confusion.


I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.


The Nickleman crossed his arms in frustration as he stared down the radio. He tapped his feet impatiently against the cold ground.


You gonna fuckin’ explain or-

CLICK
One of the buttons on the old radio pressed itself in, and The Nickleman immediately ran behind a bush and ducked for cover, because now this seemed like a bomb!


“Return.”
A green laser light shot out of the radio and up towards the heavens. It widened a few feet before suddenly turning white and somehow shattering, causing hundreds of luminescent orbs to fall to the ground. The Nickleman covered his head while peeking through his hands at the mysterious lights.


“To Otherworld.”
Suddenly, the orbs all shot back towards the radio, sliding inside of its tape slot before exploding! Bits of metal went flying everywhere, and a disproportionate amount of the metal seemed to fly right into Charlie’s body!


Fuck that hurts!


The Nickleman stood up, pissed off and bloody with multiple pieces of metal and plastic embedded into his hands and shoulders. He was prepared to go beat that radio’s fucking ass, but what he saw when he stood left him speechless.



“Blood-soaked rags drenched and puerile joy
Terror! Terror! Ugly visions!
This life he chose, but now has risen
That which could topple reigns of men”


The Nickleman was confronted facefirst with a green and red portal leading somewhere unknown. Rhymes and schemes poured out from the other side of the portal, all but compelling our despicable antagonist into its intricate webs. The scene faded to black as The Nickleman walked through the portal and was swallowed by it.


[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]



Charlie Nickles.

Doctor Phil.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they? Or at least you all thought they did…until I ran his name through the muck and showed you who the fuck he really was beneath all those wrinkles! Not every wrestler can stand the test of time, and after I’m done with the good Doctor next week, that little bitch won’t be able to stand up at all! And if he doesn’t like what I’m saying, he can catch me ousside, how bou’ dat?

Shit, does that old geezer even know what the fuck I’m saying right now? I bet Jason Cashe thought that line was hilarious. Shit, does that senile old man even know who the fuck Jason Cashe is? Does he know what Trilogy is? Does he have any fucking clue what’s going on in today’s XWF? He’s coming back for a one-off match and leaving again that same night, he doesn’t have any skin in the game or any stake in this company anymore. At this point he’s just another warm body  passing through the halls, filling out the bookings.

But hell, I’m sure someone’s told the old fart about my little dosey-doe with Nedward. I bet he’ll pick and prod on that like a god-damned vulture on day-old meat, filling his belly with the stuff. That’s crazy, right? For someone who lost to Peter fucking Gilmour to say jack shit about anyone else’s losses?

Doc birthed the ALIAS legacy. I ended it. That’s the difference between us. That’s the difference in our defeat, and it is only in defeat that the true measure of a man can be taken. The Doctor slips one time and he tumbles down the hill, disappearing for months and years at a time. But The Nickleman? Fuck, The Nickleman takes his lickings and he just keeps on kicking…ass and taking names! I’ll never leave just because I bit the bullet, fuck, I’ve been biting bullets all my life! Why do you think I’m missing so many teeth?

The Doctor’s days are numbered, and I’m just here to do the math. To crunch the numbers, and to stuff his ailing fucking frame down that chimney just before he ends his career for good and hangs up those boots.

They told me I had to be smoking crack if I thought I was going to win the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular……so it’s a good thing I never put down my pipe. ]]> My hands are shaking

My heart's beating fast

I'm sweating through my bedsheets


How much longer can this last?


I’m Charlie fucking Nickles


And my life is one sick joke


I can’t have my kids for Christmas…..


So I’d better smoke more coke!


I toss my sweat stained linens onto the other side of the bed as I swing my aching legs off the mattress. As my feet slam onto the hard wooden floorboards I can feel the shock moving through my aged joints. I grit my teeth in pain as I rub both my knees with my calloused hands. The morning’s are usually the most painful part of the day for me, because the nightmares always feel fresh but my bones never do. I feel the strain on my lower back as I lean over and rub my legs, it feels like the weight of the entire universe is resting on my spine: because to me, it is! 

As I sit shirtless on the bed I feel a chilling breeze blow through the shoddy walls of this Steubenville shed. The Ohio winters were never pleasant, but raw-dogging this brutal weather while sober was the absolute worst. I shivered instinctively as the goosebumps sat up all along my skin. I brought my hands up to my arms to warm them before shaking my head and staring at my own frosty breath.


What the fuck am I doing with my life?

It was a question I asked myself often, but rarely wanted to answer. The chase for championship gold had preoccupied my mind for the greater part of the year, but where do I go from here? I looked over at the empty highchair tucked away in the corner, dropping my gaze to the floor and sighing deeply, as if I were trying to exhale the pain itself.


I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, Connie…


I clasped my sweating palms together before I prepared to stand up off the bed. I avert my gaze from the empty highchair, instead choosing to look through the only window in the room. To my chagrin, the suffocating darkness beyond the window held no comfort.


But they were going to destroy you either way…..they would never let someone as beautiful as you live…..your kind of beauty has no place in this sick and twisted world.


I leave the bed and walk briskly towards a nightstand across from the highchair. From the nightstand I grab my pipe, my baggie, and my lighter before taking my real best friends back to bed with me. I lay the goodies on my mattress as I grab the white bedsheets and wrap myself in them like some kind of sweaty looking klansman: but it’s purely aesthetic. 


I spread my friends across the bed and feel a little giddy as I palm them with my hands. I knew I was just moments away from the bliss, moments away from escaping the lingering pain in both body and mind. The weight of the universe was about to be lifted from my shoulders, if only for a moment. The pressures, expectations, and limitations that define existence were about to melt into something entirely different, my life itself would meld to match the slow burning of the rock cocaine.


I looked up at the XWF drone flying above my bed, silently watching me, mocking me, like it always does. I sneered at the drone that never left, even if this drone in particular had only been with me a week. I knew that the faces behind the cameras were the same sniveling pricks as always. The producers, standards and practices, and the fans were all exactly like drones themselves: one and the same. Cheering for the men they’re told are heroes, never quite grasping the subtle similarities between virtue and vitriol.


The universe can’t stomach my success, so it wants to revel in my failure: it’s all they want to see. It’s a satisfaction I’ll never give them, because as long as I live I’m going to slay titans and kill gods. As I pack a rock into my bowl my mind drifts to another group of bitches that wants to see me fail.

My family.

Maybe it was just the bugs crawling on my skin telling me things, but I felt like they all wanted me to die. I felt like Emily and Tyler would be happier if I wasn’t around to embarrass them anymore. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if I just wasn’t here anymore….I shook my head and sighed as I lit the pipe, taking quiet relief in the knowledge that this pain would soon be soothed. I knew that Charles Nichols: the man, the father, and the husband would soon give way to something far greater.

The Nickleman: the myth, the icon, and the legend killer would soon be born again from the ashes inside his pipe!


[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]


Charlie Nickles.

Doc D’Ville.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they?

We can sit here and spin those wheels, we can beat off this dead horse until it fucking cumbusts, but at the end of the day everyone knows exactly what to fucking expect next week- and that’s why everyone is tuning into this match. It’s the real Main Event of the night, everyone knows that. Even Mark fucking Flynn knows that; that’s why he’s only asking for half the airtime I’m getting this week!

So what else am I being paid to do, but sit here and belabor points to you? You imbeciles and ingrates behind the camera need everything perfectly spelled out for you these days. You jackmonkeys already know what’s going to happen like it was fucking predestined by the one true TV God, the living Nickleman in the flesh.

Because it is. 

Yet still, you freakish fiends beg and plead to feel the full force of my tongue, each and every week. It’s like you sick fucks need your filthy fix of my afflictions and curses. So fine, fuck it, I’ll roll with you dirty bitches and play my part. For those of you following along at home, this means it’s time to start sharpening your Devil Hooks....we’ve got a squawking Dawk to Drop- and I’m the only NICKLE  MAN enough to do it!

I’m the most powerful man in this business, and the proof is in the blood pudding! I ended Caedus and Granger, I drove ALIAS into EXILE while pushing the EXILE down to Bad Medicine’s fucking undercard! I ended War Crim’s years-long winning streak, causing Flynn to ditch him like a bad fucking habit….and then I still beat Mark Flynn in a tag match anyways, just for the fuck of it! I’m a fucking PROBLEM in these streets, and the Doctor’s prescriptions for me just won’t work anymore!

The good bitch is going to come to the mic and start reciting our match results from YEARS AGO, as if that means fucking anything anymore. The truth of the matter is the Doc’ used to be a topstar in the XWF, he used to be the headliner- but those days are past. THOSE DAYS ARE MINE NOW, BITCH! Jealous much? You should be. I know I was jealous back when Doc was on top…..my my my how the tables have turned. Nowadays, I’m the only headlining act of the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular and Doc is just another Elijah Martin coming on through for a cheap sequel.

But honestly, what would the XWF be without the good Doctor?

……………..

The same it’s been all year, not a damn thing lost!

The good Doctor is a relic of the past, and in the past he shall remain. I bet you 20 X-bux half the people booked for this final Savage don’t even know WHO Doc is….or was.

But can you even imagine what the XWF would look like without the NIckleman’s fingerprints all over it?

We’d still have an unbeaten War Criminal running around, ALIAS and Peter Vaughn would still be champions. Marf would still be a Dissentient and Jim Caedus would still be roaming these halls causing problems. The Brotherhood of Bastards would’ve never been born: Them No Good Bastards would still be a 2-man band and the BOB of old would just be collecting dust. Even my unwrapped cumshots from 20 years ago have grown up and are now dominating the XWF Anarchy brand! Like it or not, I’ve pissed all over the XWF and claimed it as my backyard and now there’s no going back.

And next week, I’m going to piss all over the good Doctor’s legacy by stuffing him down that chimney and then literally pissing right the fuck down it! The good Doc’s gonna think he’s all the way back in 2016 with all the human excrement coming his way next week! You know….back in the shitty days when Doc D’Ville was a ‘Charlie Nickles’ level draw! But then, the competition got tougher and the Doctor got sparser….now, the only doctor anyone cares about is the doctor they have to see after they have a match with the Nickleman!


[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]

We cut back to a shot of The Nickleman absolutely wilin’ out inside of a shed, clearly hopped up on crack. He’s running around shirtless while shadow boxing the shadowmen he sees. He celebrates each knock out blow with a hearty ‘HOO-RAH’ and a raise of the fist. On the bed just behind The Nickleman we can see that the ash inside of his pipe is still smoldering.

Fuck, I feel great! No pain, no aches, no stress! They should definitely make this shit medicinal….I should smoke more of this stuff before I wrestle! I feel like SUPAH-MAN!

The Nickleman jumps up into the air and strikes a superman pose, giving a smile and a thumbs up to the drone camera before he lands on his bed. As the fat man lands on his bed the pipe flies into the air, spreading smoldering ash all over the sheets. The Nickleman stands up off his bed with a big smile before placing his hands on his hips and looking right at the camera. Multiple fires are starting on the bed behind him.

Don’t listen to the propaganda, this is truly a victimless drug! …..is it really cold in here for anybody else?


The Nickleman looks down and realizes that he is wearing nothing but basketball shorts, so he starts looking around the floor for a tshirt to put on. The bed is now engulfed in crackling flames.

Is something burning?

The Nickleman looks around the floor before he both sees and smells the smoke. He jumps to his feet in a fright as he realizes his bed is aflame! He places his hands on his head as he looks around the room for something to put the fire out. Seeing a half empty vodka bottle from last night, The Nickleman leaps into action and pours it on the bed.

FUCK!

The flames grow more intense as he adds more fuel to the fire in classic Charlie fashion. The Nickleman is forced to charge through the front door as a fiery explosion blasts throughout the room.

NOOO! I FORGOT MY COKE BAG!

The drone flies out with The Nickleman before flying above him to give the audience a greater perspective of the scene. We see Charlie, of course, laying on a wooden door in the middle of an empty field while bemoaning the loss of his week’s supply. Behind him, the shed is being burned to a crisp.

Charlie Nickles has, yet again, sparked the fire and fanned the flames: because that’s all he does anymore. Knowingly or unknowingly, The Nickleman has set perfect the stage for his next crackventure. The Nickleman holds up his LEFT HAND and, with the light from the inferno, he can see that it is BURNED……but why doesn’t he feel the pain?



[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]


Charlie Nickles.

Doc-da-Vil’.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they?

Or at least I thought they did…..they used to…..but one of these names has barely spoken a word all year. The other name has marquee victories over every XWF Universal champion from 2022!

Do you know who’s who?

Raion Kido does; he was knocked off twice. Mark Flynn, Peter Vaughn? You’re god-damned right. ALIAS? Well, that checkmark was picked off with a pinfall!

Do YOU know who’s who?

Charlie Nickles.

Doctor Vil’.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they? Even if one only speaks with the sounds of silence. I’m sure he’ll finally be speaking up this week….and you know what I think he’s going to say? My name, his name, match results. It’s going to be like a god-damned cat stole his tongue, but the truth is, his tongue shriveled up and lost its sharp edge ages ago.

Because ALIAS stole it from him.

Ol’ Cheddar Al ran a train on him, picked his pockets, stole his confidence and his manhood and left him st-st-stutering like a damned r-r-r-r-r-re-DAWK! That was a full-on fucking blunder, wasnnit’? Ol’ Doctor Demos over here must’ve let my losing streak demon possess him. But at least Demos fell ass-backwards into championship gold; Dawk just fell ass-backwards into a god-damned retcon!

I took ALIAS to his limits 3 times in bout’ as many months; Doc fought him once and folded up like a little bitch for months on-end. Dude lost one time to Alias and went full r-r-r-r-r-re-DAWK! You should never go full D-D-D-D-D-D-AWK! It just makes things awkward for everyone, especially when you don’t have charisma like Dicaprio in Gilbert Grape!

I want to see REAL development with the Doctor…I want to hear him say FUCK!....and I think I know just the trick. I think after I stuff this bitch down the chimney he’ll be saying ‘FUCK THIS SHIT!!!!!!’....just like we all know he was really saying after ALIAS beat him a second time!

DAWK had all the charisma of a wet diaper…probably because the name ALIAS is all it takes to make Doc wet his diaper these days! So it’s no wonder that when DAWK went up against Ol’ Cheddar, he pulled a Nickles and fell flat on his fucking face. But he ain’t handle those sour nickels like a REAL MAN does…like the real Nickleman did! DAWK was never a man at all….just the projection of a torn up pussy who never stopped bleeding, blabbering, and trying to excuse his own failed inadequacies.

But don’t you worry one bit good Doctor, because I’ve made the XWF a safe space just for you. I drove away the bad man who kept touching you, bloodying you, brutalizing you, embarrassing you. Everyone admits it when they don’t think I’m watching. Everyone who was here this summer knows I made live shows a living hell for the Doc dream-crusher.

I know Doc can’t handle the pain like I can, because his bones are too brittle and his ego is too big. I took all the big-boy lumps this year so he wouldn’t have to, because we both know his body can’t handle the main event scene anymore. I stared down the face of the golden calf and I spat a big fat fucking loogie in it, over and over again, until he was so covered in my slime that even Raion fucking Kido could do what Doc never could! I chopped ALIAS’S legs out from underneath him, so it’s no great mystery how someone who’s beneath my level was able to sneak off with his belt!

You know the ‘modern era of the XWF’ is dead when guys like Raion Kido can move the boulders Doc never could. We’re entering into a new age of professional bloodletting, a twilight zone and a zenith all at once.

We are in the ‘NICKLEMAN era of the XWF’, baby! And fuck it, if you just take on gander at how I’m doing over in I.I.W. and O.C.W. you might just call it the ‘NICKLEMAN era of professional wrasslin!’. I’m a 5-TIME CHAMPION…….and that’s just counting the belts I’ve won this year! Across three different promotions! While Doc was resting his aching back in a hospice bed somewhere, I was putting all of pro wrestling on my back and carrying us into uncharted waters. That’s why Marf keeps calling me Captain Charlie, even though the only War Games I played this year was the XWF invasion of OCW!

I’m the god-damned Nickleman baby, and after all I’ve done this year, that name is certifiably twitter-famous…and I don’t even have an account! But can you imagine the havoc I’d cause if I did?


[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]



"Follow my voice."

The Nickleman looked past his BURNED left hand as he stared into the inferno engulfing the shed. He squinted through the darkness as he tried to make out the origin of the sound. Was it coming from within the flames?


“Return to Otherworld…Smoking Vagabond….”
The Nickleman cocked his head as he sat there in the darkness, staring into the fire. Within the flames Charlie saw all sorts of shapes, and perhaps even the outline of a familiar face….but could it really be? Or was his mind just playing tricks on him?


"Follow my voice."
The Nickleman picked himself up and stood tall as he shook his head from side to side. He looked back into the fire overtaking the shed, and within the inferno he saw a face he never thought he’d see again.


I finally send you to hell, bitch? Heh. I’m not ready to join you down there quite yet.


The Nickleman approaches the char-charred shed as the flames slowly burn it to a crisp. The mysterious face inside the flames twists and contorts, as if in pain….before bursting out in disembodied laughter….that was coming from behind The Nickleman!


Charlie turned around on the defensive, ready for a fight: but he saw nothing there. A chilling breeze ran down The Nickleman’s exposed spine, which was known to stand firm against all odds.


"Follow my voice."
The Nickleman looked down at the origin of the sound and saw an antique radio resting on the cold earth, just a few feet away from him. He recognized this radio immediately…


What the fuck kind of games are you playing?


The Nickleman turned back around to confront the face in the flames, only now, everything was BURNED. The flames and the shed had vanished, both replaced with ASH. Confusion washed across Charlie’s face.


“Do you hear me?”
The antique radio called out to Charlie Nickles in the middle of an otherwise empty field.


I wish I fucking didn’t.


“Return to Otherworld.”
The Nickleman stared down at the mysterious radio with equal parts contempt and confusion.


I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.


The Nickleman crossed his arms in frustration as he stared down the radio. He tapped his feet impatiently against the cold ground.


You gonna fuckin’ explain or-

CLICK
One of the buttons on the old radio pressed itself in, and The Nickleman immediately ran behind a bush and ducked for cover, because now this seemed like a bomb!


“Return.”
A green laser light shot out of the radio and up towards the heavens. It widened a few feet before suddenly turning white and somehow shattering, causing hundreds of luminescent orbs to fall to the ground. The Nickleman covered his head while peeking through his hands at the mysterious lights.


“To Otherworld.”
Suddenly, the orbs all shot back towards the radio, sliding inside of its tape slot before exploding! Bits of metal went flying everywhere, and a disproportionate amount of the metal seemed to fly right into Charlie’s body!


Fuck that hurts!


The Nickleman stood up, pissed off and bloody with multiple pieces of metal and plastic embedded into his hands and shoulders. He was prepared to go beat that radio’s fucking ass, but what he saw when he stood left him speechless.



“Blood-soaked rags drenched and puerile joy
Terror! Terror! Ugly visions!
This life he chose, but now has risen
That which could topple reigns of men”


The Nickleman was confronted facefirst with a green and red portal leading somewhere unknown. Rhymes and schemes poured out from the other side of the portal, all but compelling our despicable antagonist into its intricate webs. The scene faded to black as The Nickleman walked through the portal and was swallowed by it.


[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]



Charlie Nickles.

Doctor Phil.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they? Or at least you all thought they did…until I ran his name through the muck and showed you who the fuck he really was beneath all those wrinkles! Not every wrestler can stand the test of time, and after I’m done with the good Doctor next week, that little bitch won’t be able to stand up at all! And if he doesn’t like what I’m saying, he can catch me ousside, how bou’ dat?

Shit, does that old geezer even know what the fuck I’m saying right now? I bet Jason Cashe thought that line was hilarious. Shit, does that senile old man even know who the fuck Jason Cashe is? Does he know what Trilogy is? Does he have any fucking clue what’s going on in today’s XWF? He’s coming back for a one-off match and leaving again that same night, he doesn’t have any skin in the game or any stake in this company anymore. At this point he’s just another warm body  passing through the halls, filling out the bookings.

But hell, I’m sure someone’s told the old fart about my little dosey-doe with Nedward. I bet he’ll pick and prod on that like a god-damned vulture on day-old meat, filling his belly with the stuff. That’s crazy, right? For someone who lost to Peter fucking Gilmour to say jack shit about anyone else’s losses?

Doc birthed the ALIAS legacy. I ended it. That’s the difference between us. That’s the difference in our defeat, and it is only in defeat that the true measure of a man can be taken. The Doctor slips one time and he tumbles down the hill, disappearing for months and years at a time. But The Nickleman? Fuck, The Nickleman takes his lickings and he just keeps on kicking…ass and taking names! I’ll never leave just because I bit the bullet, fuck, I’ve been biting bullets all my life! Why do you think I’m missing so many teeth?

The Doctor’s days are numbered, and I’m just here to do the math. To crunch the numbers, and to stuff his ailing fucking frame down that chimney just before he ends his career for good and hangs up those boots.

They told me I had to be smoking crack if I thought I was going to win the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular……so it’s a good thing I never put down my pipe. ]]> <![CDATA[An XWFmas Carol]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45258 Fri, 09 Dec 2022 23:54:07 -0800 Doctor Louis D'Ville]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45258 It's once again that time of year for the XWF to get festive with holiday cheer!  The halls are decked and the streets are all loaded!  There's tinsel and mistletoe!  It's like XWFmas exploded!


Tonight is special, you'll never believe your eyes!  For you are all in store for a very nice surprise!  But we must leave these cozy corridors and travel to a place, where the doors are all open and a kind face awaits!


Deep in the bowels of this fine federation dwells a being that precedes all introductions!  He is known to all and feared by the same!  A shivering cold streak strikes you at the mention of his name!  His smile is sincere yet his motives unclear.  He'll say he's your friend that you can keep close and hold dear!  Inside this place, despite the decor, is not the doctor's office we've all visited before.

Doc sits alone in this dank place.  He rests on a large chair as a fire blazes behind him, tall and wide, and reaches out from its home, scraping and clawing out as far as it possibly can.  The walls move and moan around him, shifting and squelching like living muscle.  Hums and screams of what sounds like people from inside slither and push as if they were attempting to escape.  The doctor takes a long drag from a cigar and a deep breath.


Hello, my friends!  My name is Doctor Louis D'Ville.  It's been a long time!  Too long, am I right?  I'm sure you all have lots of questions and lots to tell me.  There's no doubt that I've missed a lot in the last several months and I'm looking forward to hearing all of the stories you have to share!  I'm very much looking forward to catching up with some old friends and maybe even creating some new ones! 

I can't wait to catch up with all of my old friends and look forward to making some new ones!  There is, in fact, much reward to these types of extended holidays.  You know what the best part is?

The big return, of course!  Especially after things change or even evolve a bit.  There's a whole new wave XWF'rs roaming the halls now and the ones that seemed to lose themselves in the mix have broken out of their little shells and trapped themselves in even bigger ones.  It's fascinating to let go of the strings every couple of years and let the puppets dance on their own.  Just look at what some can accomplish without my shadow looming over their heads.  There is still no doubt in my mind that this is the most fine federation there is, but you have to admit that the heat in the place has been turned from 'High' down to a 'Med-Low' at most these days.

There's a lot of things to consider here, of course.  Just look at what leads the pack now.  A tag team that would have no business even competing as a tag team a year ago currently holding the titles against…  Hmm..  Not too many other tag teams.  It seems once I washed my hands of Doctinuum and the Bastards had their own special run, the excitement level of the whole division dropped off.  That's how she goes sometimes, I guess?  I'll admit when I carried the things, not too many people stood in line for a shot at them.  A few fools did, but they were easily disposed of each and every time.  I see Jenny Myst holds the Xtreme Title which is half-laughable and half-cryable.  Every so often the little squirrel finds a nut, but ya know what happens with that nut right?  The idiot loses it.  Jenny is a little nutty and without a doubt some kind of idiot…  So, we can all look forward to that for the second most prestigious title on the shelf.  And, of course, Mark Flynn leading the pack with the precious Universal Championship.  There's a lot to say about this guy, really, and we just don't have the time for that today.  I'm sure, however, there will be time down the road.  To keep her short and sweet, Mark Flynn took a lot longer to climb that proverbial mountain that Chris Page takes to get a good point across.  He's still brushing off the ashes from an era that would have burned him alive.

I would include a couple of more titles in my little rant here, but in the near future one of them is going bye-bye…  but I can't walk away without mentioning the Supercontinental Title a little bit.  It's actually going to lead us straight into the meat and potatoes that everyone's probably craving for at this point.

When Charlie Nickles called me out recently to take part in the XWF classic match, the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular, I honestly couldn't wait.  I accepted, of course, and cleared the calendar for what's going to be yet another epic defeat for the Nickelman.  I can't look past the fact that Charlie is, in fact, the most experienced competitor in this style of match.  He and I opened with the first one, where I took that bearded little troll and shoved him straight down a chimney.  Charlie got redemption the following year after defeating some punk in the match, but I was sure to make my presence known in the match and assured Charlie that it would not be the last that we would meet under those circumstances.  I kept my promise ladies and gentlemen and the DOCTOR IS IN.

The reason I brought up the Supercontinental Title was because I was looking forward to beating Charlie as a champion once again as I've done in the past.  He's like a stupid dog that you run their nose through a mess they've made.  It's too bad he didn't have what it took to hang onto for a couple of more weeks.  Just like the Television Title, the first time we fought, I have no interest in taking gold from this man.  His pride?  Sure.  His spirit?  Definitely.  But to rob this man of his precious, hard earned gold is just cruel, my friends.  After all, he hardly needs my helping hand to lose them anyway.  As he challenged me for this match, he was so decorated in gold that he looked done up like an XWFmas tree!  All those titles shimmering around you from not just here, but other places outside of this glorious universe.  Seeing that made accepting the challenge even more enticing because kicking around the same old rotting piece of meat over and over again gets old.  Maybe Charlie having all of this gold meant that….  Oh just maybe!  Maybe he's improved during my time away.

Womp.  Womp.

Improved?  Perhaps.  Charlie never had what it took to win the big game or go the long distance.  He's able to complete these little mini-goals along the way, pick up some titles…. Sure!  But when it comes to getting the job done when it really, really counts?  The biggest face-plant you can imagine.  The problem is those little goals that just keep popping up and falling so easily onto his lap?  That's the low hanging fruit that people like him crave and fight over.  That guy IS lazy, without a doubt, so the low-hanging fruit is even more enticing for fellows like him.  I'm sure in some way, shape, or form that each of those titles he's won in the past or maybe even sharing XWFmas morning with were just that.  Either that or grabbed off the coattails of a certain group of bastardly gentlemen.  Either way, Charlie's hand needs a hand to guide him or else he'll drop the ball like always.  It all has to just fall in his lap because if he truly puts his heart into something and tries, he fails miserably.  Every-single-time.  Take the situation he's in now, for example.  Of all the feats to accomplish in his life, on his bucket list, whatever…  I'm at the top.  Oh, I guarantee it, my friends.  No doubt in my mind.  Of all the titles in the universe, of all that could be had, that elusive "W" over your's truly is all he thinks about day in and day out.  It keeps him up at night.  It haunts him.  I mean, it's a good goal to have!  Many people still have it to this day and a short few can even reach close to it.  A good goal, indeed…  And I'm sure there's an even darker place in that mind of his where a little bit of optimism lives and it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside giving him the illusion that someday that would even be possible.  Unfortunately for Charlie though…  In that sick, demented, twisted, disgusting mind of his is a place that homes the excrutiating FACT that he will never achieve it.

Never say never, though, right?  Again, great mentality to have for the Nickelman.  I give the guy enough credit!  To him, the climb doesn't matter.  He will climb and climb and climb some more just to fall flat after it's all said and done.  But no matter how far or how hard he falls, he ignores the bell and asks for more.  He basically begs for it!  For months, he pushed and begged and harassed until he finally had his shot at a Universal Title.  There wasn't a single person under the sun that believed the Nickelman was going to pull that one out.  But, in good faith, we all stood around and watched as a man got torn from limb to limb.  Maybe there was or maybe still is someone out there, somewhere, that believes in Charlie Nickels.  Maybe in a distant reality between and through space and time there's some nerd on podcast talking about THIS moment being Charlie's moment.  Discussing how the good doctor has just been down and out for far too long that THIS….  THIS RIGHT HERE!!  Is the Nickelman's time to shine…  Ugh…  Could you imagine?  Could anyone imagine if Charlie Nickels walked out into an XWF arena holding the Universal Championship?  That's not an XWF I want.  I don't want it for myself or any sad fellow or lady that has the unfortunate fate to wind up in a place like that.  We've had some pretty down in the dumps times around here and some guys that we couldn't wait to cut the cord off of, but to even THINK about Charlie Nickels being a constant headline around here is just absurd.

I'm sure Charlie might find his day some day.  It just won't be here.  I'm sure he'll be polishing whatever gold he might have left hanging around by the thread and I'm looking forward to hearing him rant and rave about all of those accomplishments he has in a land too far away to care about.  But remember boys and girls, that's all just filler for what he's missing when it comes to going head to head with me.  That canyon in his soul that you could fill with a thousand Universal Titles and still never fill.

Doc reaches down beside his chair and pulls a large book out and rests it on his lap.  He takes another long drag from his cigar and lets it rest beside him in an ashtray and slowly opens up the book.

I have a special treat for you all.  Tonight, I wish to tell you all story.  An XWFmas story…  Not your typical one either with gifts and cooked gooses and stockings and Satan Clause….  Oh no, not quite.  You'll have all of that fun stuff along with ghosts, demons, some violence, and adventure!  So please, gather around and give a listen to the latest Chronicle of Doctor Louis D'Ville!




THE HAUNTED CHRONICLES OF DOCTOR LOUIS D'VILLE
An XWFmas Carol

ONE - SOLDIER'S GHOST


'Twas a dark and stormy night.

Unknown Soldier was dead: to begin with.  There is no doubt whatever about it.  Dead as a door-nail.  Deceased.  Kicked the bucket.  Goner.  At least it was that way for Doc D'Ville.  It's been nearly seven years since their partnership severed and he was left to go into business for himself.  Which he did, indeed.

Time went on as it would have with or without Soldier.  Most people steered clear of the duo back when they were a pair, for good reason; the two were already quite renowned.  When the good doctor took on new partners or faced the world alone, folks with the know continued to mind their own business far away from his.  They would hug the walls and divide in the streets.  They would veer their stare and steer their eyes from his glare, avoiding him at all costs the same as they ever did.  He was a loner by nature, and made it clear to those who deserved no place next to his.

Doc hobbled down the snow covered, filthy streets of the XWF.  He kicked dirt and paid no mind to the handful of frightened people speaking under their breaths to one another as he passed.  Others, went about their day as normal, and occupied the streets as they have day in and day out for some time now.

Mastermind, the master of minds, was among those people and was selling white cotton "I Mastered Your Mind!" high-collared shirts from a booth just outside the Drunken Barney, the town's only tavern owned by XWF hardcore-legend Barney Green.  Atara and James Raven walk out and down the steps, arm-in-arm, ignoring the master of minds as he holds out a shirt and attempts to peddle it in the kindest possible way imaginable. 

Down the street, a number of ladies dressed in skimpy lingerie and football jerseys shivered from the cold and huddled around a burn barrel smoking cigarettes. 

Peter Vaughn strolled along, whistling a tune, shoving a push broom and cleaning the streets as he did every night. 

At the town center, people gathered in a circle around Mark Flynn as he explained a new conspiracy theory surrounding the significance of Saturdays opposed to Wednesdays.  He also used this time, as he did each day, to celebrate his such n' such day as Universal Champion.  Here, he was able to be as loud and as obnoxious as he pleased.

Doc continued on marching through the street, paying no mind to any of it.  He held a frown and kept his eyes to the ground, until he reached his old office building at the far end of town.

As he barged through the door, snow and wind rushed past him scattering documents all across the office.  Theo Pryce sat alone at his desk, looking annoyed and holding all of his own materials tightly, protecting them from the same fate.  As Doc slams the door, Theo's grimace lightens up a bit.

"Evening, Doctor."

"What of it?"

Doc walked past without stopping or changing his line of sight.

"Nothing," Theo shrugged. "Just pointing out the time of day."

"I have a watch." Doc replied smugly as he continued to the back of the room where he found his desk and his place behind it. 

Armed with a feathered quill in his hand, he went to war on his work.  Theo, on the other hand, cleaned up his desk and tucked everything away for the night.  He stood and drew a jacket from a close-by nail and threw it over his shoulders.  Doc stopped writing and peered up from his work.

"Where are you off to?"

"Well, in the evening, Doc, I go home," Theo said as he wrapped a thick, wooly scarf around his neck.

Doc would normally fantasize of strangling a person with such a thing, but he and Mr. Pryce shared a long enough and decent history together.  Their business was good business and you could even say there was a faint flame of friendship or respect that burned between them.  Theo was cold, and the doctor even colder, so it was difficult to notice at times.

"You're working late, I presume?"

"Mhhm." Doc grumbled, "Still much to do."

"You've said that…  'So much to do!  Too busy!  No time!'" Theo mocks the doctor's raspy, growly voice.  "You wouldn't be so uptight if you took a break from time to time.  Maybe show up to a Warfare once in a while and blow off some steam."

"Bah!" shouted Doc, "Humbug!"

Doc lowered himself back into his work, writing off Theo for the evening as Theo did him.  Heading towards the door, Doc spoke up again without lifting his head.

"See you bright and early then?"

"Unlikely.  It's XWFmas morning, Doc.  Normal people don't work then, you know."

"Normal?  Credit goes to the man in the arena, my friend, not the man who takes holidays." 

Theo figured this was the end of their conversation and reached for the door handle.  Before he could grip it, the door swung open accompanied with more wind and snow and two men covered in the weather themselves.  Taking a step back, Theo allowed them to enter and brush themselves off.

"Gator?  Todd?  What brings you two out this XWFmas Eve?"

Gator, in his normal red jumpsuit accompanied by a red Santa hat, and his sidekick Todd, bundled up from head-to-toe with a scarf wrapped around his mouth, stood with them in the cold office.

"Mrfmrhmrmrmr," Todd muffled out from under the scarf.

"Quiet, Todd.  Theo!  What's up, mate?"  Gator interrupted.

"Just on my way out, actually."

"I'm glad we caught you then!"  Gator threw a hand on top of Todd's shoulder and smiled through his mask.

There was about a four second awkward pause before Gator took the hand on Todd's shoulder and smacked him in the back of the head with it.  Todd then reaches into his inside coat pocket and retrieves a clipboard with a single piece of paper attached.

"Muhrmuhrmrfmurhfmuhrmurh," said Todd.

They all stood in silence again for a few moments before Theo asked, "What'd he say?"

Gator's smile is replaced by a look of confusion that is noticed even through his mask.  He looks at Todd then back to Theo.

"No idea, but that there is, uh…"  Gator snatches the clipboard away.  "This is a sign-up for donations for the XWFmas kid's program, 'Chairshots for Kids'.  It's pretty much a 'Make a Wish', but instead of just meeting your hero, you crack him in the head with a chair and all this money goes towards some orphans or something."

"Muhrfuhrmurmr!"

"What'd he say?"  Theo asked again.

"Todd, mate, we can't understand you with that fuckin' scarf wrapped around your head.  Take it off, for fuck sake."

"I said, it's for a good cause!"  Todd finally got out loud and clear.

"There aren't any names on it," said Theo after taking a look at the clipboard for himself.

"Well, no, not yet," said Todd, "We're still kind of at the Alpha stage of the whole thing AND this is the first place we stopped."

"Why start so late?  Like I said, you're lucky you caught me."

"We were brainstorming over a couple pints down the street when we came up with the idea," Gator interjected.

"You just came up with this?"

Gator and Todd perform a synchronized nod.

"What am I signing up for, exactly?  To donate, or be hit with a chair."

"Oh, we're only taking donations for now.  The kids will pick who they hit with the chair."

"So, hypothetically, with enough kids who hate Chris Page, we could have a mile worth of chair shots lined up for him?"

"Uhm…  Yeah!"  Todd replied.

"Interesting," Theo scribbled his name down and handed it back.

Doc remained silent and glued to his work.  Gator directed his attention that way and snatched the clipboard back from Todd.

"You think Doc is interested in a donation?" Gator asked Theo.

All three of them looked towards the good doctor who continued to pay no mind outside of his work.

"Merry XWFmas you wrinkly, old cunt!" Gator doesn't yell, but raises his voice.

Doc remained glued to his work and paid no attention to the guests.

"Earth to Doc!"  Theo whispered loudly.  "Aren't you going to–"

"Bah!" shouted the doctor.  "Humbug!"

Theo sighed, Todd jumped back, and Gator's eyes narrowed through his mask.  Doc peered at his watch and then up to the three men standing before him.

"Perhaps, you two could gift the other with a working watch this year?" Doc growled.  "Mister Pryce, would you be so kind as to remind these gentlemen the time of day as you did for me and the hours posted on the front window?"

Gator and Todd look over to Theo who is still sighing.

"Heh, Doc must not be taking any clients tonight, gentlemen!"  Theo said as he headed back towards the door, seemingly excited himself as it could be his own ticket out of there.

Opening the door wasn't enough of a hint for Gator, however.  He made a B-Line across the room towards the good doctor and threw the clipboard down on the desk.

"What do you say, Doctor D?  Can you spare any of the grimey, old Xbux you've stashed away for a good cause?"

"It's XWFmas, after all!" Todd pokes his head out from behind Gator, but is met with a ghastly scowl from the doctor.  Todd gulps then huddles back behind his 6 foot 4 friend again.

Doc has a quick look at the clipboard and the single name written on it.

"Bah!  Humbug!"  Doc said as he tossed it back down.  "Get it off the ground a bit then we'll see, perhaps.  I, too, wouldn't mind seeing Chris Page smacked with hundreds of chairs.  However, I can't be giving away to every little nonsense idea that blows in through my door."

"You greedy cunt.  What's a few Xbux going to run you?  It won't break you, mate, and it's not like you've cared about that stuff before.  Grow a heart you fucking grinch."

Todd slowly began making his way back away from Gator and towards the front door again.

"Gator?  Shouldn't we be going?"

Without saying anything or turning around, Gator held up an index finger as if to say, 'Oi!  One bloody minute, mate!'

"Are either of you participating in this nonsense?"  Doc asked.

Gator grabbed the clipboard off the desk and waved it around in front of the doctor's face as he mocked him.

"What do you think this is?  My participation is right here, mate!  So, put you down for…"

Doc waved him off and went back to his work.  This caused Gator to boil under his red mask and red Santa hat, but he remained calm and collected and slowly backed off.

It is XWFmas, after all.

"We'll catch up later, Doc.  I'll put you down as 'Pending'.  Sound good?"

No answer from the doctor.  Gator pretended to write on the clipboard as he walked backwards away from the desk and when he reached Todd he slapped it against his chest to loot away again.  Gator walked by a desk and knocked a couple of binders to their side and scattered the papers about.

"That was my desk," Theo quietly pointed out.

Gator held his arms out as if to challenge Doc for what he did, but both Todd and Theo gently ushered him toward the door.

"Look at the time!"  Theo then shouted without looking at any watch.  "Like Doc said he has a lot of work to do on XWFmas Eve for some reason so we should take our leave.  Happy Holidays gentlemen and thanks for stopping by."

"Yes!  Excellent idea, Mister Pryce!"  Doc yelled out.  "Have a glorious evening and don't bother coming in tomorrow."

"Thanks?  I wasn't planning on it."

Theo said half under his breath and started ushering the two men to the door when it swung open bringing the wintry blast of cold and snow with it again.  In the doorway was the silhouette of a young girl.  She didn't hesitate and walked into the light revealing herself to be Dolly Waters.

"Hello Dolly…  We were just leaving,"  said Theo with a stern tone to his voice.

"Yeah I'm just here to see Doc," she said and walked past Theo, disregarding what he said.

She marched up to Doc and pulled up a stool beside the front corner of his desk and stared at him.  Doc paid no attention to her until the fourth cough-for-attention.

"I'm in no mood for visitors, Miss Waters."

"Hello to you, too, Doctor Louis D'pressing," Dolly mocked in a snarky voice.

Doc continued working away, not looking up to the girl sitting on her knees on the stool, leaning with her forearms on his desk.

"So, Doc, I was thinking the other day."

"That's quite an accomplishment."

"Shut UP!  Don't be mean, it's XWFmas!"

"Bah…  Humbug!"

Dolly rolled her eyes and continued.

"ANYway.  I was thinking.  You want to go for some tag team gold down the line?"

Doc stopped writing and Dolly believed she finally had his attention.

"I think we could make some noise, you and I.  I mean, who could beat us?"

By the door Theo, Gator, and Todd all watched in awe and amazement as this conversation went on.  Doc placed the quill upright in a holder and took a deep breath.

"You just thought that up, did you?"  Doc inquired.

"Well, I've always kinda thought about it," Dolly said with a smile.

"And what do I get out of it?"

"What do you mean?  A title, duh!  Fame and fortune!  It could open up for a lot more, too, Doc!  It would be awesome to see you back on top of the XWF again."

Doc let out a loud sigh before looking over to Dolly. 

"Bah!"

After a few more minutes of torment, the three visitors and Theo Pryce made their way out of the office and back home or wherever they came from.  Doc enjoyed several hours to himself and was able to get a satisfyingly large amount of work done before calling it a night himself.

The streets were mostly emptied out at this point.  Mark Flynn was no longer in the town center.  Peter Vaughn spent all day cleaning the streets, yet they remained the filthy mess they've always been.  Mastermind remained outside the Drunken Barney, where Doc was headed, waiting for a fool to stumble out of the bar with pockets a little more loose than when they walked in.  Jenny Myst and Chris Chaos were around the corner digging through the garbage outside of the bar; saving bottles and cans and whatever remnants of food they could find.

Doc followed the lamp posts, allowing them to guide him towards the dimly lit tavern.  He entered and stopped in the doorway to have a look around.  There were far less people hanging around the place at this hour, just the way he liked it.  He made his way to a private table in the corner, away from the few people, and took a seat.  Not a moment later, XWF Hardcore Legend and owner of the Drunken Barney, Barney Green emerged from the back.

"The usual, Doctor?"  Barney asked from behind the bar.

Doc simply nodded from across the room.  Barney didn't have to look up or notice the response.  Doc got the same thing each and every night he strolled through.  Barney quickly prepared it and brought it to him.

"One double-shot of scotch and a pickled egg."

Doc sat for a while by himself and enjoyed the serenity.  No one bothered him, as he didn't wish to be bothered.  He left before closing time and followed the street lamps home.  Finding his way to his doorstep, he searched his pockets and retrieved his keys.  He managed to shuffle them enough to arrange the correct key in his hand and unlocked his large, wooden door.  As he reached out for the door handle, he thought he noticed a face formed upon it staring back at him.  He shook his head and produced a lighter from his chest pocket and flicked it on.

To his amazement, there was a face staring right back at him!  It blew out his flame with one breath and chuckled to itself.  Doc cautiously took a step back and analyzed the situation a bit further.  He squinted and tried making it out in the dark, but could not.  He relit his lighter and took a closer look to find that the face, if it ever was there, was gone and just a simple door handle remained.  He reached out again and the face came back and tried biting at his fingertips!  This made the doctor take several steps back and fall backwards down his steps into the snow!

"WHAT?!  HUMBUG!  WHAT WAS THAT?!"  The doctor yelled out into the street as he picked himself up from the ground.

Brushing himself off he reapproached the door, ready to blast it off the hinges if he had to.

"What nonsense is this?"

He relit the lighter yet again and leaned in to see the face was gone once more and there was just the door handle.  Slowly, Doc reached out and at the last second hurried and grabbed a hold of it tightly.

"Humbug!"  he grumbled.  "Too much whiskey, perhaps…"

The doctor shook it off, entered his home, and locked himself in.  The night was over for him, he dropped his coat off and headed to his personal quarters for bed.  He looked forward to working alone the next day and expected his workload to be doubled, as Mister Pryce insisted he was normal and deserved the day off.

Barely managing to fall into any deep slumber, Doc was awakened by a loud crash coming from outside his room.  He immediately rose out of bed and questioned whether or not he had dreamt the ruckus of there was an actual clatter within his home.  He didn't bother investigating, just listened for a moment before snuggling back down and closing his eyes.  A few moments later, he heard it again, loud and clear.  He jumped out of bed this time and headed towards his bedroom door, which he also kept locked tight at night.  Placing his ear to the door, he listened to footsteps, the banging and ringing of chains, and moans from the other side.

"Hello?  Is someone there?"

He heard the footsteps moving closer and climbing up the stairwell and to his room.

"What is it?  WHO is it?!"



*BAM!*



*BAM!*



*BAM!*



Before he knew it, whoever it was was right outside of his door!  Doc jumped back in a startled panic and readied himself for anything!

"WHAT IS IT?!  WHO GOES THERE?!"  Doc shouted through the door.  "I'M QUITE GOOD ON ME FEET AND AT DISPOSING DEAD BODIES, YOU KNOW!  ONLY WARNING, MY FRIEND!"

The knocking continued, louder this time.



*BAM!!!*



*BAM!!!*



*BAM!!!*



"HUMBUG!"



*BAM!!!!!!*



*BAM!!!!!*




The final 'Bam!' was the last straw for the door and it blew apart!  Pieces of wood and dust flew everywhere, as well as the doctor who was sent soaring through the air onto his bed where he rolled off the other side!  He crawls up onto his matters and stays on the floor, waiting for whatever is coming after him.

Oddly, the dust never cleared.  The debris from the door and the wall floated through the air as if time stopped or was going in some xtreme slow motion.  Through it all, Doc noticed a familiar face wandering through his bedroom door. 

Doc stood up and rubbed his eyes, not believing them for a second…

Until it spoke.

"Doctor!  Long time no see!"

"Soldier?!  Hello, my friend!"

Doc almost sounded happy to see him for a moment.  It phased away quickly though.

But your…  Dead?"

Unknown Soldier, at least it looked a lot like him, stood before Doc.  The fellow was never fit for wear before, and if he's dead now, well…  He was certainly looking no better.  Not thought possible, his skin was actually a lighter shade of white than it was before.  His hair, what remained as most seemed to have been ripped out, draped over his face and looked rotted.  Bugs and slugs casually made their way from one orifice on his head to another.  Ear to mouth.  Mouth to nose.  He was completely naked, aside from the heavy chains that dangled from his neck and shoulders.  The chains were the attached to several different XWF championships, all tattered, weathered, torn, and worn…  weighing him down as they drug on the ground behind him.  He let out a cough and blew out soot and dust that floated through the air like the broken door.

"I am?"  He wheezed.

Soldier grabbed his head, ripped it off his shoulders, then turned it around to look back at his body.

"Oh yeah.  I am."

The Ghost of Unknown Soldier, then, placed his head back on his shoulders and screwed it in.  Doc, intrigued by the whole situation, took a seat on the bed.

"What IS dead, though?  Is it just…  Not living?  Cause I feel pretty fucking alive right—- *CLACK*"

The ghost choked on a centipede as it quickly slid into his mouth and down his throat.

"You're not exactly someone I expected stalking your way through my home in the middle of the night.  Actually, you are, I'm not sure where my mind was there."

"Oh, fret not, Good Doctor!  I'm only here for a sec!  I won't take up much of your time at all!  You've got a long night ahead of you anyway!"

The Ghost of Unknown Soldier laughed and choked on some more dust.  As he spit his tongue slipped out and flopped around like a fish until Soldier stomped out it until it quit moving.  He grabbed it up off the floor and shoved it back into his mouth.

"Ugh…  I thought it was that fucking centipede jumping out of there for a second."

Doc's patience started to wear thin as the ghost of his former partner continued to screw around.

"Pardon me, sir," Doc finally interrupts, "but what brings you here?"

"I can't drop in and say 'Hello' to an old pal?  Come on, Doctor!  Haven't ya missed me?  We used to have some wild adventures together and not to mention to fucking up we did together."

"I remember, indeed.  I remember it well!  I also recall a lack of, well…  YOU later on.  Do you recall any of that?"

The ghost ignored Doc's latest question and began exploring around the room.

"Look at this place.  No trophies.  No crowns.  No titles.  Where are they all at, Doc?"

"My previous accolades aren't on display.  I'm renowned enough in this place, I don't have to parade around every little victory I've attained here."

"Mhm…"  The ghost mumbled out to itself.  "I don't know…  I think that's kind of the problem here."

"Problem?  There is no problem."

"Oh no.  No, there's definitely a problem, Doctor."

If Doc's patience was considered on the thin side before, it was completely transparent now.  The ghost continued to just wander about and avoid whatever point it was trying to make.

"Enlighten me again, sir, on what you're doing here, please."

The ghost dragged himself, his chains, and the broken titles across the room back over to Doc.

"To put it bluntly, it's time to get your head out of your ass!"

"Pardon me?"

"Yeah!  It's time for you to wake up and get your shit together!"

Doc folded his hands on his lap, which was everything in his power to not reach out and slap the ghost.

"What are you saying?!  The point!  What is the point!"

"Listen, look at me."

Doc looked Unknown Soldier's ghostly, ghastly, scraggly, wasted away nake body in front of him.

"I'd really rather not."

"Just look!"  Soldier shouted out as he did a full rotation.  "Your fate will be the same as mine if you don't get it together, Doc."

Doc painfully continued to look on as Soldier finished and stopped in front of him.

"To forever walk aimlessly… and bare-assed…  through the XWF dragging my accomplishments behind me?"

"Pretty much.  Look around, Doctor!  Have you listened?  There are no talks of the legends of the past.  There are no talks of Doctor Satan! ruling the Tag Team Division with an iron dick!"

"What?"

"I'm a former Universal Champion, Xtreme Champion, Tag Team Champion, you name it!  Between the two of us, together or separate, we reigned hell down wherever we went.  But now?  What am I?"

"A naked specter standing in my bedroom."

"Exactly!"

"I'm quite sure I'm still understood to be a Living Legend in the place.  Your name isn't brought up at every morning breakfast, but I wouldn't quite say you're forgotten.  Old news, maybe."

"And YOU will fall under that same fate!  You have to change your ways, Doctor…  You MUST!  The fate of the XWF relies on it!"

"Nonsense!  Humbug!  All of it!  And I'm tired of hearing it!  Begone spirit!  I choose to partake in this seance any longer!"

"Tonight…  You will be haunted by three bastards, Doctor…."

"What?  No ghosts?"

"Three bastards!  And they will show you why it is so important to get your ass out of your ass and start doing some shit around here!  They will show you your fate and the fate of the XWF!  Three bastards……  The first will come at the stroke of midnight!"

"I'm really exhausted from all the guests I've had today already…  And I'm really not in the mood to discuss any type of future regarding the XWF or anyone else in it.  So, if you don't mind—"

"It's up to you, Doctor!  My time here is up!"

The Ghost of Unknown Soldier pulls out a crackpipe and lights it up.  It begins to sparkle like a firecracker before it ignites and lets out a loud explosion!]]> It's once again that time of year for the XWF to get festive with holiday cheer!  The halls are decked and the streets are all loaded!  There's tinsel and mistletoe!  It's like XWFmas exploded!


Tonight is special, you'll never believe your eyes!  For you are all in store for a very nice surprise!  But we must leave these cozy corridors and travel to a place, where the doors are all open and a kind face awaits!


Deep in the bowels of this fine federation dwells a being that precedes all introductions!  He is known to all and feared by the same!  A shivering cold streak strikes you at the mention of his name!  His smile is sincere yet his motives unclear.  He'll say he's your friend that you can keep close and hold dear!  Inside this place, despite the decor, is not the doctor's office we've all visited before.

Doc sits alone in this dank place.  He rests on a large chair as a fire blazes behind him, tall and wide, and reaches out from its home, scraping and clawing out as far as it possibly can.  The walls move and moan around him, shifting and squelching like living muscle.  Hums and screams of what sounds like people from inside slither and push as if they were attempting to escape.  The doctor takes a long drag from a cigar and a deep breath.


Hello, my friends!  My name is Doctor Louis D'Ville.  It's been a long time!  Too long, am I right?  I'm sure you all have lots of questions and lots to tell me.  There's no doubt that I've missed a lot in the last several months and I'm looking forward to hearing all of the stories you have to share!  I'm very much looking forward to catching up with some old friends and maybe even creating some new ones! 

I can't wait to catch up with all of my old friends and look forward to making some new ones!  There is, in fact, much reward to these types of extended holidays.  You know what the best part is?

The big return, of course!  Especially after things change or even evolve a bit.  There's a whole new wave XWF'rs roaming the halls now and the ones that seemed to lose themselves in the mix have broken out of their little shells and trapped themselves in even bigger ones.  It's fascinating to let go of the strings every couple of years and let the puppets dance on their own.  Just look at what some can accomplish without my shadow looming over their heads.  There is still no doubt in my mind that this is the most fine federation there is, but you have to admit that the heat in the place has been turned from 'High' down to a 'Med-Low' at most these days.

There's a lot of things to consider here, of course.  Just look at what leads the pack now.  A tag team that would have no business even competing as a tag team a year ago currently holding the titles against…  Hmm..  Not too many other tag teams.  It seems once I washed my hands of Doctinuum and the Bastards had their own special run, the excitement level of the whole division dropped off.  That's how she goes sometimes, I guess?  I'll admit when I carried the things, not too many people stood in line for a shot at them.  A few fools did, but they were easily disposed of each and every time.  I see Jenny Myst holds the Xtreme Title which is half-laughable and half-cryable.  Every so often the little squirrel finds a nut, but ya know what happens with that nut right?  The idiot loses it.  Jenny is a little nutty and without a doubt some kind of idiot…  So, we can all look forward to that for the second most prestigious title on the shelf.  And, of course, Mark Flynn leading the pack with the precious Universal Championship.  There's a lot to say about this guy, really, and we just don't have the time for that today.  I'm sure, however, there will be time down the road.  To keep her short and sweet, Mark Flynn took a lot longer to climb that proverbial mountain that Chris Page takes to get a good point across.  He's still brushing off the ashes from an era that would have burned him alive.

I would include a couple of more titles in my little rant here, but in the near future one of them is going bye-bye…  but I can't walk away without mentioning the Supercontinental Title a little bit.  It's actually going to lead us straight into the meat and potatoes that everyone's probably craving for at this point.

When Charlie Nickles called me out recently to take part in the XWF classic match, the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular, I honestly couldn't wait.  I accepted, of course, and cleared the calendar for what's going to be yet another epic defeat for the Nickelman.  I can't look past the fact that Charlie is, in fact, the most experienced competitor in this style of match.  He and I opened with the first one, where I took that bearded little troll and shoved him straight down a chimney.  Charlie got redemption the following year after defeating some punk in the match, but I was sure to make my presence known in the match and assured Charlie that it would not be the last that we would meet under those circumstances.  I kept my promise ladies and gentlemen and the DOCTOR IS IN.

The reason I brought up the Supercontinental Title was because I was looking forward to beating Charlie as a champion once again as I've done in the past.  He's like a stupid dog that you run their nose through a mess they've made.  It's too bad he didn't have what it took to hang onto for a couple of more weeks.  Just like the Television Title, the first time we fought, I have no interest in taking gold from this man.  His pride?  Sure.  His spirit?  Definitely.  But to rob this man of his precious, hard earned gold is just cruel, my friends.  After all, he hardly needs my helping hand to lose them anyway.  As he challenged me for this match, he was so decorated in gold that he looked done up like an XWFmas tree!  All those titles shimmering around you from not just here, but other places outside of this glorious universe.  Seeing that made accepting the challenge even more enticing because kicking around the same old rotting piece of meat over and over again gets old.  Maybe Charlie having all of this gold meant that….  Oh just maybe!  Maybe he's improved during my time away.

Womp.  Womp.

Improved?  Perhaps.  Charlie never had what it took to win the big game or go the long distance.  He's able to complete these little mini-goals along the way, pick up some titles…. Sure!  But when it comes to getting the job done when it really, really counts?  The biggest face-plant you can imagine.  The problem is those little goals that just keep popping up and falling so easily onto his lap?  That's the low hanging fruit that people like him crave and fight over.  That guy IS lazy, without a doubt, so the low-hanging fruit is even more enticing for fellows like him.  I'm sure in some way, shape, or form that each of those titles he's won in the past or maybe even sharing XWFmas morning with were just that.  Either that or grabbed off the coattails of a certain group of bastardly gentlemen.  Either way, Charlie's hand needs a hand to guide him or else he'll drop the ball like always.  It all has to just fall in his lap because if he truly puts his heart into something and tries, he fails miserably.  Every-single-time.  Take the situation he's in now, for example.  Of all the feats to accomplish in his life, on his bucket list, whatever…  I'm at the top.  Oh, I guarantee it, my friends.  No doubt in my mind.  Of all the titles in the universe, of all that could be had, that elusive "W" over your's truly is all he thinks about day in and day out.  It keeps him up at night.  It haunts him.  I mean, it's a good goal to have!  Many people still have it to this day and a short few can even reach close to it.  A good goal, indeed…  And I'm sure there's an even darker place in that mind of his where a little bit of optimism lives and it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside giving him the illusion that someday that would even be possible.  Unfortunately for Charlie though…  In that sick, demented, twisted, disgusting mind of his is a place that homes the excrutiating FACT that he will never achieve it.

Never say never, though, right?  Again, great mentality to have for the Nickelman.  I give the guy enough credit!  To him, the climb doesn't matter.  He will climb and climb and climb some more just to fall flat after it's all said and done.  But no matter how far or how hard he falls, he ignores the bell and asks for more.  He basically begs for it!  For months, he pushed and begged and harassed until he finally had his shot at a Universal Title.  There wasn't a single person under the sun that believed the Nickelman was going to pull that one out.  But, in good faith, we all stood around and watched as a man got torn from limb to limb.  Maybe there was or maybe still is someone out there, somewhere, that believes in Charlie Nickels.  Maybe in a distant reality between and through space and time there's some nerd on podcast talking about THIS moment being Charlie's moment.  Discussing how the good doctor has just been down and out for far too long that THIS….  THIS RIGHT HERE!!  Is the Nickelman's time to shine…  Ugh…  Could you imagine?  Could anyone imagine if Charlie Nickels walked out into an XWF arena holding the Universal Championship?  That's not an XWF I want.  I don't want it for myself or any sad fellow or lady that has the unfortunate fate to wind up in a place like that.  We've had some pretty down in the dumps times around here and some guys that we couldn't wait to cut the cord off of, but to even THINK about Charlie Nickels being a constant headline around here is just absurd.

I'm sure Charlie might find his day some day.  It just won't be here.  I'm sure he'll be polishing whatever gold he might have left hanging around by the thread and I'm looking forward to hearing him rant and rave about all of those accomplishments he has in a land too far away to care about.  But remember boys and girls, that's all just filler for what he's missing when it comes to going head to head with me.  That canyon in his soul that you could fill with a thousand Universal Titles and still never fill.

Doc reaches down beside his chair and pulls a large book out and rests it on his lap.  He takes another long drag from his cigar and lets it rest beside him in an ashtray and slowly opens up the book.

I have a special treat for you all.  Tonight, I wish to tell you all story.  An XWFmas story…  Not your typical one either with gifts and cooked gooses and stockings and Satan Clause….  Oh no, not quite.  You'll have all of that fun stuff along with ghosts, demons, some violence, and adventure!  So please, gather around and give a listen to the latest Chronicle of Doctor Louis D'Ville!




THE HAUNTED CHRONICLES OF DOCTOR LOUIS D'VILLE
An XWFmas Carol

ONE - SOLDIER'S GHOST


'Twas a dark and stormy night.

Unknown Soldier was dead: to begin with.  There is no doubt whatever about it.  Dead as a door-nail.  Deceased.  Kicked the bucket.  Goner.  At least it was that way for Doc D'Ville.  It's been nearly seven years since their partnership severed and he was left to go into business for himself.  Which he did, indeed.

Time went on as it would have with or without Soldier.  Most people steered clear of the duo back when they were a pair, for good reason; the two were already quite renowned.  When the good doctor took on new partners or faced the world alone, folks with the know continued to mind their own business far away from his.  They would hug the walls and divide in the streets.  They would veer their stare and steer their eyes from his glare, avoiding him at all costs the same as they ever did.  He was a loner by nature, and made it clear to those who deserved no place next to his.

Doc hobbled down the snow covered, filthy streets of the XWF.  He kicked dirt and paid no mind to the handful of frightened people speaking under their breaths to one another as he passed.  Others, went about their day as normal, and occupied the streets as they have day in and day out for some time now.

Mastermind, the master of minds, was among those people and was selling white cotton "I Mastered Your Mind!" high-collared shirts from a booth just outside the Drunken Barney, the town's only tavern owned by XWF hardcore-legend Barney Green.  Atara and James Raven walk out and down the steps, arm-in-arm, ignoring the master of minds as he holds out a shirt and attempts to peddle it in the kindest possible way imaginable. 

Down the street, a number of ladies dressed in skimpy lingerie and football jerseys shivered from the cold and huddled around a burn barrel smoking cigarettes. 

Peter Vaughn strolled along, whistling a tune, shoving a push broom and cleaning the streets as he did every night. 

At the town center, people gathered in a circle around Mark Flynn as he explained a new conspiracy theory surrounding the significance of Saturdays opposed to Wednesdays.  He also used this time, as he did each day, to celebrate his such n' such day as Universal Champion.  Here, he was able to be as loud and as obnoxious as he pleased.

Doc continued on marching through the street, paying no mind to any of it.  He held a frown and kept his eyes to the ground, until he reached his old office building at the far end of town.

As he barged through the door, snow and wind rushed past him scattering documents all across the office.  Theo Pryce sat alone at his desk, looking annoyed and holding all of his own materials tightly, protecting them from the same fate.  As Doc slams the door, Theo's grimace lightens up a bit.

"Evening, Doctor."

"What of it?"

Doc walked past without stopping or changing his line of sight.

"Nothing," Theo shrugged. "Just pointing out the time of day."

"I have a watch." Doc replied smugly as he continued to the back of the room where he found his desk and his place behind it. 

Armed with a feathered quill in his hand, he went to war on his work.  Theo, on the other hand, cleaned up his desk and tucked everything away for the night.  He stood and drew a jacket from a close-by nail and threw it over his shoulders.  Doc stopped writing and peered up from his work.

"Where are you off to?"

"Well, in the evening, Doc, I go home," Theo said as he wrapped a thick, wooly scarf around his neck.

Doc would normally fantasize of strangling a person with such a thing, but he and Mr. Pryce shared a long enough and decent history together.  Their business was good business and you could even say there was a faint flame of friendship or respect that burned between them.  Theo was cold, and the doctor even colder, so it was difficult to notice at times.

"You're working late, I presume?"

"Mhhm." Doc grumbled, "Still much to do."

"You've said that…  'So much to do!  Too busy!  No time!'" Theo mocks the doctor's raspy, growly voice.  "You wouldn't be so uptight if you took a break from time to time.  Maybe show up to a Warfare once in a while and blow off some steam."

"Bah!" shouted Doc, "Humbug!"

Doc lowered himself back into his work, writing off Theo for the evening as Theo did him.  Heading towards the door, Doc spoke up again without lifting his head.

"See you bright and early then?"

"Unlikely.  It's XWFmas morning, Doc.  Normal people don't work then, you know."

"Normal?  Credit goes to the man in the arena, my friend, not the man who takes holidays." 

Theo figured this was the end of their conversation and reached for the door handle.  Before he could grip it, the door swung open accompanied with more wind and snow and two men covered in the weather themselves.  Taking a step back, Theo allowed them to enter and brush themselves off.

"Gator?  Todd?  What brings you two out this XWFmas Eve?"

Gator, in his normal red jumpsuit accompanied by a red Santa hat, and his sidekick Todd, bundled up from head-to-toe with a scarf wrapped around his mouth, stood with them in the cold office.

"Mrfmrhmrmrmr," Todd muffled out from under the scarf.

"Quiet, Todd.  Theo!  What's up, mate?"  Gator interrupted.

"Just on my way out, actually."

"I'm glad we caught you then!"  Gator threw a hand on top of Todd's shoulder and smiled through his mask.

There was about a four second awkward pause before Gator took the hand on Todd's shoulder and smacked him in the back of the head with it.  Todd then reaches into his inside coat pocket and retrieves a clipboard with a single piece of paper attached.

"Muhrmuhrmrfmurhfmuhrmurh," said Todd.

They all stood in silence again for a few moments before Theo asked, "What'd he say?"

Gator's smile is replaced by a look of confusion that is noticed even through his mask.  He looks at Todd then back to Theo.

"No idea, but that there is, uh…"  Gator snatches the clipboard away.  "This is a sign-up for donations for the XWFmas kid's program, 'Chairshots for Kids'.  It's pretty much a 'Make a Wish', but instead of just meeting your hero, you crack him in the head with a chair and all this money goes towards some orphans or something."

"Muhrfuhrmurmr!"

"What'd he say?"  Theo asked again.

"Todd, mate, we can't understand you with that fuckin' scarf wrapped around your head.  Take it off, for fuck sake."

"I said, it's for a good cause!"  Todd finally got out loud and clear.

"There aren't any names on it," said Theo after taking a look at the clipboard for himself.

"Well, no, not yet," said Todd, "We're still kind of at the Alpha stage of the whole thing AND this is the first place we stopped."

"Why start so late?  Like I said, you're lucky you caught me."

"We were brainstorming over a couple pints down the street when we came up with the idea," Gator interjected.

"You just came up with this?"

Gator and Todd perform a synchronized nod.

"What am I signing up for, exactly?  To donate, or be hit with a chair."

"Oh, we're only taking donations for now.  The kids will pick who they hit with the chair."

"So, hypothetically, with enough kids who hate Chris Page, we could have a mile worth of chair shots lined up for him?"

"Uhm…  Yeah!"  Todd replied.

"Interesting," Theo scribbled his name down and handed it back.

Doc remained silent and glued to his work.  Gator directed his attention that way and snatched the clipboard back from Todd.

"You think Doc is interested in a donation?" Gator asked Theo.

All three of them looked towards the good doctor who continued to pay no mind outside of his work.

"Merry XWFmas you wrinkly, old cunt!" Gator doesn't yell, but raises his voice.

Doc remained glued to his work and paid no attention to the guests.

"Earth to Doc!"  Theo whispered loudly.  "Aren't you going to–"

"Bah!" shouted the doctor.  "Humbug!"

Theo sighed, Todd jumped back, and Gator's eyes narrowed through his mask.  Doc peered at his watch and then up to the three men standing before him.

"Perhaps, you two could gift the other with a working watch this year?" Doc growled.  "Mister Pryce, would you be so kind as to remind these gentlemen the time of day as you did for me and the hours posted on the front window?"

Gator and Todd look over to Theo who is still sighing.

"Heh, Doc must not be taking any clients tonight, gentlemen!"  Theo said as he headed back towards the door, seemingly excited himself as it could be his own ticket out of there.

Opening the door wasn't enough of a hint for Gator, however.  He made a B-Line across the room towards the good doctor and threw the clipboard down on the desk.

"What do you say, Doctor D?  Can you spare any of the grimey, old Xbux you've stashed away for a good cause?"

"It's XWFmas, after all!" Todd pokes his head out from behind Gator, but is met with a ghastly scowl from the doctor.  Todd gulps then huddles back behind his 6 foot 4 friend again.

Doc has a quick look at the clipboard and the single name written on it.

"Bah!  Humbug!"  Doc said as he tossed it back down.  "Get it off the ground a bit then we'll see, perhaps.  I, too, wouldn't mind seeing Chris Page smacked with hundreds of chairs.  However, I can't be giving away to every little nonsense idea that blows in through my door."

"You greedy cunt.  What's a few Xbux going to run you?  It won't break you, mate, and it's not like you've cared about that stuff before.  Grow a heart you fucking grinch."

Todd slowly began making his way back away from Gator and towards the front door again.

"Gator?  Shouldn't we be going?"

Without saying anything or turning around, Gator held up an index finger as if to say, 'Oi!  One bloody minute, mate!'

"Are either of you participating in this nonsense?"  Doc asked.

Gator grabbed the clipboard off the desk and waved it around in front of the doctor's face as he mocked him.

"What do you think this is?  My participation is right here, mate!  So, put you down for…"

Doc waved him off and went back to his work.  This caused Gator to boil under his red mask and red Santa hat, but he remained calm and collected and slowly backed off.

It is XWFmas, after all.

"We'll catch up later, Doc.  I'll put you down as 'Pending'.  Sound good?"

No answer from the doctor.  Gator pretended to write on the clipboard as he walked backwards away from the desk and when he reached Todd he slapped it against his chest to loot away again.  Gator walked by a desk and knocked a couple of binders to their side and scattered the papers about.

"That was my desk," Theo quietly pointed out.

Gator held his arms out as if to challenge Doc for what he did, but both Todd and Theo gently ushered him toward the door.

"Look at the time!"  Theo then shouted without looking at any watch.  "Like Doc said he has a lot of work to do on XWFmas Eve for some reason so we should take our leave.  Happy Holidays gentlemen and thanks for stopping by."

"Yes!  Excellent idea, Mister Pryce!"  Doc yelled out.  "Have a glorious evening and don't bother coming in tomorrow."

"Thanks?  I wasn't planning on it."

Theo said half under his breath and started ushering the two men to the door when it swung open bringing the wintry blast of cold and snow with it again.  In the doorway was the silhouette of a young girl.  She didn't hesitate and walked into the light revealing herself to be Dolly Waters.

"Hello Dolly…  We were just leaving,"  said Theo with a stern tone to his voice.

"Yeah I'm just here to see Doc," she said and walked past Theo, disregarding what he said.

She marched up to Doc and pulled up a stool beside the front corner of his desk and stared at him.  Doc paid no attention to her until the fourth cough-for-attention.

"I'm in no mood for visitors, Miss Waters."

"Hello to you, too, Doctor Louis D'pressing," Dolly mocked in a snarky voice.

Doc continued working away, not looking up to the girl sitting on her knees on the stool, leaning with her forearms on his desk.

"So, Doc, I was thinking the other day."

"That's quite an accomplishment."

"Shut UP!  Don't be mean, it's XWFmas!"

"Bah…  Humbug!"

Dolly rolled her eyes and continued.

"ANYway.  I was thinking.  You want to go for some tag team gold down the line?"

Doc stopped writing and Dolly believed she finally had his attention.

"I think we could make some noise, you and I.  I mean, who could beat us?"

By the door Theo, Gator, and Todd all watched in awe and amazement as this conversation went on.  Doc placed the quill upright in a holder and took a deep breath.

"You just thought that up, did you?"  Doc inquired.

"Well, I've always kinda thought about it," Dolly said with a smile.

"And what do I get out of it?"

"What do you mean?  A title, duh!  Fame and fortune!  It could open up for a lot more, too, Doc!  It would be awesome to see you back on top of the XWF again."

Doc let out a loud sigh before looking over to Dolly. 

"Bah!"

After a few more minutes of torment, the three visitors and Theo Pryce made their way out of the office and back home or wherever they came from.  Doc enjoyed several hours to himself and was able to get a satisfyingly large amount of work done before calling it a night himself.

The streets were mostly emptied out at this point.  Mark Flynn was no longer in the town center.  Peter Vaughn spent all day cleaning the streets, yet they remained the filthy mess they've always been.  Mastermind remained outside the Drunken Barney, where Doc was headed, waiting for a fool to stumble out of the bar with pockets a little more loose than when they walked in.  Jenny Myst and Chris Chaos were around the corner digging through the garbage outside of the bar; saving bottles and cans and whatever remnants of food they could find.

Doc followed the lamp posts, allowing them to guide him towards the dimly lit tavern.  He entered and stopped in the doorway to have a look around.  There were far less people hanging around the place at this hour, just the way he liked it.  He made his way to a private table in the corner, away from the few people, and took a seat.  Not a moment later, XWF Hardcore Legend and owner of the Drunken Barney, Barney Green emerged from the back.

"The usual, Doctor?"  Barney asked from behind the bar.

Doc simply nodded from across the room.  Barney didn't have to look up or notice the response.  Doc got the same thing each and every night he strolled through.  Barney quickly prepared it and brought it to him.

"One double-shot of scotch and a pickled egg."

Doc sat for a while by himself and enjoyed the serenity.  No one bothered him, as he didn't wish to be bothered.  He left before closing time and followed the street lamps home.  Finding his way to his doorstep, he searched his pockets and retrieved his keys.  He managed to shuffle them enough to arrange the correct key in his hand and unlocked his large, wooden door.  As he reached out for the door handle, he thought he noticed a face formed upon it staring back at him.  He shook his head and produced a lighter from his chest pocket and flicked it on.

To his amazement, there was a face staring right back at him!  It blew out his flame with one breath and chuckled to itself.  Doc cautiously took a step back and analyzed the situation a bit further.  He squinted and tried making it out in the dark, but could not.  He relit his lighter and took a closer look to find that the face, if it ever was there, was gone and just a simple door handle remained.  He reached out again and the face came back and tried biting at his fingertips!  This made the doctor take several steps back and fall backwards down his steps into the snow!

"WHAT?!  HUMBUG!  WHAT WAS THAT?!"  The doctor yelled out into the street as he picked himself up from the ground.

Brushing himself off he reapproached the door, ready to blast it off the hinges if he had to.

"What nonsense is this?"

He relit the lighter yet again and leaned in to see the face was gone once more and there was just the door handle.  Slowly, Doc reached out and at the last second hurried and grabbed a hold of it tightly.

"Humbug!"  he grumbled.  "Too much whiskey, perhaps…"

The doctor shook it off, entered his home, and locked himself in.  The night was over for him, he dropped his coat off and headed to his personal quarters for bed.  He looked forward to working alone the next day and expected his workload to be doubled, as Mister Pryce insisted he was normal and deserved the day off.

Barely managing to fall into any deep slumber, Doc was awakened by a loud crash coming from outside his room.  He immediately rose out of bed and questioned whether or not he had dreamt the ruckus of there was an actual clatter within his home.  He didn't bother investigating, just listened for a moment before snuggling back down and closing his eyes.  A few moments later, he heard it again, loud and clear.  He jumped out of bed this time and headed towards his bedroom door, which he also kept locked tight at night.  Placing his ear to the door, he listened to footsteps, the banging and ringing of chains, and moans from the other side.

"Hello?  Is someone there?"

He heard the footsteps moving closer and climbing up the stairwell and to his room.

"What is it?  WHO is it?!"



*BAM!*



*BAM!*



*BAM!*



Before he knew it, whoever it was was right outside of his door!  Doc jumped back in a startled panic and readied himself for anything!

"WHAT IS IT?!  WHO GOES THERE?!"  Doc shouted through the door.  "I'M QUITE GOOD ON ME FEET AND AT DISPOSING DEAD BODIES, YOU KNOW!  ONLY WARNING, MY FRIEND!"

The knocking continued, louder this time.



*BAM!!!*



*BAM!!!*



*BAM!!!*



"HUMBUG!"



*BAM!!!!!!*



*BAM!!!!!*




The final 'Bam!' was the last straw for the door and it blew apart!  Pieces of wood and dust flew everywhere, as well as the doctor who was sent soaring through the air onto his bed where he rolled off the other side!  He crawls up onto his matters and stays on the floor, waiting for whatever is coming after him.

Oddly, the dust never cleared.  The debris from the door and the wall floated through the air as if time stopped or was going in some xtreme slow motion.  Through it all, Doc noticed a familiar face wandering through his bedroom door. 

Doc stood up and rubbed his eyes, not believing them for a second…

Until it spoke.

"Doctor!  Long time no see!"

"Soldier?!  Hello, my friend!"

Doc almost sounded happy to see him for a moment.  It phased away quickly though.

But your…  Dead?"

Unknown Soldier, at least it looked a lot like him, stood before Doc.  The fellow was never fit for wear before, and if he's dead now, well…  He was certainly looking no better.  Not thought possible, his skin was actually a lighter shade of white than it was before.  His hair, what remained as most seemed to have been ripped out, draped over his face and looked rotted.  Bugs and slugs casually made their way from one orifice on his head to another.  Ear to mouth.  Mouth to nose.  He was completely naked, aside from the heavy chains that dangled from his neck and shoulders.  The chains were the attached to several different XWF championships, all tattered, weathered, torn, and worn…  weighing him down as they drug on the ground behind him.  He let out a cough and blew out soot and dust that floated through the air like the broken door.

"I am?"  He wheezed.

Soldier grabbed his head, ripped it off his shoulders, then turned it around to look back at his body.

"Oh yeah.  I am."

The Ghost of Unknown Soldier, then, placed his head back on his shoulders and screwed it in.  Doc, intrigued by the whole situation, took a seat on the bed.

"What IS dead, though?  Is it just…  Not living?  Cause I feel pretty fucking alive right—- *CLACK*"

The ghost choked on a centipede as it quickly slid into his mouth and down his throat.

"You're not exactly someone I expected stalking your way through my home in the middle of the night.  Actually, you are, I'm not sure where my mind was there."

"Oh, fret not, Good Doctor!  I'm only here for a sec!  I won't take up much of your time at all!  You've got a long night ahead of you anyway!"

The Ghost of Unknown Soldier laughed and choked on some more dust.  As he spit his tongue slipped out and flopped around like a fish until Soldier stomped out it until it quit moving.  He grabbed it up off the floor and shoved it back into his mouth.

"Ugh…  I thought it was that fucking centipede jumping out of there for a second."

Doc's patience started to wear thin as the ghost of his former partner continued to screw around.

"Pardon me, sir," Doc finally interrupts, "but what brings you here?"

"I can't drop in and say 'Hello' to an old pal?  Come on, Doctor!  Haven't ya missed me?  We used to have some wild adventures together and not to mention to fucking up we did together."

"I remember, indeed.  I remember it well!  I also recall a lack of, well…  YOU later on.  Do you recall any of that?"

The ghost ignored Doc's latest question and began exploring around the room.

"Look at this place.  No trophies.  No crowns.  No titles.  Where are they all at, Doc?"

"My previous accolades aren't on display.  I'm renowned enough in this place, I don't have to parade around every little victory I've attained here."

"Mhm…"  The ghost mumbled out to itself.  "I don't know…  I think that's kind of the problem here."

"Problem?  There is no problem."

"Oh no.  No, there's definitely a problem, Doctor."

If Doc's patience was considered on the thin side before, it was completely transparent now.  The ghost continued to just wander about and avoid whatever point it was trying to make.

"Enlighten me again, sir, on what you're doing here, please."

The ghost dragged himself, his chains, and the broken titles across the room back over to Doc.

"To put it bluntly, it's time to get your head out of your ass!"

"Pardon me?"

"Yeah!  It's time for you to wake up and get your shit together!"

Doc folded his hands on his lap, which was everything in his power to not reach out and slap the ghost.

"What are you saying?!  The point!  What is the point!"

"Listen, look at me."

Doc looked Unknown Soldier's ghostly, ghastly, scraggly, wasted away nake body in front of him.

"I'd really rather not."

"Just look!"  Soldier shouted out as he did a full rotation.  "Your fate will be the same as mine if you don't get it together, Doc."

Doc painfully continued to look on as Soldier finished and stopped in front of him.

"To forever walk aimlessly… and bare-assed…  through the XWF dragging my accomplishments behind me?"

"Pretty much.  Look around, Doctor!  Have you listened?  There are no talks of the legends of the past.  There are no talks of Doctor Satan! ruling the Tag Team Division with an iron dick!"

"What?"

"I'm a former Universal Champion, Xtreme Champion, Tag Team Champion, you name it!  Between the two of us, together or separate, we reigned hell down wherever we went.  But now?  What am I?"

"A naked specter standing in my bedroom."

"Exactly!"

"I'm quite sure I'm still understood to be a Living Legend in the place.  Your name isn't brought up at every morning breakfast, but I wouldn't quite say you're forgotten.  Old news, maybe."

"And YOU will fall under that same fate!  You have to change your ways, Doctor…  You MUST!  The fate of the XWF relies on it!"

"Nonsense!  Humbug!  All of it!  And I'm tired of hearing it!  Begone spirit!  I choose to partake in this seance any longer!"

"Tonight…  You will be haunted by three bastards, Doctor…."

"What?  No ghosts?"

"Three bastards!  And they will show you why it is so important to get your ass out of your ass and start doing some shit around here!  They will show you your fate and the fate of the XWF!  Three bastards……  The first will come at the stroke of midnight!"

"I'm really exhausted from all the guests I've had today already…  And I'm really not in the mood to discuss any type of future regarding the XWF or anyone else in it.  So, if you don't mind—"

"It's up to you, Doctor!  My time here is up!"

The Ghost of Unknown Soldier pulls out a crackpipe and lights it up.  It begins to sparkle like a firecracker before it ignites and lets out a loud explosion!]]> <![CDATA[It's a three horse race literally for the Television Title]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45257 Fri, 09 Dec 2022 13:52:17 -0800 Mastermind]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45257 Three

Triple Threat

Triathlon

Triplets

Triple Header

Trifecta




What do those words all have in common.    3.  All of those words add up to 3.  Whether it's the number 3, a 3 person wrestling match which is associated with a triple Threat.  3 individual techniques in one big match, like swimming, cycling, and running, 3 children born on the same day, three matches in one place or on the same day and the first three horses to cross the finish line in a horse race.

Lets look at the horse race shall we.


TRENTHAM RACECOURSE
UPPER HUTT
WELLINGTON
NEW ZEALAND

It's been a few days since I lost at the XWF's last Pay Per View of the year, Bad Medicine, and against none other than one of my many nemeses, Bobby Bourbon.

I decided to take my wife Maria, on a day out.  We haven't had a day out by ourselves in a long time.  I'd been away competing for the XWF in the US, or Maria had been looking after our children.    I swear one day soon, not very far in the distance, I'm going to retire, and let her do her own thing if she wants, like go back to work.

Don't get me wrong, she helps run her father's business but that's from home, while once again looking after the four kids.

Anyway I'm going off on a tangent.  Like I said I decided to take Maria out on a date.  And for the very first time in a long time we went to the races.

For the good of this story and for the good of my upcoming match on the last Saturday Night Savage of the year, this corresponds to what I'm trying to talk about.

Maria and I were in the grandstand reading the race book on the upcoming races.

"Who do you like the look of dear?"

MARIA:  "I always go by the names,"

"Of course you do,"

MARIA:  "'Star Cross Lovers', I like the sound of.    'Peekaboo', I do too.  Oh and there's 'Look at Me,' and oh there's 'Bright Eyes', and oh this sounds ominious 'Television Time'"

I sighed:  "Okay let's narrow it down to THREE horses and do a TRIFECTA, better yet a BOXED TRIFECTA,"

MARIA: "That sounds marvellous.  You get a Winner all in one, plus the second horse across the line which usually we could do a Quinella, but doing a Boxed Trifecta would make it all worth while."

"Okay then, pick 3 horses,"

MARIA: "Well we have to go with 'Television Time' because of your upcoming title match on Savage,"

"Good reasoning,"

MARIA:  'Peekaboo', and 'Star Cross Lovers'","


Maria giggled.

"Sounds like a plan, 'Television time', 'Peekaboo,' and 'Star Cross Lovers', I'll go place the bet."

I left Maria in the seats and went to the ticket booth.

MAN: "What would you like?"

"A boxed trifecta on 'Television time', 'Peekaboo', and 'Star Cross Lovers', please,"

MAN: "Interesting choice, A boxed trifecta coming up, good luck,"

"Thank you,"

The man gave me the racing slip, and I went back to where Maria was sitting.

MARIA: "So we need for all of those three horses to finish the race, 1, 2, 3, in any order to win, is that right?"

"Correct,"

MARIA: "Let's do this,"


RACE ANNOUNCER: "And we're set for the next race.    1 lap of the race course.    We have 'Bright Eyes' in one, 'Tickle me pink' in two.  'Look at me' in three.  'Star Cross Lovers' in four.    'Peekaboo' in five.    'Television Time' in six.  'Randy Andy' in seven.  And 'This Way' in eight.

"And there's the start, and away we go down the straight for the first time.    'This Way' has a slight lead, followed by 'Randy Andy', followed by 'Peekaboo', followed by 'Television Time', followed by 'Bright Eyes', followed by Tickle me pink', followed by 'Star Cross Lovers'  followed by 'Look at me' who is last.

"As we turn the corner heading for the back straight 'This way' still leading, followed by 'Randy Andy', 'Peekaboo, 'Television Time' 'Bright Eyes', 'Tickle me pink' , 'Star Cross Lovers' and 'Look at me' is still last.

"As we head down the back straight 'This way' is still out in front, but 'Television Time', 'Peekaboo', and 'Star Cross Lovers' are all making their move, with 'Look at Me'.  'Randy Andy', 'Tickle me pink', and 'Bright Eyes are all fading.

"We turn the corner to head for home 'This way' is still leading which is incredible, followed by 'Look at me', 'Television Time', Peekaboo', and 'Star Cross Lovers'.  'Randy Andy,' 'Tickle me pink,' and 'Bright Eyes' are gone.

"Here we go heading for home it's now 'Television Time' taking over from 'This way' who looks gassed, followed by 'Peekaboo' and 'Star Cross Lovers'.    We can forget about 'Look at me', 'Randy Andy', 'Tickle me pink' and 'Bright Eyes'.

"And across the line they go 'Television Time' wins it, followed by 'Star Cross Lovers' and 'Peekaboo,' What an amazing race from 'This way', and 'Look at me', 'Randy Andy', 'Bright Eyes' and 'Tickle Me Pink' were just in it to make up the numbers.  And there we have it ladies and gentlemen,"


MARIA: "Wahoo we won, we picked a boxed trifecta,"

"That's about $1000, well done my love,"

MARIA: "Shall we go and have something to eat?"

"Why not,"

MARIA: "Build you up for your big fight, to try and get that Television Title back,"

"Let's do it,"


ON BOARD MASTERMIND'S PRIVATE JET
ENROUTE FROM THURSDAY NIGHT ANARCHY TO JEFFERSON, NEW HAMPSHIRE

The camera fades in to Mastermind's private jet, and it's just after his match on Thursday Night Anarchy (result at this time still pending), and Mastermind is heading to Jefferson, New Hampshire to spend the next few days there rather than go back to New Zealand because he knows he will be heading back to spending XMAS with his family. Will it be as the new Television Champion or will it be all for nought. Only time will tell.

Mastermind is aware that the camera is on him. He is looking out of the window.

"I will keep this short, because I'm tired from my match on Anarchy. If you think I am not prepared for this upcoming triple threat match then think again. It has not been lost on me that once again I am fighting for another title. I was the face of Anarchy a few months ago, but now I'm not. These things happen. I know I'll get back to that title one day, but for the present I am focused on one of my favourite titles in the XWF, the Television Title,"

Mastermind turns to the camera, and smirks his infamous smirk.

"Isaiah King, congratulations on winning this precious title. But here's the thing. The reason why I think this is my favorite title of all in the XWF, is that I held on to it for 129 days. At the time I was just the fourth person to break the 100 day mark in the history of the XWF and the Television title, and at the time I was 3rd on the list. Now I'm 4th. Not many people hold that title for 100 days, but I did.

"And it seems that the powers that be, do not care about the history, otherwise combining it with the Supercontinental Title next year when there will be only 1 show that isn't a Pay Per View, isn't what I would combine it with. It should be a stand alone title. Because it's competed for on Television. Let them combine the Supercontinental Title with say, the X-treme Title. But no they won't. None of the powers that be ever listen to me. And I've been here for 8 years."

Mastermind grabs a bottle of water, and takes a drink before looking back out of the window.

"Anyway I digress. Getting off of the subject. Isaiah King, you may go into the next Savage as the defending Television Champion, but you won't be leaving with the title, because I plan on getting my hands on it for the second time. You are a worthy adversary, don't get me wrong. I'm looking forward to competing against you, but sadly, my little champ, you will not be walking out champ, because I will be. People like you take the Television Title for granted. I, myself, know how much the title is worth. I hold it high up in the clouds. You may think you have what it takes to get past me, but you won't. I guarantee it."

Mastermind looks back at the camera.

"And as for you Geri Vayden, let me tell you this. The powers that be, wanted to spice this little match up, so they added a third person who could make a difference. But that's the vital word right there isn't it Geri? 'Could', Could means you might make a difference, but I doubt it. You may prove to be a nuisance, and you made prove to be a pesky troublemaker, but it won't be you walking out a winner, you will be joining Isaiah in commiserations. Because I'm planning on taking this title whether both of you like it or not. Be that pest Geri, like we all know that you are. A pest to be put in our way, because that's all you are good for. Being a pest. We know it, Isaiah and I do. The powers that be know it. But you don't seem to get it. The sooner that you get it, the better you will be for it.

"I am the next Television Champion heading into the unification match in January, and I will make damn sure of it. You two are just standing in my way. I've proved time and time again that I can and I will make sure of it again,"

Mastermind looks back out of the window and the camera fades out.
]]> Three

Triple Threat

Triathlon

Triplets

Triple Header

Trifecta




What do those words all have in common.    3.  All of those words add up to 3.  Whether it's the number 3, a 3 person wrestling match which is associated with a triple Threat.  3 individual techniques in one big match, like swimming, cycling, and running, 3 children born on the same day, three matches in one place or on the same day and the first three horses to cross the finish line in a horse race.

Lets look at the horse race shall we.


TRENTHAM RACECOURSE
UPPER HUTT
WELLINGTON
NEW ZEALAND

It's been a few days since I lost at the XWF's last Pay Per View of the year, Bad Medicine, and against none other than one of my many nemeses, Bobby Bourbon.

I decided to take my wife Maria, on a day out.  We haven't had a day out by ourselves in a long time.  I'd been away competing for the XWF in the US, or Maria had been looking after our children.    I swear one day soon, not very far in the distance, I'm going to retire, and let her do her own thing if she wants, like go back to work.

Don't get me wrong, she helps run her father's business but that's from home, while once again looking after the four kids.

Anyway I'm going off on a tangent.  Like I said I decided to take Maria out on a date.  And for the very first time in a long time we went to the races.

For the good of this story and for the good of my upcoming match on the last Saturday Night Savage of the year, this corresponds to what I'm trying to talk about.

Maria and I were in the grandstand reading the race book on the upcoming races.

"Who do you like the look of dear?"

MARIA:  "I always go by the names,"

"Of course you do,"

MARIA:  "'Star Cross Lovers', I like the sound of.    'Peekaboo', I do too.  Oh and there's 'Look at Me,' and oh there's 'Bright Eyes', and oh this sounds ominious 'Television Time'"

I sighed:  "Okay let's narrow it down to THREE horses and do a TRIFECTA, better yet a BOXED TRIFECTA,"

MARIA: "That sounds marvellous.  You get a Winner all in one, plus the second horse across the line which usually we could do a Quinella, but doing a Boxed Trifecta would make it all worth while."

"Okay then, pick 3 horses,"

MARIA: "Well we have to go with 'Television Time' because of your upcoming title match on Savage,"

"Good reasoning,"

MARIA:  'Peekaboo', and 'Star Cross Lovers'","


Maria giggled.

"Sounds like a plan, 'Television time', 'Peekaboo,' and 'Star Cross Lovers', I'll go place the bet."

I left Maria in the seats and went to the ticket booth.

MAN: "What would you like?"

"A boxed trifecta on 'Television time', 'Peekaboo', and 'Star Cross Lovers', please,"

MAN: "Interesting choice, A boxed trifecta coming up, good luck,"

"Thank you,"

The man gave me the racing slip, and I went back to where Maria was sitting.

MARIA: "So we need for all of those three horses to finish the race, 1, 2, 3, in any order to win, is that right?"

"Correct,"

MARIA: "Let's do this,"


RACE ANNOUNCER: "And we're set for the next race.    1 lap of the race course.    We have 'Bright Eyes' in one, 'Tickle me pink' in two.  'Look at me' in three.  'Star Cross Lovers' in four.    'Peekaboo' in five.    'Television Time' in six.  'Randy Andy' in seven.  And 'This Way' in eight.

"And there's the start, and away we go down the straight for the first time.    'This Way' has a slight lead, followed by 'Randy Andy', followed by 'Peekaboo', followed by 'Television Time', followed by 'Bright Eyes', followed by Tickle me pink', followed by 'Star Cross Lovers'  followed by 'Look at me' who is last.

"As we turn the corner heading for the back straight 'This way' still leading, followed by 'Randy Andy', 'Peekaboo, 'Television Time' 'Bright Eyes', 'Tickle me pink' , 'Star Cross Lovers' and 'Look at me' is still last.

"As we head down the back straight 'This way' is still out in front, but 'Television Time', 'Peekaboo', and 'Star Cross Lovers' are all making their move, with 'Look at Me'.  'Randy Andy', 'Tickle me pink', and 'Bright Eyes are all fading.

"We turn the corner to head for home 'This way' is still leading which is incredible, followed by 'Look at me', 'Television Time', Peekaboo', and 'Star Cross Lovers'.  'Randy Andy,' 'Tickle me pink,' and 'Bright Eyes' are gone.

"Here we go heading for home it's now 'Television Time' taking over from 'This way' who looks gassed, followed by 'Peekaboo' and 'Star Cross Lovers'.    We can forget about 'Look at me', 'Randy Andy', 'Tickle me pink' and 'Bright Eyes'.

"And across the line they go 'Television Time' wins it, followed by 'Star Cross Lovers' and 'Peekaboo,' What an amazing race from 'This way', and 'Look at me', 'Randy Andy', 'Bright Eyes' and 'Tickle Me Pink' were just in it to make up the numbers.  And there we have it ladies and gentlemen,"


MARIA: "Wahoo we won, we picked a boxed trifecta,"

"That's about $1000, well done my love,"

MARIA: "Shall we go and have something to eat?"

"Why not,"

MARIA: "Build you up for your big fight, to try and get that Television Title back,"

"Let's do it,"


ON BOARD MASTERMIND'S PRIVATE JET
ENROUTE FROM THURSDAY NIGHT ANARCHY TO JEFFERSON, NEW HAMPSHIRE

The camera fades in to Mastermind's private jet, and it's just after his match on Thursday Night Anarchy (result at this time still pending), and Mastermind is heading to Jefferson, New Hampshire to spend the next few days there rather than go back to New Zealand because he knows he will be heading back to spending XMAS with his family. Will it be as the new Television Champion or will it be all for nought. Only time will tell.

Mastermind is aware that the camera is on him. He is looking out of the window.

"I will keep this short, because I'm tired from my match on Anarchy. If you think I am not prepared for this upcoming triple threat match then think again. It has not been lost on me that once again I am fighting for another title. I was the face of Anarchy a few months ago, but now I'm not. These things happen. I know I'll get back to that title one day, but for the present I am focused on one of my favourite titles in the XWF, the Television Title,"

Mastermind turns to the camera, and smirks his infamous smirk.

"Isaiah King, congratulations on winning this precious title. But here's the thing. The reason why I think this is my favorite title of all in the XWF, is that I held on to it for 129 days. At the time I was just the fourth person to break the 100 day mark in the history of the XWF and the Television title, and at the time I was 3rd on the list. Now I'm 4th. Not many people hold that title for 100 days, but I did.

"And it seems that the powers that be, do not care about the history, otherwise combining it with the Supercontinental Title next year when there will be only 1 show that isn't a Pay Per View, isn't what I would combine it with. It should be a stand alone title. Because it's competed for on Television. Let them combine the Supercontinental Title with say, the X-treme Title. But no they won't. None of the powers that be ever listen to me. And I've been here for 8 years."

Mastermind grabs a bottle of water, and takes a drink before looking back out of the window.

"Anyway I digress. Getting off of the subject. Isaiah King, you may go into the next Savage as the defending Television Champion, but you won't be leaving with the title, because I plan on getting my hands on it for the second time. You are a worthy adversary, don't get me wrong. I'm looking forward to competing against you, but sadly, my little champ, you will not be walking out champ, because I will be. People like you take the Television Title for granted. I, myself, know how much the title is worth. I hold it high up in the clouds. You may think you have what it takes to get past me, but you won't. I guarantee it."

Mastermind looks back at the camera.

"And as for you Geri Vayden, let me tell you this. The powers that be, wanted to spice this little match up, so they added a third person who could make a difference. But that's the vital word right there isn't it Geri? 'Could', Could means you might make a difference, but I doubt it. You may prove to be a nuisance, and you made prove to be a pesky troublemaker, but it won't be you walking out a winner, you will be joining Isaiah in commiserations. Because I'm planning on taking this title whether both of you like it or not. Be that pest Geri, like we all know that you are. A pest to be put in our way, because that's all you are good for. Being a pest. We know it, Isaiah and I do. The powers that be know it. But you don't seem to get it. The sooner that you get it, the better you will be for it.

"I am the next Television Champion heading into the unification match in January, and I will make damn sure of it. You two are just standing in my way. I've proved time and time again that I can and I will make sure of it again,"

Mastermind looks back out of the window and the camera fades out.
]]> <![CDATA[You’re Not On The List]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45255 Thu, 08 Dec 2022 21:04:05 -0800 Buster Gloves]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45255 [Image: 70609-party-gold-christmas-merry-transpa...age-hq.png]


It’s the night before Solstice, when all through the place.
Not a creature is stirring, not even a snake.
The bookings are done by the dude with long hair,
In hopes that pay-per-view buys will be there.
A pretty blonde friend nestled safe in my bed,
While visions of glory dance in my head.
With Page in the future, and Vaughn in the past,
Let me tell you a story and then talk some trash.


❄️❄️❄️


Christopher Stevie Page.

Your middle name IS ‘Stevie’ isn’t it?

Forget it… doesn’t matter.

On the eve of the Solstice, the longest night of the year, we get to jingle the bells.

For you, it’s just another Saturday, but for me, it’s supposed to be the most wonderful night of the year.

While you’re making plans for 420-friendly Christmas parties, I’m supposed to get sweaty in a wrestling dungeon, studying tapes, developing strategies, with the top minds in our industry.

For you, it’s just another match, against just another guy, for just another paycheck.

For me, it’s like passing the bar while trying to keep a penny stuck between my butt cheeks.

No pressure, right?

You should be far away from this match, failing a drug test somewhere.

Instead, you’ll be in bumfuck New Hampshire, throwing reindeer scat at one of your WGWF employees.

You have clients to manage, but you’re going out of your way to embarrass me in some kind of petting zoo. And for what reason exactly?!

Are you here to perform a Christmas miracle?

…No. I think not. I’m not that lucky.

In fact, I don’t even WANT this match with you.

Not because you’re better than me, which you probably are…

Or because this is the worst Christmas Party I’ve ever been invited to, which it certainly is…

I don’t want a match with you because my naughty list has eight crazy names on it and yours ain’t one of ‘em.

Sorry to disappoint Mr. Page, but not EVERY thing can be about you.

The truth is that you’re getting close to your expiration date. And at this point you’re a lot like that piece of bread at the end of the loaf. The heel is what they call it. It’s the part that everybody touches, nobody really wants, and just stays in the bag, getting stale.

This is all just business. I’m sure that a man of your stature can understand that. James Raven gave me an assignment and anything outside of that is a distraction. YOU… are a distraction. And he’s testing me to see if I can stay the course despite obvious setbacks.

But the XWF doesn’t know that. And they don’t care. Why should they? They just want the monkeys to dance.

I know many people would die for a match with a legend like you Chris.

But they don’t get one.

I do.

It’s my shot…

And I don’t want it.


❄️❄️❄️


Reduced to working out in a hotel gym, that’s how things are going this week. So, here’s Buster Gloves, running on a treadmill, catching up on emails and twitter shitposts. “Look at this.” He commands, short of breath, his companion Emily Simms.

“What is it?” answers the much smaller, much blonder, beauty as she jogs on the treadmill beside him.

Buster drops down the speed on his machine. “I got booked by the XWF and it’s weird.”

“Let me see.” She says as she reaches out with her left hand. She stumbles for a moment and turns down the speed on her machine to match his. Her face lights up when she realizes what it says. “Oh cool, it’s a Christmas theme!”

“It’s not cool! It’s a joke.”

“No, it’s not. I think it’s cute. Let’s see… you’re book against… Chris Page?! You have a match with Chris frickin’ Page?! How awesome is that?”

Buster completely stops his treadmill and steps down to drink from his shaker bottle. “I don’t want the match.”

“What?! Why not?”

Buster looks her in the eyes and takes the phone back. “He’s not on my list.”

Emily squints while Buster paces the room. “He’s not? I thought all those CCPE guys were on there?”

“There’s like forty guys in his club. He’s not on the list.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” She says as she stops her machine to help him work through things. “Why would James Raven give you a list of CCPE guys to beat and NOT include Chris Page?”

Shrugs. “Because he’s James Raven. He does whatever he wants, just to amuse himself.”

“Ok, so do the match anyway.”

A mean-spirited scowl emerges on his face as he snaps at her without any real justification. “I don’t want to! I want to beat the eight guys on my list!”

“Ugh. The list, the list, the list!” She escalates and stomps around a universal machine, drawing attention to their quarrel. ”That’s all you ever talk about anymore. You won’t even tell me who’s on it?”

For a moment, Buster is about to say the names, but stops himself and swallows the words back down. “Not yet. I don’t want to tell you yet.”

She breaks eye contact and turns her back to him. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust ANYBODY.” He admits.

A deep sigh and arms folded across the Pepsi hoodie. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“What I should do is call up Vinnie Lane and give him a piece of my mind.”

“No! Don’t do that.” She reaches out to grab his wrist but instinctively, he pulls away.

“Why not?!”

“Because… you do things you regret when you’re in your feelings. You haven’t been thinking straight since you dropped those two matches to Peter Vaughn. You’re not being yourself right now. Just train harder. Trust in the process… And drink Pepsi!” says the Pepsi spokes girl.

Buster decides to cross the line and ruin the rest of the day. “Fuck Pepsi and fuck Vinnie’s feelings. It’s better that I just say how I feel. Ugly truth over pretty lies.”


❄️❄️❄️


The stories my mother told me about my birth are blurry at best. It’s hard to believe anything she used to tell me because she was such a pathological liar, but there are a couple things that I like to believe are true. She tells me that I was born in the car on the way to the hospital. Not an ambulance. It was some kind of station wagon, with wood paneling and an upholstered roof. I believe that part of the story, because I’ve seen that old car and it looks like it has blood stains in it. She also says that I was born with teeth. She used to tell me that it meant I would be a great warrior one day. She always had plenty of trailer park wisdom for me. Most of the time, she was full of shit and narcotics, but she was right about the teeth thing. I AM a warrior.

I used to pray a lot when I was a kid. I prayed for the Gods to help because I couldn’t help myself. But then I learned how to fight. And now I just pray for the strength to endure the life I have.

Believe it or not, I was a champion when I met Chronic Chris Page. Booked against the Yeetapotamus, Donny Mason in a Wisdom Championship match at Level Up Wrestling. The blue and gold around my waste felt pretty damn good, and there were some people telling me that I was bound for bigger things. They were all wrong of course, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the moment.

Our match, at the Pay-Per-View was a lumberjack match. Four men there to back me up and four men to back him up. The idea, which was mine, was great, and I was proud of the work we did, but the legacy of that match is much darker.

You see, Level Up Wrestling was a bad wrestling federation. So, they closed. I was a dumb champion, so I lost my belt. The friends I thought I made were bad friends, so I lost them too. And standing across the ring from me, in a stupid lumberjacket, was Chronic Chris Page, backing up Donny Mason and declaring me an enemy for life. The only good thing that came out of it is that Emily and I went public as a couple during that match. Everything else was cursed. Maybe Emily is cursed too.

Chris Page talks about how he changed the landscape. He speaks as if he created the world itself. Page giveth and Page taketh away. All that jazz. But if we get down to the ‘nitty gritty’, the world he’s created is ugly and flawed. The rules that bind us and build us are merely suggestions at this point. With people like Chris at the forefront of the business, the message to the next generations of professional wrestlers and sports entertainers is simple. Screw the rules, do whatever it takes to win.

If you want to make friends, join a softball team. If you want to be a good father, go home and play with your kids. But if you want to be a wrestling legend... CHEAT. Burn bridges, break promises if you must, but never look back.

Peter Vaughn taught me that. Like a Sith Lord, tempting me to embrace the dark side of the force. He taught me to do what is right for you and the rest will take care of itself.

It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a wrestler to retain their integrity. Is it worth it? Bet your ass it is. Don’t get mad because someone else breaks the rules.

Get mad because you didn’t do it first.


❄️❄️❄️


Buster: “What the hell is a red-nosed reindeer match?”

Vinnie: “It’s a match in a reindeer corral.”

Buster: “It’s not exactly how I envisioned a match with Chris Page.”

Vinnie: “You have a problem with reindeer or something?”

Buster: “Not really. I just don’t understand what the hell we’re supposed to do with them in that match.”

Vinnie: “Well… figure it out, I guess. If you don’t want the match, we can find someone else to do it, but I personally pushed to give the opportunity to you.”

Buster: “Mr. Lane. Thank you. I appreciate that. I just don’t understand how this is a good thing for us. There’s nobody there to see the match, except the reindeer, and Jesus. Neither of them are very big wrestling fans.”

Vinnie: “Well, it’s too late to change it. We’ve already rented the reindeer and promoted the match. The horse is way out of the barn on this one.”

Buster: “What happened to a match being in Gingerbread House like we originally spoke about?

Vinnie: “It boiled down to a permitting issue. The park wasn’t crazy about a ‘bake shop’ match. Something about drug use making the park look bad. Surely you understand?”

Buster: “So, violence around animals is ok, but smoking a ‘J’ and eating cookies is a massive problem? How does that make any sense? PETA is gonna be up your ass in a second.”

Vinnie: “Relax, it’s not a big deal. Just roll with it. Be cool.”

Buster: “I don’t want to be cool. You put me in a barn with a 20-time world champion and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Lawsuit. If by some miracle, I find a way to win, nobody will ever remember the match. If I lose, which most people expect me to do, I’ll be the ghost of Christmas.”

Vinnie: “Let me put on my GM hat for a minute. I hear you expressing your truth and I accept your feelings. This match is not ideal, but it’s Christmas time and we need you to be a team player. So, get your finger out of your ass, and cowboy up.”

Buster: “…Fine.”


❄️❄️❄️


A day before the event, Buster scouts the Christmas-themed amusement park in Jefferson, New Hampshire, called Santa’s Village.

We open to a shot of Buster Gloves, in front of a backdrop featuring a fireplace lined with garland and stockings. On his chest, an ugly Christmas sweater, with a big white bull. On his head, a Santa hat.

[Image: Buster-Santa-graphic.png]

Buster begins cutting a promo in a somber voice as if he were trying to tell a story with a sleeping baby in the next room.

“I don't want a lot for Christmas… There’s just one thing I need… I don't care about the presents… underneath the Christmas tree… Too many chances that I’ve blown… Wrestling’s the only thing I’ve known… Please make my wish come true… All I want for Christmas… is you…”



Buster takes the mic.

Yo N.I.C… Let’s kick it.

Buster begins bouncing to the beat, shouting out to his peeps, warming things up for the incoming bars.

Yeah. This rap is dedicated to the cockwombles that told me I’d never amount to nothin’. To all the people like Chris Page, that I was opening up shows for, in the beginning and used to shit on me because I was just trying hard to get noticed. And all the wrestlers in the struggle. I see you.

 drops a Christmas rap nowhere near as good as ‘Christmas in Hollis.’>

Big bull balls, they drag me down
Level Up Wrestling, is underground.
Vegas sucks, I hate this town.
Do the right thing, burn it down.
Call me Buster, call me dead.
Dorito crumbs, all in my bed.
I shaved my balls, I shaved my head.
Goose shit green, bank statement red.

This was my dream, this and ice cream
Always wanted just, to be on TV
P-90-X, and break some necks
Then I learned how, to count to three
Strippers smokin’ weed, in my hall
But they work here, does and bucks,
I can’t beat Vaughn, tried way too long
Even punched him, in the nuts.

Wake up Sunday, everybody punch me.
I’m still hungry, time to work
I’m not funny, make less money
Then single mothers paid to twerk
Red-alert, your mom’s a jerk
check out my website, we got merch.
It’ll blow your mind, and bottom line
You’ll get laid, before the second verse.

C-C-P-E, let’s get high
Let’s get Pepsi, let’s get fries.
Have a two-piece, leg and a thigh
Not too spicy, don’t wanna die
I got Wi-Fi, internet
Heavyweight, X-dub-F
I eat L’s, I got bad breath
I break hearts, cardiac arrest.

[chorus]

Is it chickens, or is it ducks
When I get booked, I fuck shit up
When I want does, I get bucks
I don’t like snakes and Chris Page sucks.

Is it chickens, or is it ducks
When I get booked, I fuck shit up
When I want does, I get bucks
I don’t like snakes and Chris Page sucks.

[end chorus]

You ain’t gonna pin me, you ain’t gonna sub me
you ain't gonna kiss me, you ain't gonna hug me
snug as a bug, in a rug on drugs
just do something, please just love me
I don't wanna go, to my match Sunday
Or the day after, please don’t judge me
You can cheat me, you can hurt me
You can push me, please just rub me.

It’s Christmas time, I feel all right
Scored some Oreo’s, do a line
Finn’s got my back, Finn’s got my side
We wanna get our ass kicked on prime time
I'm like hello…I'm like hi
do you wanna hive five, do you wanna die
do you wanna throw up, do you wanna cry
do you want to try me, do you want pie?

I got a mission, Names on a list
And I don’t dance, and I don’t fish
Donny, X, Peter, Chris
Merry Christmas, go eat shit
I lost to X, made me bitter
Lost to Peter, even quicker
He beat me twice, and I want liquor
I got my junk stuck in my zipper.

I play the horns, the horns of death
I just want gold, and I’m obsessed
I’ll crush your soul, I’ll take your breath
You wanna go, just be my guest
I’m not alone, the voice in my head
Tells me I’m handsome and great in bed
Who need money, who needs friends
I count lights on E-S-P-N

[chorus]

Is it chickens, or is it ducks
When I get booked, I fuck shit up
When I want does, I get bucks
I don’t like snakes and Chris Page sucks.

Is it chickens, or is it ducks
When I get booked, I fuck shit up
When I want does, I get bucks
I don’t like snakes and Chris Page sucks.

[end chorus]

[Outro Music]

And if you don’t know... now you know…
Represent, Santa Claus… ninja.
Merry Christmas to all… and to all a good night…

[Image: ?u=https%3A%2F%2Fimage.spreadshirtmedia....ipo=images]
]]> [Image: 70609-party-gold-christmas-merry-transpa...age-hq.png]


It’s the night before Solstice, when all through the place.
Not a creature is stirring, not even a snake.
The bookings are done by the dude with long hair,
In hopes that pay-per-view buys will be there.
A pretty blonde friend nestled safe in my bed,
While visions of glory dance in my head.
With Page in the future, and Vaughn in the past,
Let me tell you a story and then talk some trash.


❄️❄️❄️


Christopher Stevie Page.

Your middle name IS ‘Stevie’ isn’t it?

Forget it… doesn’t matter.

On the eve of the Solstice, the longest night of the year, we get to jingle the bells.

For you, it’s just another Saturday, but for me, it’s supposed to be the most wonderful night of the year.

While you’re making plans for 420-friendly Christmas parties, I’m supposed to get sweaty in a wrestling dungeon, studying tapes, developing strategies, with the top minds in our industry.

For you, it’s just another match, against just another guy, for just another paycheck.

For me, it’s like passing the bar while trying to keep a penny stuck between my butt cheeks.

No pressure, right?

You should be far away from this match, failing a drug test somewhere.

Instead, you’ll be in bumfuck New Hampshire, throwing reindeer scat at one of your WGWF employees.

You have clients to manage, but you’re going out of your way to embarrass me in some kind of petting zoo. And for what reason exactly?!

Are you here to perform a Christmas miracle?

…No. I think not. I’m not that lucky.

In fact, I don’t even WANT this match with you.

Not because you’re better than me, which you probably are…

Or because this is the worst Christmas Party I’ve ever been invited to, which it certainly is…

I don’t want a match with you because my naughty list has eight crazy names on it and yours ain’t one of ‘em.

Sorry to disappoint Mr. Page, but not EVERY thing can be about you.

The truth is that you’re getting close to your expiration date. And at this point you’re a lot like that piece of bread at the end of the loaf. The heel is what they call it. It’s the part that everybody touches, nobody really wants, and just stays in the bag, getting stale.

This is all just business. I’m sure that a man of your stature can understand that. James Raven gave me an assignment and anything outside of that is a distraction. YOU… are a distraction. And he’s testing me to see if I can stay the course despite obvious setbacks.

But the XWF doesn’t know that. And they don’t care. Why should they? They just want the monkeys to dance.

I know many people would die for a match with a legend like you Chris.

But they don’t get one.

I do.

It’s my shot…

And I don’t want it.


❄️❄️❄️


Reduced to working out in a hotel gym, that’s how things are going this week. So, here’s Buster Gloves, running on a treadmill, catching up on emails and twitter shitposts. “Look at this.” He commands, short of breath, his companion Emily Simms.

“What is it?” answers the much smaller, much blonder, beauty as she jogs on the treadmill beside him.

Buster drops down the speed on his machine. “I got booked by the XWF and it’s weird.”

“Let me see.” She says as she reaches out with her left hand. She stumbles for a moment and turns down the speed on her machine to match his. Her face lights up when she realizes what it says. “Oh cool, it’s a Christmas theme!”

“It’s not cool! It’s a joke.”

“No, it’s not. I think it’s cute. Let’s see… you’re book against… Chris Page?! You have a match with Chris frickin’ Page?! How awesome is that?”

Buster completely stops his treadmill and steps down to drink from his shaker bottle. “I don’t want the match.”

“What?! Why not?”

Buster looks her in the eyes and takes the phone back. “He’s not on my list.”

Emily squints while Buster paces the room. “He’s not? I thought all those CCPE guys were on there?”

“There’s like forty guys in his club. He’s not on the list.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” She says as she stops her machine to help him work through things. “Why would James Raven give you a list of CCPE guys to beat and NOT include Chris Page?”

Shrugs. “Because he’s James Raven. He does whatever he wants, just to amuse himself.”

“Ok, so do the match anyway.”

A mean-spirited scowl emerges on his face as he snaps at her without any real justification. “I don’t want to! I want to beat the eight guys on my list!”

“Ugh. The list, the list, the list!” She escalates and stomps around a universal machine, drawing attention to their quarrel. ”That’s all you ever talk about anymore. You won’t even tell me who’s on it?”

For a moment, Buster is about to say the names, but stops himself and swallows the words back down. “Not yet. I don’t want to tell you yet.”

She breaks eye contact and turns her back to him. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust ANYBODY.” He admits.

A deep sigh and arms folded across the Pepsi hoodie. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“What I should do is call up Vinnie Lane and give him a piece of my mind.”

“No! Don’t do that.” She reaches out to grab his wrist but instinctively, he pulls away.

“Why not?!”

“Because… you do things you regret when you’re in your feelings. You haven’t been thinking straight since you dropped those two matches to Peter Vaughn. You’re not being yourself right now. Just train harder. Trust in the process… And drink Pepsi!” says the Pepsi spokes girl.

Buster decides to cross the line and ruin the rest of the day. “Fuck Pepsi and fuck Vinnie’s feelings. It’s better that I just say how I feel. Ugly truth over pretty lies.”


❄️❄️❄️


The stories my mother told me about my birth are blurry at best. It’s hard to believe anything she used to tell me because she was such a pathological liar, but there are a couple things that I like to believe are true. She tells me that I was born in the car on the way to the hospital. Not an ambulance. It was some kind of station wagon, with wood paneling and an upholstered roof. I believe that part of the story, because I’ve seen that old car and it looks like it has blood stains in it. She also says that I was born with teeth. She used to tell me that it meant I would be a great warrior one day. She always had plenty of trailer park wisdom for me. Most of the time, she was full of shit and narcotics, but she was right about the teeth thing. I AM a warrior.

I used to pray a lot when I was a kid. I prayed for the Gods to help because I couldn’t help myself. But then I learned how to fight. And now I just pray for the strength to endure the life I have.

Believe it or not, I was a champion when I met Chronic Chris Page. Booked against the Yeetapotamus, Donny Mason in a Wisdom Championship match at Level Up Wrestling. The blue and gold around my waste felt pretty damn good, and there were some people telling me that I was bound for bigger things. They were all wrong of course, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the moment.

Our match, at the Pay-Per-View was a lumberjack match. Four men there to back me up and four men to back him up. The idea, which was mine, was great, and I was proud of the work we did, but the legacy of that match is much darker.

You see, Level Up Wrestling was a bad wrestling federation. So, they closed. I was a dumb champion, so I lost my belt. The friends I thought I made were bad friends, so I lost them too. And standing across the ring from me, in a stupid lumberjacket, was Chronic Chris Page, backing up Donny Mason and declaring me an enemy for life. The only good thing that came out of it is that Emily and I went public as a couple during that match. Everything else was cursed. Maybe Emily is cursed too.

Chris Page talks about how he changed the landscape. He speaks as if he created the world itself. Page giveth and Page taketh away. All that jazz. But if we get down to the ‘nitty gritty’, the world he’s created is ugly and flawed. The rules that bind us and build us are merely suggestions at this point. With people like Chris at the forefront of the business, the message to the next generations of professional wrestlers and sports entertainers is simple. Screw the rules, do whatever it takes to win.

If you want to make friends, join a softball team. If you want to be a good father, go home and play with your kids. But if you want to be a wrestling legend... CHEAT. Burn bridges, break promises if you must, but never look back.

Peter Vaughn taught me that. Like a Sith Lord, tempting me to embrace the dark side of the force. He taught me to do what is right for you and the rest will take care of itself.

It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a wrestler to retain their integrity. Is it worth it? Bet your ass it is. Don’t get mad because someone else breaks the rules.

Get mad because you didn’t do it first.


❄️❄️❄️


Buster: “What the hell is a red-nosed reindeer match?”

Vinnie: “It’s a match in a reindeer corral.”

Buster: “It’s not exactly how I envisioned a match with Chris Page.”

Vinnie: “You have a problem with reindeer or something?”

Buster: “Not really. I just don’t understand what the hell we’re supposed to do with them in that match.”

Vinnie: “Well… figure it out, I guess. If you don’t want the match, we can find someone else to do it, but I personally pushed to give the opportunity to you.”

Buster: “Mr. Lane. Thank you. I appreciate that. I just don’t understand how this is a good thing for us. There’s nobody there to see the match, except the reindeer, and Jesus. Neither of them are very big wrestling fans.”

Vinnie: “Well, it’s too late to change it. We’ve already rented the reindeer and promoted the match. The horse is way out of the barn on this one.”

Buster: “What happened to a match being in Gingerbread House like we originally spoke about?

Vinnie: “It boiled down to a permitting issue. The park wasn’t crazy about a ‘bake shop’ match. Something about drug use making the park look bad. Surely you understand?”

Buster: “So, violence around animals is ok, but smoking a ‘J’ and eating cookies is a massive problem? How does that make any sense? PETA is gonna be up your ass in a second.”

Vinnie: “Relax, it’s not a big deal. Just roll with it. Be cool.”

Buster: “I don’t want to be cool. You put me in a barn with a 20-time world champion and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Lawsuit. If by some miracle, I find a way to win, nobody will ever remember the match. If I lose, which most people expect me to do, I’ll be the ghost of Christmas.”

Vinnie: “Let me put on my GM hat for a minute. I hear you expressing your truth and I accept your feelings. This match is not ideal, but it’s Christmas time and we need you to be a team player. So, get your finger out of your ass, and cowboy up.”

Buster: “…Fine.”


❄️❄️❄️


A day before the event, Buster scouts the Christmas-themed amusement park in Jefferson, New Hampshire, called Santa’s Village.

We open to a shot of Buster Gloves, in front of a backdrop featuring a fireplace lined with garland and stockings. On his chest, an ugly Christmas sweater, with a big white bull. On his head, a Santa hat.

[Image: Buster-Santa-graphic.png]

Buster begins cutting a promo in a somber voice as if he were trying to tell a story with a sleeping baby in the next room.

“I don't want a lot for Christmas… There’s just one thing I need… I don't care about the presents… underneath the Christmas tree… Too many chances that I’ve blown… Wrestling’s the only thing I’ve known… Please make my wish come true… All I want for Christmas… is you…”

Buster takes the mic.

Yo N.I.C… Let’s kick it.

Buster begins bouncing to the beat, shouting out to his peeps, warming things up for the incoming bars.

Yeah. This rap is dedicated to the cockwombles that told me I’d never amount to nothin’. To all the people like Chris Page, that I was opening up shows for, in the beginning and used to shit on me because I was just trying hard to get noticed. And all the wrestlers in the struggle. I see you.

 drops a Christmas rap nowhere near as good as ‘Christmas in Hollis.’>

Big bull balls, they drag me down
Level Up Wrestling, is underground.
Vegas sucks, I hate this town.
Do the right thing, burn it down.
Call me Buster, call me dead.
Dorito crumbs, all in my bed.
I shaved my balls, I shaved my head.
Goose shit green, bank statement red.

This was my dream, this and ice cream
Always wanted just, to be on TV
P-90-X, and break some necks
Then I learned how, to count to three
Strippers smokin’ weed, in my hall
But they work here, does and bucks,
I can’t beat Vaughn, tried way too long
Even punched him, in the nuts.

Wake up Sunday, everybody punch me.
I’m still hungry, time to work
I’m not funny, make less money
Then single mothers paid to twerk
Red-alert, your mom’s a jerk
check out my website, we got merch.
It’ll blow your mind, and bottom line
You’ll get laid, before the second verse.

C-C-P-E, let’s get high
Let’s get Pepsi, let’s get fries.
Have a two-piece, leg and a thigh
Not too spicy, don’t wanna die
I got Wi-Fi, internet
Heavyweight, X-dub-F
I eat L’s, I got bad breath
I break hearts, cardiac arrest.

[chorus]

Is it chickens, or is it ducks
When I get booked, I fuck shit up
When I want does, I get bucks
I don’t like snakes and Chris Page sucks.

Is it chickens, or is it ducks
When I get booked, I fuck shit up
When I want does, I get bucks
I don’t like snakes and Chris Page sucks.

[end chorus]

You ain’t gonna pin me, you ain’t gonna sub me
you ain't gonna kiss me, you ain't gonna hug me
snug as a bug, in a rug on drugs
just do something, please just love me
I don't wanna go, to my match Sunday
Or the day after, please don’t judge me
You can cheat me, you can hurt me
You can push me, please just rub me.

It’s Christmas time, I feel all right
Scored some Oreo’s, do a line
Finn’s got my back, Finn’s got my side
We wanna get our ass kicked on prime time
I'm like hello…I'm like hi
do you wanna hive five, do you wanna die
do you wanna throw up, do you wanna cry
do you want to try me, do you want pie?

I got a mission, Names on a list
And I don’t dance, and I don’t fish
Donny, X, Peter, Chris
Merry Christmas, go eat shit
I lost to X, made me bitter
Lost to Peter, even quicker
He beat me twice, and I want liquor
I got my junk stuck in my zipper.

I play the horns, the horns of death
I just want gold, and I’m obsessed
I’ll crush your soul, I’ll take your breath
You wanna go, just be my guest
I’m not alone, the voice in my head
Tells me I’m handsome and great in bed
Who need money, who needs friends
I count lights on E-S-P-N

[chorus]

Is it chickens, or is it ducks
When I get booked, I fuck shit up
When I want does, I get bucks
I don’t like snakes and Chris Page sucks.

Is it chickens, or is it ducks
When I get booked, I fuck shit up
When I want does, I get bucks
I don’t like snakes and Chris Page sucks.

[end chorus]

[Outro Music]

And if you don’t know... now you know…
Represent, Santa Claus… ninja.
Merry Christmas to all… and to all a good night…

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