<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Leap Of Faith 2022 RP Board]]>

<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Leap Of Faith 2022 RP Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Sat, 09 May 2026 17:02:43 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[MY! worst nightmare!]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43681 Sat, 28 May 2022 23:59:25 -0700 Unknown Soldier]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43681

“All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”
--Edgar Allan Poe

Entrenched in everyone’s memory is a nightmare in which the most dreaded moment of fear has encapsulated and overtaken our emotions. A place we would like to forget, but it has gained complete control of us as we drift farther and farther off into sleep and at that moment it owns us. What may seemingly take place but for only a minute; is instead unfortunately embracing everything in our sphere of existence and influence at that unfortunate long moment, and haunts us heinously for what seems like an eternity. Grasping at the bottom of our bedsheets as our hearts beat 666 times per hour with balms of sweat perusing through our skin and dripping from our pores like cold icicles dangling off the edge of an eavestrough.

It really was just a dream, wasn’t it? You plead to the soul that is located somewhere down within that bottom of your gut of yours… or perhaps trapped in the back of your brain panicking for an instant. Can you pull yourself together and realize you just had another one of your horrific hallucinations? Fear can find its way into anyone's mind because it is the oldest and strongest emotion since the dawn of human existence, and in the back of your mind it will lay dormant and find its inconsequential subliminal presence and make it known over and over again when you least expect it. Every single time waking up randomly throughout your life lost in that moment between a nightmarish dream and reality.

One night you’re falling off the edge of your bed and you keep falling… and falling… and falling into a pit of neverending despair. The next night you’re wife and children are being murdered mercifully before your eyes while you’re tied up in the corner. The next night you wake up singing Creed songs in complete harmony and can’t get them out the back of your head as they repeat on an endless loop of infinite replay. No matter what your worst nightmare may ultimately be, you can rest assured that it will never escape you and has become a part of your tormented psyche…

When you are wiph meeeeeeee…..

I’m phreeeeeeeeee!!!

I’m careless I believe.

The blast of desert winds sprays tiny bits of sand in various directions at incredibly high speeds causing visibility to be of a near-impossible distinction much further than 6 feet in front of the face. As the sands blow endless plumes of dust and debris up into the air and across the side of the face, stinging the skin as it travels at a tremendous neverending pace from east to west getting faster and faster by each nanosecond spent reveling in the nothingness. A cry far off into the distance brings alert to the lost traveler, which captures his attention and takes him off scurrying to find the loud wrenching screams that came pulsating through the soundwaves and momentarily were able to tune out the monotonous humming of the windy desert.

Again, but this time louder and more fluent they came into earshot were the cries, except abruptly they began to sound more like laughter than emaciating fear. A rush of excitement comes over the lost traveler, as he can not help himself but run closer to the voice. Finally, after a few skips of his heartbeat frantically frolicking and pulling back with his hands what felt like curtains of gravel whirling around him in a fury of tornadoes, he found what he was looking for. The most grotesque and macabre scene to ever lay witness before the human eyes.

Unknown Soldier, the most devious and despicable man to ever grace the existence of the XWF is seen being crucified on a cross with his arms spread out wide open and nailed to a white wooden cross sticking out of the desert floor. His feet dangling beneath him, dripping off a constant and slow steady stream of blood into a pool in a dried-up lump of sand beneath his feet. He must have lost his damn mind as he giggles with glee despite his life-threatening loss of blood and injuries, He appears to be singing some type of crappy Christian rock song as loud as fucking possible…

Unknown Soldier: “Will Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Which brings tears to my eyes…

MY! Sacrifice!”

A roar of thunder and a jolt of lightning come crashing down right on top of the middle of the cross and electrocute the demonic do-badder. Like in those cartoons his skeleton and his skin flash back and forth quickly like a seizure light going on and off. Which then causes the scene to abruptly end as if the power on some low-quality television studio set just went out.

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"Wake the fuck up bro!"

Vinnie Lane says shaking Unknown Soldier violently who was passed out on the couch, but suddenly is awakened abruptly and sent into a sudden panic.

Unknown Soldier: "Don't fucking touch me

, get the hell away from me."

Vinnie Lane: "What's your problem dude, we need to go out there and defend our XWF tag team championship in ten minutes, you need to wake up and get ready!"

Unknown Soldier: "Whoa... Whoa... wait, you and me ain't no XWF fuckin' tag team champions. You're my worst enemy you petulant pink shit stain."

Vinnie Lane: "Man, that electrocution must have really friend your brains, my dude, we've been tag team champions and best friends for years actually. Just yesterday you called me your best bub!"

Unknown Soldier: "No, no, no... I hate you. You hate me. Stop messing around and jerking me off like I'm some two-dollar street john parked in a dark alley."

Vinnie Lane: "Get yourself together quickly we've got to defend our tag team championships in a tag match at Leap of Faith, and one of the members of the team is the Universal Champion."

Unknown Soldier: "Who is the Universal Champion?"

You could tell he was almost dreading the question the second he asked it in this fucked up backward Alice in Wonderland type shit that was taking place.

Vinnie Lane: "Same person it's been for the last 666 years. The most dominant wrestler in the history of the XWF. Ghost Tank...."

Soldier's jaw hits the ground. I mean literally hits the ground like one of those cartoons where their jaw stretches completely to the ground.

Unknown Soldier: "Someone better pinch me as hard as fucking possible because this has got to be some kind of dream."

Not being able to bear the realization of his reality, Unknown Soldier takes off running out of the arena where he was scheduled to wrestle.

Vinnie Lane: "Where are you going bub we got a tag team championship match to win!"

Sprinting as fast as he can he takes off down the street, only to notice that the streets are lined with churches. There's a Christian church next to a church across the street from a church! Churchs are fucking everywhere! He sits down on a bench, and suddenly off in the background on some small boys boom box walking past A Christian rock song by Creed can be heard. He panics and takes off towards a water fountain to parch his dry mouth, but comes to discover that the fountain consists entirely of holy water as he spits it out with blood and fire coming off the edge of his lips. What the fuck! He takes off in another direction to see a group of Christmas carolers singing Creed songs in the streets! He panics yet again, turns around, and runs for a little while before discovering that he finds himself at a live concert of Creed! Over his shoulder, he can see Vinnie chasing after him holding up the XWF tag team championships and a picture of Ghost Tank wearing the Universal Championship to prove to him that this is all real.

A flop sweat comes foaming down his face and a look of sheer panic comes over him. He can't take it anymore. If this is his life and if this is his new reality then this is just not living anymore. He takes off into one of the Churches and runs through each room, frantically looking for something certain and particular that he needs. He finally finds it and lifts up the toaster in the kitchen and makes his way off towards the bathroom. He plugs in the toaster and flops it into the bathtub and begins filling it with water. Vinnie Lane comes rushing into the bathroom to make one final plea!

Vinnie Lane: "Don't go back Soldier! Stay here with me in your worst nightmare forever!"

Unknown Soldier: "In the words of one of the most infamous men in the history of the XWF. Suck my dick shit head!"

Soldier then leaps into the bathtub with the toaster plugged into the electrical socket and electrocutes himself once again ending the scene in a loud crackling of lightning and burnt skin.

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“All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”
--Edgar Allan Poe

Vinnie Lane: "Wake the fuck up, idiot"

The XWF owner says tossing a pail of cold water of the meth-fueled crack fiend's head waking him up abruptly.

Unknown Soldier: "Get away from me, I told you we're not friends."

Vinnie Lane: "Oh I know, I just need you to be the only person to actually show up for this shitty Leap of Faith dark match, for some reason those fans want to see you out there just like the ones that bought tickets to see Ric Flair's final match. I guess there's some type of Nostalgia for these XWF fans."

Unknown Soldier: "So we're not tag team champions and best friends and Ghost Tank isn't the Universal Champion and the whole word isn't addicted to Creed?

Vinnie Lane: "Uh, no dipshit. I despise you and Ghost Tank is now a Ted Diabiasse rip off low card sack of shit and Creed is a band that hasn't been popular in twenty years."

Unknown Soldier: "Thank SATAN! it was just MY! worst nightmare!"

Vinnie Lane: "Yeah, whatever... Just get out there and wrestle this nobody that I paid from some other fed to just show up if he feels like it."

Unknown Soldier: "Wait, so I haven't lost to that asshat Alias and all those rookie green douchebags on Anarchy and I'm not wrestling some nobody at one of the biggest pay per views of the year?"

Vinnie Lane: "No, those parts are all true! Welcome back to reality bub!"]]> <![CDATA[Gangland: The Ellen Show]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43680 Sat, 28 May 2022 23:58:14 -0700 Charlie Nickles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43680 The XWF drone assigned to the TV champion continues to float outside of the last TV left in Loy’s now abandoned antique shop. For what seems like days now the screen has been resting on complete static, but like a good little robot the drone never left its spot. This allows the camera floating outside the old TV to see exactly what happens when the screen finally flickers back to life…..

TONIGHT ON GANGLAND

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A wrestling powerhouse that runs like a fortune 500 company

The Bastards made millions by brutally punishing anyone who got in their way

“Either roll with the gang, or we’ll roll over you. It’s that fucking simple.”

They dominated the wrestling industry in federations across the world

Not since the days of The Kings had a wrestling stable ruled with such bloodlust

"The Kings were lame, hierarchies are so 19th century. We’re a democratic organization!"

They will insult you, assault you, threaten your family, and shoot you- in that exact order.

Kidnapping, torture, dismemberment…it’s all strictly business for the Bastards

"My army of lawyers has advised me to plead the fifth."

Nothing speakers louder than humiliation and degradation in the Bastards underworld

Any psychopath can roll with the Bastards, so long as they’re willing to take a leap of faith: in themselves

"You want to ride with the gang? All you gotta do is run a drill on the opps’; knock down their set’s O.G.! That’s how I got in."

Despite their blatant and obvious criminal racketeering, no Bastard has ever been convicted of a felony

Many experts suggest that the Bastards deploy a highly advanced system of police intimidation and extortion to stay out of the penal system

"Whenever one of us gets arrested, it’s my job as CFO to call the police station and try to bribe them with BarnCoin. When that doesn’t work, we usually just threaten their families."

When it comes to the Bastards illegal networks and finances, there are still many unknowns

But one thing we do know is this: the Bastards are not to be trifled with

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You guys sound pretty badass. Can I join your gang, too? I have experience. I used to be a carnie!

We cut away from the show’s title card and fade into an interior shot of a grimey trap house. There is a polite Canadian man seated across a mostly broken table from a band of gritty gangbangers. Three of the table’s four legs have old tennis balls on the bottom, and the table’s last leg is propped up by an old storybook. Behind the gang we can see that they have plastered a portrait of a black woman amidst a galactic background to the wall. At their feet we can see a few roaches skittering up and down the cracks in the floorboards.

The gangster seated in the middle appears to be the oldest. He seems to have aged years since the battle at Golgotha, evidenced by the smattering of gray hairs now peppered into his mane and beard. On the right side of his head an old ear has been crudely stapled perhaps a dozen times to the outer edge of his ear canal. It looks like it has been infected for years. This gangster is the first to respond to the Canadian’s polite request.

Oh I know all about you, ‘Ice Pick’ Marfy. This BOBFather’s got no problem with you joining, I think you’d be an incredible asset…but let me consult the boys. Because unlike President Harris’s America, our gang is a real democracy.

The Canadian nods in patient understanding as The BOBFather turns to his immediate left, to see what this man thinks.

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What do you say, Puta Bomba? Think this man has what it takes to bang?

The gangster in the durag carefully considers the question as he cups his chin with a thoughtful hand.

He could, but I still got some bad blood with him. He ran up on me with some blue-haired bitch and unloaded a whole clip, that kinda shit ain’t easy to forget or forgive.

The BOBFather nodded at Puta Bomba’s words before turning to his immediate right, to see what this man thinks of the situation.

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What do you have to say, Tee-Kay47?

Well he sounds a lot like me, which is pretty fucking cool.

Charlie nods in appreciation at the comment from the man with Sister Pryce’s old rifle before he looks down the tabe even further, to this man.

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Tell me it be like it is, B-Jizz.

You know it do.

Charlie nodded in agreement with B-Jizz before looking down the other side of the table at this man.

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And what say you, Big O?

I say this

better be ready to ride, cause if he wants to join the gang he’s gotta do some gangshit off the kick.

Well of course, Big O. Absolutely.

Now is exactly the time that this man decides to join the conversation by adding his own two nickels.

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Wait…I know you went and got a spray tan, but I still don’t think you’re supposed to say that word, Big O!

What word isn’t he supposed to say? Shit?

No…..

.

Everyone in the room, including the polite Canadian, immediately gasps in shock. They all look towards Bobby with judgment in their eyes as they slowly shake their heads from side to side. Big O seems to be particularly offended by the comment.

Now why the fuck would you go and say a slur like that, Bobby Bourbon? Shit, I might start calling you Cracka’ Bourbon now…it’s about time you got a damn damn gangster alias, anyways!

There are no more gangsta aliases! Bobby Bourbon is the most gangsta name there is! And what is everyone getting all offended for?! I didn’t even say anything, Oswald said it!

Big O’s a black man now, Bobby. He can say it!

He’s not black, he’s not even Rachel Dolezaling it! He just got back from Sun Tan City today! And I didn’t even say it, I censored myself because I’m classy!

The rest of the bastards, and the polite Canadian, just shake their heads in disappointment with Bobby Bourbon.

God damn it Bobby, ever since you got that prison tat’ you’ve been saying all kinds of fucked up shit! Who even gave you that dirty ink? A fucking Aryan brother? Wrong brotherhood, bro! Fucking hell.

I didn’t say anything racist! I was just pointing out that Oz might be doing something racist!

Black people can’t do racist things. Even I understand that, Bobby.

Well hold on, I don’t know about all that…some of the most racist people I know are black!

What are you two talking about? Barney, Big O isn’t black! And Charlie, what black racists do you know?

Well, for starters: Big O! You should hear some of the stuff he says about the people on unemployment!

Bobby throws his hands in the air, clearly frustrated by this idiotic turn of events. All the bastards look once more at Bourbon with disappointment before turning their focus back on the new recruit across the table.

So…after all that, do you still want to join?

Fuck yeah I do!

All the bastards smiled and nodded to each other in polite approval of the crass language, except for Puta Bomba, who was still pissed off about getting jumped by Marf and his ex-girlfriend.

Well shit boys, looks like I need to hand this baby over to our new friend. Be careful: the thing has a hell of a kick to it.

Tee-Kay47 grinned as he passed the rifle over the table alongside a heavy metal ammunition box.

Here, this should do the trick.

‘Ice Pick’ Marfy eagerly accepted the rifle, looking it over closely as the heavy metal ammunition box sat on the table in front of him. The BOBFather looked at the box of ammunition, then frowned. He reached under the table and grabbed a much smaller paper box filled with rifle cartridges. He slid the paper box across the table while pulling the heavy metal box back and setting it on the ground next to his seat.

Take this ammo instead. You’ll need to hit him with a lot less of these to knock him down.

‘Ice Pick’ Marfy just shrugged as he opened up the paper box and grabbed a cartridge out of it. Marfy then tucked the paper box of cartridges into his pants pocket. The Canadian checked out the chamber, loaded his weapon, and flicked the safety on before looking back across the table at the bastards.

So who is the hit on, anyways?

The rest of the bastards turned their heads and smirked at the BOBFather seated in the middle of them all. The BOBFather called out the hits, he picked every gang target. The man with the mangled ear wasn’t the leader of the gang, not by a long shot, but they all agreed he was best suited to command the strike team. The BOBFather had plenty of experience leading a team through the games of war, after all, and he had a hell of an eye for picking out targets.

Deeper still, the man with the mangled ear was called the BOBFather in this universe because he took puerile joy from plotting the bloodshed. Every gang hit to him was a work of art, just waiting to be painted bastard’s red. The BOBFather has taken a sick sense of satisfaction from the violence ever since the core of his universe was stolen from his side.

Oh, Ice Pick….we’re going after him. He has something that belongs to me.

Who?

Him.

Say again?

Marfy cocked his head to the side as he squinted at the BOBFather, as if that would somehow help him hear better.

I told you. Him.

Marfy scratches his head.

Yeah I don’t think I know that guy. So where are we going to find Tim?

Him.

The BOBFather corrects the pronunciation.

Yeah…where is he?

Now isn’t that the million dollar question? Ever since I told that coward we could run a fade any place, any time he’s been a hard man to find. He ran off right then and there with his tail between his legs, only to come back a few weeks later and hide in my shadow. No one has heard shit from the bitch since. But I think we just got the drop on him, ain’t that right Tee-Kay?

You’re goddamned right indeed.

With a big ol’ smirk, Tee-Kay47 pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket. The bastard straightened the paper out before sliding it across the table to the gang’s newest initiate.

One of Big O’s street rats heard that the bitch is going to be on Mustafar Avenue sometime tonight around 5.

Mustafar Avenue? What the hell is he doing all the way out there?

I think it’s pretty clear to everyone he wants to get as far away from me as physically possible, for his safety. Mustafar is pretty far, but it ain’t far enough. If we leave soon we should be able to make it in time to catch this motherfucker. I just hope he has it on his body when we catch him.

Has it?

The BOBFather looks back wistfully towards the portrait plastered on the wall behind him. B-Jizz speaks up to answer the initiate’s question in his stead.

His main squeeze!

B-Jizz imitates the squeezing and motorboating of breasts as Marfy cringes. The BOBFather wipes a single tear from his eye as he turns back to face the initiate.

Cheddar Al has taken a lot from me, Marfy. Practically the entire universe. But it all ends tonight. We will pop up when he least expects it, and he won’t even know what to do before his brains meet his sneakers.

The other bastards laughed in merry unison as the BOBFather folded his hands together on the table. Ice Pick looked between each of the bastards, then nodded his head at all of them.

I can’t pass up a good murder plot! All you have to do is tell me when to go.

The BOBFather nodded his approval as he leaned back in his chair. The rest of the bastards all took turns dapping up Marfy from across the table, even Puta Bomba.

If we’re lucky, that piece of shit might finally have his daughter with him. Since he likes to talk about my kids so much, it might be time for the whole town to start talking about his kid! ‘Oh that poor little girl’, they’ll say, ‘it’s a shame she died in that shootout. It’s even worse what they did to her body after!’...hehe. Maybe dreams do come true, eh Marfy?

Ok, and everyone was trying to cancel me for what -I- said?!

Bobby looks around in exasperation with the cultural dynamics in the group, but no one else really seems to mind all that much. They all want to see that little girl dead, too.

Hey, wait a minute…

The BOBFather looks suspiciously between everyone in the room.

Is one of you wearing a wire?

Everyone in the room nods their heads ‘no’ while holding their hands up innocently.

I don’t wear wires, I don’t even wear underwear!

Same here, Puta!

The two commando bastards high-five each other from their seats.

Someone’s listening in on us…it better not be the fucking federalies.

The BOBFather scans the room until his gaze settles directly on the camera outside the TV.

There you fucking are!

The man with the mangled ear literally reaches THROUGH the antique TV set and grabs a hold of the XWF drone! He pulls it into his television universe before chucking it on the ground! The black drone cracks and scatters into multiple pieces on the floor! The drone’s camera, however, is still functional: albeit on the floor.

Them savages don’t call me the TV God for nuthin’...

We see a tiny pair of feet leaving their chair and walking across the floor towards the camera. A few seconds after that we see Puta Bomba’s face as he picks the camera up with a big smile.

Hey, guys- I think we could probably use this to film our next rap music video! We’ll probably get some killer footage tonight!

The BOBFather snaps his fingers and points at Puta Bomba.

That’s a great fucking idea. No one is allowed to snitch on us…except ourselves! Because if we did it, then they can’t use it in a court of law! The constitution says you’re protected from self-incrimination! You’re a genius, Puta!

Yeah!

No, that’s not how any of that works!

Bobby rests his head in his hands as Puta Bomba enthusiastically begins filming the Bastards gang himself.

Say hi everybody!

The bastards take their turns waving at the camera from the table.

Worldstar is going to love this shooting!

Fuck the world, the entire universe is going to love the shooting of this star!

So, what are we waiting for?

The BOBFather slams his fists down on the table as he stands up.

Fucking nothing! Let’s go run this fucking drill, you bastards! Marfy’s first drill with the boys. We’re making memories every goddamn day in this Brotherhood.

The BOBFather smiles in appreciation at all the bastards assembled. He then points at the cameraman and the newest initiate.

You two are coming on this drill with me.

Hell yeah!

Marfy stands up with the rifle his his grip as he starts walking across the table. The BOBFather then looks between the remaining bastards.

You lot stay here and do that financial meeting, or whatever the fuck it is.

The gang’s CFO, B-Jizz, steps out of his chair before plopping down in the middle chair the BOBFather was just in. He pulls a folder out of his singlet and opens it, showing dozens of pages of in depth accounting reports.

Now, it’s time for the real work to begin.

You’re telling me…

The BOBFather rolls his eyes, already bored by the numbers and graphs on the report pages. The man with the mangled ear gestures for the two accomplices to follow him through a wooden door placed on the sidewall. As Puta Bomba steps through the door with the camera, we can see that the bastards are walking into a big ol’ garage filled with tons of high-tech military and luxury vehicles. There’s even a helicopter and an airplane, too, but the BOBFather walks right past all that nonsense towards a black tarp posted up against the wall.

It’s been years since I’ve had a reason to bring this baby out of retirement…but we finally got the drop on his ass, and now he’s going to pay.

The BOBFather pulls the tarp off and reveals the very Indian Panhead we all were expecting. The motorbike looks to have seen better days, as it is still stained with dark blood and brown crust from the battle at Golgotha. A bit of rust seems to have collected around the sidecars- oh wait, no, that’s just years-old defecation. Regardless, Marfy and Bomba hop into a sidecar on either side of the bike. Marfy holds the rifle close to his chest while Bomba holds the camera on his shoulder. The BOBFather sits between the two men with his grip firmly on the handlebars as he revs the motorbike to life.

It’s time to motherfuckin’ ride!

As the garage door opens the Indian Panhead roars through the steadily growing gap. The BOBFather ducks his head to avoid being smacked in the face by the door as it opens, but Punta Bomba forgets to move the camera! The screen suddenly cracks, and we get nothing but static from the feed!

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Some time later, the camera feed comes back to life. We see Puta Bomba’s smiling face through a cracked screen.

Holy crap, guys, I think I fixed it!

Nice work, Puta Bomba!

Puta places the camera back on his shoulder before reaching behind The BOBFather and fistbumping Marfy. The three men appear to be waiting on a parked motorbike in the middle of a cheap casino’s parking lot. A neon sign outside the seedy building reads ‘LEAP OF FAITH FIVE CENT CASINO’. The BOBFather can be seen leaning forward on his motorbike, looking out onto the street for any sign of his gang’s next target.

Man, this is taking forever…he was supposed to be here an hour ago. Are we sure we got the right drop on him?

That pussy is hiding again. He must know he’s going to get fucked…I wonder if someone tipped him off.

The BOBFather leaned back on his motorbike as he began scanning the sidewalks for suspicious individuals and known informants. That’s when the bastard noticed an anxious looking man, burying his face in a smartphone while typing away. The two men made eye contact, and the tweeterbird just about shit himself. The man on the sidewalk immediately tucked his phone into his pocket and began walking off the other way.

I think we just found our songbird…

The BOBFather revved the bike back to life, and the man immediately started sprinting through an alley.

Get him! Get him! Let’s gut him like a fucking dolphin!

I got my rifle at the ready!

Marfy holds the rifle up to his shoulder while aiming down the sights. The BOBFather whips the bike around like a complete pro and slides into the long alley behind the informant.

We’re going to run your ass down, boy!

No need…I’ve got the shot.

Marfy squeezed the trigger exactly one time, sending a bullet flying out of the barrel down the alley. The bullet struck the target in the calf, and he immediately fell to the ground in agony. His screams of pain were barely audible over the roar of the charging motorbike.

Run him over! Run him over!

Puta Bomba excitedly cheered on the carnage while he held the camera closely. The BOBFather, however, brought the bike to a stop just in front of the man, who was now trying to crawl away with minimal results.

AL! AL! HELP ME!

He can hear you, boy, but don’t count on his help. So you can scream all you want I suppose. You won’t hear it the same ever again, so go wild while you can.

The BOBFather kills the engine of the bike before stepping off it and crouching down directly in front of the bleeding man’s face. The BOBFather took the man’s chin in his hand, forcing him to make direct eye contact. Puta Bomba continued to film it all from the sidecar as Marfy went to reload the chamber of his firearm.

You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.

The informant sneers.

Or else what? You can never break me!

There’s no or else.

The BOBFather reached into his leather steel toed boot and pulled out a boxcutter. He flicked the blade up and held the man’s face tighter, to prevent him from pulling away.

Stay still. Or don’t. It doesn’t really matter in the end.

What do you mea-AGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!

AHHH HA!

The bastards laughed in merry unison as the razorblade began to tear away at one of the informant’s ears. The man tried to pull away, but it was no use, the grip of the BOBFather was simply too strong. The panicked victim looked around for help as he screamed in horror, but that only made the bastards laugh harder. Just as the ear was finally ripped from his skull, the man passed out on the concrete drive.

Now let’s hear what he knows.

The BOBFather rises to his feet with ear and boxcutter in hand. He brings the boxcutter up to his own mangled ear, and repeats the very same process. The other bastards look away as the BOBFather grimaces, cutting apart his own staple and pinjob. After a few seconds his old, infected ear falls off and lands directly on the unconscious victim below.

The BOBFather holds the new ear up to his bloody earhole and listens closely.

Yes, yes…I can hear him over there in that otherworld.

What’s he talking about

The BOBFather shakes his head a few times while listening before tucking the ear into his pants pocket.

He’s saying he wants to fuck your ex-girlfriend.

Damn, him too?! Shit she’s a whore.

But I know where he is. Now come on, we don’t have long to get there before he realizes something is afoot.

A foot? Jesus, is the dude hanging out with THUGZ like T-Wishbone now?

These days Cheddar Al is all about incest, backroom gossip, and dick jokes…so probably.

The BOBFather straddles the motorbike and revs it to life just like he loves to do. The camera shakes from side to side as the man holding it snickers to himself.

Cheddar Al…what a stupid name. What kind of parents name their kid Cheddar Al, anyways?!

The camera comes back around just in time to catch the BOBFather rolling his eyes.

It’s not his real name. It’s an alias.

Oh…right. We all have aliases, so I guess that makes sense.

The BOBFather presses down on the gas and the motorbike begins to slowly pull through the alleyway.

Bobby doesn’t have an alias.

Wow…you’re right.

The BOBFather slams on the brakes and looks between the two bastards with measured disappointment.

What? No he isn’t. Bobby IS his alias. He changed his name when he joined the Brotherhood, just like the rest of us!

Oh….right.

The BOBFather shook his head before finally driving the motorbike out of the alleyway. While he was driving fast, he made sure not to go over the speed limit. It’s never smart to do two crimes at once.

But you are kind of right, too, Puta. I mean, Cheddar Al is a pretty dumb name. Why does anyone call him that?

We’re the only ones that call him that, Ice Pick, but he responds to it none the less.

Wait, why do we call him that again? It’s kind of a silly name.

Kind of?

We call him Cheddar Al because we are gonna fill him fulla’ holes: plot holes, bullet holes, fuck holes, whatever kind of holes we please.

Plot holes?

Yeah, the holes they dig for burial plots.

As the bastards fled the crime scene the BOBFather decided to turn on the radio, to create a more enjoyable ride for his passengers. The gangster theme track had little meaning, but it sure set the mood for these killers as they cruised towards their next objective.

The motorbike drives around the city for about a dozen minutes, hopping on the interstate and heading to the far east reaches of the town. When the bastards roll off the interstate, they are stopped by an immediate redlight. The gangbangers use this momentary pause to take a look around for their prey.

He should be somewhere in this part of town. He can’t have gone far.

How do you know?

He heard it through the ear.

Oh, right. Of course.

Marfy taps his head a couple of times, as if he were checking to see if it was empty. The light turns green and the BOBFather slowly pulls the Indian Panhead out into the intersection. That’s when, out of the corner of his eye, Punta Boma spots something in the shadow of the motorbike. He points the camera right at it, and we can see that it’s CHEDDAR AL! And he’s holding GOLDI!

BOBFATHER! IT’S AL!

BASTARDS, OPEN FIRE!

The motorbike whips around and Cheddar Al goes a’running! He’s sprinting down the street at incredible speed, the likes of which had never been seen before. Thankfully for the bastards, the Indian Panhead was still faster. A lot faster.

The motorbike speeds past Cheddar Al before turning so that Marfy’s sidecar is directly facing their target. Ice Pick already has his weapon locked and loaded, so it takes him no time at all to begin firing upon the man in the shadows. The camera is right behind the gun, so we see the empty cartridges flying out of the gun with every single shot.

Get his ass! Get his ass!

Cheddar Al gets shredded apart by the bullets, and before long he is forced to a knee. Then, he collapses to the ground. Marfy continues firing anyways, until his empty gun clicks, signaling an end to the wanton devastation.

You knocked the big man down, just like I did! Way to go, Marfy- you’re one of us now!

Both the BOBFather and the cameraman took turns shaking Marfy’s hand and patting him on the shoulder for the achievement. The BOBFather then reaches into the console of his Indian Panhead and pulls out a BOB t-shirt, which Marfy immediately slides on over his other shirt.

I always knew you’d make a great bastard.

Do you think I’m a better bastard, or a better carnie?

The BOBFather grinned like a dog at the loaded question.

Only time will tell. You’ve done well today tho, Marfy, on the real. When I saved you from that bullet at War Games, I knew you’d pay it back a thousand times over.

Well, yeah! That’s probably the only reason you took that shot for me!

Oh absolutely! I was telling the fans some bullshit the other day about being a good leader and a noble man, but come on, we all know that isn’t true! I just spin the yarn for those idiot fans and they eat it up, every time!

The bastard all shared a joyous laugh as the blood of their opps stained the street. The BOBFather turned his sights back towards his latest victim, but his jaw immediately dropped when he saw nothing but stains and bullets.

WHERE THE FUCK DID HE GO?!

The BOBFather hops off the motorbike and sprints towards the spot of the shooting. He immediately crouches down and begins looking for Cheddar’s fallen body. A couple seconds later his bastard accomplices ran up behind him. Unbeknownst to the gangster, a police drone suddenly began tailing them from above. The drone set its tracker, and its camera, onto the BOBFather himself as the bastards hear sirens going off in the distance.

I definitely shot him!

He’s probably hiding! That’s like, his whole M-O!

He’s like a cancerous fucking mutt. He’s hiding cause he knows I’m about to put him down for good.

Boys, split up. Find this bitch and fuck his brains out before we have to smoke a piglet.

I’ll find him, but I’m not fucking him.

I’ll fuck him!

The BOBFather turns back to Marf with a scowl.

It’s a metaphor.

What the fuck’s a meta for? Fuck it, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to look for this sick cunt.

He wishes he was a sick cunt! Some people actually like those! I like them!

Ice Pick and Puta Bomba split off in separate directions as they try to track down their wounded prey. The BOBFather stands up and places his hands on his waist as he looks all around the street for any trace of Cheddar the coward. The BOBFather doesn’t see anything at all, but he hears the door to one of the stores suddenly open and shut, then he hears a bell chime. He turns his head and sees a small trail of blood leading into a local antique store.

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The BOBFather narrows his eyes on the store as he approaches it. He looks down at the blood and begins sniffing the air like a crazed dog.

It’s him, and he still has her.

The bell above the door chimes as the BOBFather enters the store with evil intent. Loy’s antique store looks a whole lot different in this future, however, and the BOBFather is a bit taken aback by the new layout. There is nothing but a wrestling ring in the middle of the store, and only the two sidewalls contain any merchandise at all. The sidewalls are filled with shelves of shatter-proof mugs and intermittently mounted TVs running up and down the walls like a patch of wild weeds. On the back wall is where the lovely Goldi is mounted, and the BOBFather immediately starts walking right towards the only trap he’s fallen for this whole time.

A gift for me!

He squealed with glee as he walked around the ring towards the back wall. He picked the championship belt up off its mount, lifting it into the air with pride. Suddenly, his face dropped with disappointment.

So you’re still alive…

He looked towards the unseen figure in the room, his face awash with disappointment.

That piece of trash is not your gift.

Cheddar Al said, through muffled means, while leaking out of several holes across his body. By now Cheddar looked something like a garden hose that a pitbull got hold of.

In fact, I think after today, you’re just about done giving or receiving gifts all together.

What’s that then?

The BOBFather asked, pointing to where the figure stood out of sight. He still smiled that deranged smile.

Your goodbye present.

Click went the hammer.

And the barrel…?

Just so you know, your friends are out there right now. They’re accepted. Like you never would be. They’re not even going to come looking for you…

BANG!

The bullet punctured a hole in Charlie Nickles’s head. His body gave way instantly.

Cheddar Al thought he was dead.

Never forget…

You made me do this.

Cheddar Al cocked a loaded smile as he holstered his firearm. He shook his head from side to side as he stood over the body of the BOBFather and grabbed the championship belt. Cheddar lifted his mask up partially, just enough so that he could light a cigarette between his lips. The leaky man ashed his smoke on the BOBFather with a happy-go-lucky smile…that soon shifted to a frown as one of the TVs in the corner suddenly faded back to life.

I can’t die, Al…because I’m immortal when I’m on the TV.

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The face of a madman suddenly sprang to life on even more TVs across the antique shop. Shatter-proof mugs begin to fly around the room, crashing to the floor one after the other.

Anyone can kill a man…but no one can kill the image of a God.

The BOBFather cackled madly as his face popped up on every single TV mounted to the wall, one by one and two by two. Shatter-proof mugs continued to fly off the shelves, and eventually some started pelting Cheddar Al. The leaking man yelped in pain before rolling into the wrestling ring to avoid the unrelenting assault.

All shall bow or all shall fall, there is no other option.

The man on the TV screen licked his lips as Cheddar Al rose to his feet in the ring, clearly refusing to bow. Cheddar held the title belt close to him as he looked around at the walls anxiously. Cheddar Al was so focused on the God inside the TV that he never noticed the corpse of the BOBFather standing tall in the middle of the ring. The TV God laughed mockingly as Cheddar Al unwittingly bumped into the animated corpse, fresh off his own twisted crucifixion.

Al didn’t even have time to respond before his brains met his sneakers. The corpse pushed the smaller man into the air before he used his hands to drive him to the mat. The POP-UP POWERBOMB that killed Cheddar Al came out of nowhere! But the signs were always there, in the shadows….

Talk about a Mood Shift, eh Al?

The man on the TV cackled psychotically as the animated corpse stood still in the center of the ring, staring down at the crushed body of the belt thief. By now Cheddar Al looked like the victim of landmine, the way the remnants of his body were splattered all over the ring.

Now come on, you earthly sack of flesh, you got somewhere else in the universe you gotta be!

The man on all the TVs gestures for the corpse to come on in. The remains of the BOBFather stand still in the center of the ring for a few more moments, soaking in the greatness of this endeavor, before it picked up the championship belt and stepped between the ropes. The corpse stepped on every mug en route to the nearest television, shattering them all with his step. Jagged pieces of glass stuck into the corpse’s foot, but it really didn’t seem to mind.

As the TV God smiled and gestured, the corpse with the belt stepped through a TV screen and joined The Nickleman back on our side of the universe. By now we can hear police sirens directly outside of the antique shop, but it doesn’t matter: the TV God is gone like a thief in the night.

When dozens of police officers from this alternate universe finally burst into the antique shop, all the TV screens suddenly turn to static. We now know for sure this is an alternate universe, because the police are actually responding and doing their job. Still, there is no protocol in any dimension for what a police officer is supposed to do when they see THIS suddenly pop onto every television screen that matters…..

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Really, REALLY corny music with a rock backbeat plays throughout Studio 1, and the attending audience rises to their feet and clap along like good little sheep. You could swear to your TV God that you’ve seen this scene before...

The on-stage wall before the crowd slowly splits open, giving a glimpse into the backstage area, before Ellen Degeneres herself walks out to her applauding fans with a big smile and a waving hand. Still, despite the show host’s bright outfit and cheery demeanor, something about the tone of this show seems just a little downbeat. Ellen basks in the adoration of her fans before she walks to the front of the stage and formally addresses her audience.

Ellen does a stupid little dance on stage and nearly falls over, her age clearly wearing on her after all these years on air. The DJ at the booth shakes his head sadly, but continues playing the upbeat music nonetheless. The audience quietly cringes as Ellen plops down onto the stage couch and starts rubbing her legs in pain.

Woo….all these years and I still got it! Hello everyone!

The crowd is right back into it and begins applauding for their icon before she gestures for them to sit back, settle down and settle in. The music is cut off and Ellen gives her classic smile to the camera.

I’m so beyond grateful that you all could make it out here today for our last ever show. I know, I know, time flies when you’re having fun! But really…I want to thank all of you, each and every one of you. You know who you are. There was no way this show could have been what it was without the appreciation and hard-earned dollars you all gave us every week, so thank you!

The crowd clapped for themselves as Ellen gave a little curtsy to the crowd from her couch.

Ellen takes a long look at her audience. Her crowd is stacked to the back with the usual sort, middle aged white women and a few token gay men that kind of look like Corey Smith and Thaddeus Duke….no wait, that’s definitely just Thad and Corey sitting there in the audience. Ellen gives her boys a little wave and they wave back with big smiles on their faces. They know how much this show means to her.

Ellen claps her hands and gives a wide smile to the rest of the audience.

But enough with all that...let’s party like we can never party again, because I don’t think the studio will let us after our lease ends!

The crowd cheers as she initiates the transition.

My guest today is a complicated figure in sports entertainment. He has a sour past, he’s certainly no boy scout, but after all those completely unfounded allegations my piss-ant workers made about me it’s been really hard to get decent guests to come on. So, this is who we have for you today!

The audience doesn’t laugh. Ellen gulps, then forces a smile anyways.

So without any further ado…I present to you….THE NEW UNIVERSAL CHAMPION OF THE X-TREME WRESTLING FEDERATION!

Ellen looks down at the notecard placed conveniently in front of the couch.

“The TV GOD” Charlie “THE FAMILY MAN” “THE NICKLEMAN” Nickles….wow that’s a mouthful!

You’re damn right I’m a mouthful, baby!

Green and red smoke is pumped onto the stage as Charlie Nickles walks out from the back with his championship belt held high in the air. The boomers in the crowd murmur softly as they watch on in confusion.

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Tell me it be like it is, B-Jizz.

You know it do.

Charlie nodded in agreement with B-Jizz before looking down the other side of the table at this man.

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And what say you, Big O?

I say this

Wait…I know you went and got a spray tan, but I still don’t think you’re supposed to say that word, Big O!

What word isn’t he supposed to say? Shit?

No…..

Charlie holds the belt up high as he walks towards Ellen’s couch. He brings the belt down towards Ellen, offering her the chance to touch it. Ellen, being courteous, reaches out to touch the gold. Before she makes contact, however, Charlie snatches the belt away from her with a snarl!

Nobody touches my Goldi.

Oh oh…right! My bad…ah ha…they warned me about that.

Nickles continues to snarl at Ellen as he takes a seat beside her on the couch. His snarl quickly shifts towards the audience.

Maybe we could do a handshake, big fella? I promise not to touch your crown jewels...I am a lesbian after all!

Ellen extends her hand as the crowd laughs, and thankfully Charlie takes it with no further problems. The guest and the host shake hands politely before The Nickleman slings his modified belt over his shoulder.

Thank you for coming onto the last episode of our show, Mr. Nickles, especially on such short notice. We originally had Vita Valenteen booked, but after she canceled on The View we knew there was no way she was going to make her appranc with us! So…Nickles…that’s a pretty interesting name for a wrestler, right?

Charlie just stared blankly at Ellen as the audience looked on uncomfortably.

So….not one for small talk I guess. Hey, fair enough! You had a big night last night, I mean I’m sure we all saw it.

Ellen looks out to the crowd in affirmation, but everyone in the crowd looks as confused as Ellen is on the inside. The show host looks down at another notecard conveniently placed near the stage couch.

Last night you defeated…ALIAS?...at the Leap of Faith pay per view, put on by the X-treme Wrestling Federation! And what a match it was. You walked away from it as the Universal Champion, and some people are asking if…ALIAS?....will ever walk again. What do you have to say about all of that?

Ellen looked at tomorrow’s universal champion pleadingly, hoping he would take the hook and give a good appearance on the show.

Well….

Charlie looked at Ellen blankly, then out to the audience. Everyone in the audience looked away from The Nickleman as he turned towards them…no one wanted to meet his eye. When he finally looked back at the show’s host he shook his head several times while clutching his Goldi close to his chest.

I’d say you’re already making the same mistakes Alias was.

Well, what do you mean by that?

Alias had it twisted the entire time. He was never defending his belt, no one EVER said they wanted that piece of trash. I certainly never wanted his belt, it looked like something a child designed in fifteen minutes, while watching one of my Savage matches.

Ellen gestured towards the championship belt hanging around Charlie’s shoulder.

Well, isn’t that his belt? It says here he was the champion…

Charlie laughs mockingly as he gestures towards his Goldi.

This beauty? She was never his, she will never be his. She was mine when I walked into Leap of Faith and she was mine when I walked out, and that’s all there is to it. This championship belt is the single most valuable prize in professional wrestling, and that’s why Alias was so dead set on taking it from me. He knew the belt he had was trash, would always be trash because he fished it out of a garbage can at March Madness. He wanted to get his hands on my Goldi because everyone had been chasing her beauty for over half a year.

We both signed up for the main event at Leap of Faith for MY belt! I entered into the match because I wanted my Goldi to be given the proper respect she deserves, not becaus I wanted that cheap piece of plastic Alias kept around his waist- or rather, kept at home, because I’m not sure I ever once saw him with that belt. He probably didn’t want to wear it because it smelled like garbage.

Alias went into our match with the completely wrong mindset, and that’s why I sent his trash-ass reign to the dumpster of history last night. He was never the champion in this match, he was always just my 10th title challenger. My championship belt is what dominates this universe today, not his.

Ellen nodded along, not understanding a single word but not wanting to ruin the mood of the show.

So…tell me about your belt. Is that ear…

Ellen gestures towards Charlie’s mangled right earhole. He just chuckles as he shakes his head ‘yes’.

My ear? It sure is. My friend Jenny cut it off last year during some sort of PMS fit, but I decided to put it on my Goldi so she could hear all of my sweet whispers at night. Sometimes she would have trouble hearing me between the sheets, you know, because she didn’t have any ears. Now the whole process goes a whole lot smoother. Plus we can ear hump now!

Charlie continues to shake his head and smile as some people in the audience start to gag and dry heave. Ellen quickly tries to change the subject.

Well let’s just talk about something else, like maybe your match last night? Why do you think you won? It seems tough, getting into a ring with someone else and fighting them. It gives me shivers just thinking about it!

Ellen and Charlie chuckle together for a moment as the show host tries to bring the intensity of the show down.

Well…some people think I snuck up on Alias. But that isn’t true at all.

No?

Charlie shakes his head ‘no’.

Not one bit. If Alias thinks I snuck up on him, then he only has himself to blame. He decided the terms of engagement, it was his right as Theo’s paper champion to set the pace. If he wanted a long and drawn out affair with The Nickleman he could have had it, but I think everyone knows why he didn’t want that.

Well, I think I missed the memo! Care to fill a gal in?

Ellen leaned in curiously as Charlie detailed the situation.

He didn’t want to die a long, drawn out death with thousands of dying screams. He wanted to go out quick, so he could fade back into the shadows without another word….well, there’s always the chance he gives us another word, it wouldn’t be the first time...but after that? He’ll be gone with the wind, chasing after those ghosts he loves to play with so much. And that’s exactly where he is now, on this very day, exactly one year after I came back to this world as the man you all love to hate so much.

Charlie sneered at the innocent audience, taking Ellen aback.

Besides, it’s never been my job to upload the fucking youtube videos. They come out when they come out as far as I’m concerned, shit, I don’t even care if the promos never go out at all. The fuck do I need them for? My matches are going to play out the way they play out, I do all this shit on the microphone just to sell tickets and merchandise. Goldi likes a lavish lifestyle, and like the Family Man I am I make sure to provide. If Alias wanted to talk through his problems with me, he could’ve showed up on any fucking Saturday night and I could have squashed him right there. The pussy ran til’ the pay per view, so I won’t beg forgiveness for running his skull into the mat.

We don’t all have earless suckboys following us around and running our social media, I rely on the XWF production team to handle all my shit…and look, I’ll be the first one to tell you that they fucking suck!

Well then…how did you win the match? If you didn’t sneak up on him?

Ellen tried to continue the interview, even as it became clear that it was going off the guardrails. ‘Fuck it’, she thought. It was the last show, so why did it matter if it went south? The show is already canceled!

I won the match because Alias couldn’t bring himself to respect the XWF. His smarmy, douchey act finally caught up to him, and it bit him right in the asshole. Alias never really cared about his belt, so why would he fight like hell to keep it? But hey, I won’t be too critical of the guy. I already beat him, you know? No need to keep kicking a dead horse….but shit, when in Rome!

Charlie elbows Ellen and tries to play a funny bit, but everyone in the crowd is extremely concerned the moment he makes contact with their favorite show host. Ellen herself slides away from Charlie as soon as he touches her.

All I’m saying is it makes sense why Alias couldn’t fight hard enough to keep his belt. He never showed up to work, and if you listen to the way he talked, it seems like he thought the XWF was a pretty dogshit federation. Alias said half the roster, you know, everyone who lost to me for the TV title, is trash at what they do for a living! He was out there saying Elijah Martin and Ruby can’t polish his bootstraps, that Centurion can’t sniff his jockstrap. Alias is just a big shit talker, though, because if he really wanted to he could have gone over and showed us all how it was done on Thursday Nights! I’d like to see how he fares under those dreaded Anarchy rules. I bechu Alias won’t tho, I bechu he never will, because that pussy knows he can’t play this game on hard if he doesn’t get to pick the rules. I bechu Jason Cashe would legitimately wipe the floor with Alias on any given Thursday Night, but I don’t think the world is ready for that conversation yet.

Alias lost our rubber match because he didn’t think he needed to prepare for someone like The Nickleman, he didn’t think anyone signed to an XWF contract could ever touch him. If Space Jesus only knew how wrong he was, he never would have spent so much time playing make-believe while I was raiding his Golgotha!

Ellen blinked several times as several members of the audience got up and started to leave.

His…what? Huh? I meant like….what move did you use to win the match?

Oh…I just used my new finisher! The Mood Shift! It’s a pop-up powerbomb, Bobby Bourbon taught me how to do it. He said it was a move fit for a universal champion, and shit, he’s been there before so I figured he might be right! And TV God damn it…he was!

The Mood Shift, huh? That’s a fun name! How’d you come up with it?

It’s like, a metafive or some shit. I don’t know, Bobby was explaining it to me and it just made sense! It’s named after me, specifically, it’s named after what I do in that squared circle! Sometimes I can be funny, sometimes I can be mean. I can give it to you anyway the fans don’t want it. I can box, I can brawl, I can even get hardcore. But shit, if the bookers called for me to win a My Little Pony Pillow Fight you could bet your ass I’d adapt my style and make it work to my advantage. I can assert my will in any match stipulation across the universe! I’ll switch up any whole mood I have to, I’ll do whatever it takes to shift things my way. I’m just kind of sheisty like that.

Right….

See: Alias thought he was the universe, but he was only ever just a black hole that sucked people in. Not me, though, because for me…where there is a TV screen, there is a way. That’s why they call me the TV God, after all. When the screen is on I’m immortal, when the screen is on I can do the impossible, I can make miracles.

Well….

Ellen scratched her head as Charlie leaned back on the couch and began fondling the belt’s ear.

How did you spend your time preparing for the match, what was your secret?

Charlie looked back up at the show’s host with a wicked grin.

I spent two weeks before the match wearing turtlenecks to prepare for Alias. Not just because turtlenecks look refined and sophisticated, but also because wearing one is like being strangled by a really weak guy all damn day.

Charlie and Ellen laugh together as members of the audience continue to leave the studio in a steady stream.

Mitch Hedberg! A classic!

You know my favorite thing about Mitch Hedberg, Ellen?

No, I don’t. What is it?

Ellen smiles as Charlie leans forward, as if he is about to tell her a secret.

He fucking killed himself. Maybe if Alias would take a few cues from his faves, he’d off himself too, and then we’d really solve the problem of the High Lord once and for all. But I knew Alias was too pussy to walk in the path of his idols, that’s why I came into this match knowing I would be the ultimate harbinger for his end.

Oh no…

Oh yes.

Ellen sighed as she placed the palm of her hand on her forehead. By now she just wanted this all to be over, and that feeling grew even more intense when she glanced up and noticed that the entire crowd had now abandoned the building.

Oh jeez…I hope people are still watching on TV. But they’re probably not…I mean, we’re getting canceled for a reason….

Oh, don’t worry Ellen: people are definitely watching.

Ellen looks up towards The Nickleman in clear exasperation.

How could you possibly know that?

Because I’m on your show, and people love to hate-watch everything I do! Their hate-boners compel them, because I’m the motherfucker those sick sons of bitches all love to hate.

Jesus….just..just end it all now.

Ellen throws her arms out at her sides as she steps off the couch and storms off the stage. The Nickleman can’t help but throw his head back in laughter as the camera slowly zooms in on him and his Goldi. Charlie only stops laughing when he lifts his Goldi up and stares right into her ear.

You know I love you so much, baby…do you feel loved? Now that I’ve finally given you the universe, just like I promised to all those months ago?

The Nickleman waits for Goldi’s ‘response’, then he smiles.

We’ve really come full circle, haven’t we?

The newly crowned universal champion kisses the ear taped to his belt before the show producers have finally seen enough and decide to cut the feed entirely.
]]> <![CDATA[Freedom don't run and freedom will fly]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43679 Sat, 28 May 2022 23:43:32 -0700 GarryRayRayNelson]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43679
“My lord, look at that there Washin-ton Monument. Ya see that thing there Pastor Rob? Darn thing stands there, perfectly pointed skyward. A giant sand stone monument that pierces the womb of the sky… What majesty, what amazement… Pastor Rob that thing looks happier than I do when I see Betsy-Sue,” Ray-Ray smirks and looks across the console with his own side eye at Pastor Rob. “And really Pastor Rob, I’m a married man, I’m allowed ta say that my wife makes me happy Pastor Rob. But I SWEAR TA CHRIST IF I HEAR YA SAY ONE WORD ‘BOUT MY MA!”

Pastor Rob sighed, it had to have been the seventh time that Ray-Ray had made that joke, or a similar joke on the trip. He’d have to use an enormous favor to get into Representative Collins’ office, but to avoid the largest scandal in Nelson County church going history, anything was on the table.

“OH LOOK AT THAT! THAT RIGHT THERE IS THE WHITE HOUSE! That’s clearly where all the power in our entire country is centered. That buildin’ right there can probably fold in itself like a Transformer and fly off ta a secret moon base if shit ever really hits the fan. I bet ya that Schuler feller might know somethin’ ‘bout that entire thing. I heard he was real good pals with that old orange feller,” Ray-Ray stuck his head out the passenger side window letting the thirty-five mile per hour speed whip through his curled blonde locks.

“TAKE US TO THE MALL PASTOR ROB! I NEED A DOSE OF FREEDOM THIS MORNING!” Ray-Ray shouted into the wind and pointed towards the Washington Monument. Pastor Rob obliged, driving towards the monument and the sun rise. The two men had driven through the night, and the Collins’ office wouldn’t be open for a few more hours yet.

“Well, what do you wanna see first in the mall Ray-Ray?” Garry wasn’t sure what Pastor Rob was talking about. The Washington Mall with the giant polished sandstone phallic monument in the center was clearly the only place that mattered.

“I wanna see the giant dick of D.C.!” Garry shouted, Pastor Rob had never heard of the Lyndon B. Johnson memorial, but he figured a brief drive through the mall might do Garry some good.

“Sure Ray-Ray!”

Pastor Rob kept steering away through the city streets, the memorials were packed with Memorial Day related traffic. The Vietnam Memorial was surrounded by old veterans, the World War 2 memorial surrounded by children of fallen veterans. Finally, the car creeped along and found a non-crowded memorial. Pastor Rob pulled over, and Garry scrambled out the passenger window. He stood at attention, looking at the giant building.

“Look at that!” Ray-Ray screamed as he marched himself forward at the columned structure. He slowly walked up the stairs, each step his jaw slowly dropping down more and more. “I cannot believe the hallowed American ground I am walkin’ on… Here lies Abraham Lincoln! The same man that in the bible went up ta a mountain and had ta sacrifice his own son. That’s how he became President Pastor Rob, God straight told him go be President; you deserve it because you would kill your own kid. So he did, then he went out and freed all the slaves. He had ta out do that Moses feller, but then Lincoln went out and had ta help Lynyrd Skynyrd make all that wonderful music and died in a plane crash…”

Pastor Rob follows behind, rubbing his temples. He looked up at his mistress's dipshit son in sheer amazement of the stupidity that could be wielded by one impossibly dumb mind. Rob claps his hands together briefly before he puts one to his face out of sheer shame. The tears of pain and shame melded together to become a super groan of pure anguish. Ray-Ray continued on, overalls still dirty from the night in the car, waving his arms around in circles like a lunatic.

“CAN YA BELIEVE IT?! THESE FELLERS AINT NEVER TASTED FREEDOM LIKE THIS! BAM MILLER? HE HATES HIS FREEDOM. PUMPKIN BITCH? HATES JESUS AND FREEDOM. Pastor Rob I can’t believe they would dare put me in a ring with these people. These American hating Americans. They make me fly ta a foriegn land ta fight, ‘cause they can’t respect my beliefs. I’m an American farmer, and this land! ALL THIS LAND IS MY LAND!” Garry runs down the steps like a madman and leapt into the grass. He starts frantically tearing at the grass to get to the soil underneath.

“See this Rob! I AIN’T GOIN NO WHERE WITHOUT THIS CLEAN AMERICAN TOP SOIL! I’m gonna put that dirt in my shoes, I’m gonna put that dirt in my pockets, and by the Lord’s name I’ll put that dirt in my ears. I ain’t leavin’ this ‘Merican land behind. I NEED IT!” Ray-Ray shouted dramatically.

“Yeah Ray-Ray…” The words ‘jesus-fucking-christ’ almost slipped, followed by ‘holy-fucking-shit’ and ‘God-damn-son-you-are-fucking-stupid.’ Then the Pastor wondered if he fucked the soil like Ray-Ray was currently doing, would it make the soil more Holy? Ray-Ray screamed while frantically humping the dry earth.

“Get in the fucking car Garry,” Pastor Rob shouted as he pointed his finger back to the car. Garry, shocked by the Pastor’s use of a curse word, is mortified. He frantically straightened himself up and looked back at the camera. Where he stood up, a large amount of white powder could be seen littering the ground, and under Garry Ray-Ray Nelson’s nose.

—------------------------------------

“I tell you what, Mrs. Paige, this is not a boondoggle! Who is the one with the degree from DeVry?” Representative Lionel Collins was a big man, boisterous in nature. He had a real difficult time modulating his voice...and also his rampant sexism. The poor young page shirked away, rolling her eyes, her bundle of documents nestled underneath her arm as she stormed out of his office. Swinging back around in his opulent tax-payer funded office chair (with gold trim as well as ivory that was surely not from illegal wild hunts in Africa), he tried to hide his shock as he stared at someone who was damn near eight inches taller than him. “Haha…huh…so, Pastor Rob, I am sure you are well aware of the need to increase our lumber mill subsidies for The Coming!”

“The Coming?” Pastor Rob had spent so much of his time driving all the way to Washington DC with Garry, he couldn’t help his excitement being around a gen-you-whine congressman.

“Ah yes, The Coming.” Lionel Collins came from a long line of Collins. They owned cotton farms back in the olden days. They called these ‘the simpler times’. “So, I watched this video, on the Youtubes, it’s a great place…great place...don’t think most people know about it, but in it, these two gentlemen who were eating Bodease…that’s a turmeric extract…and they were saying that the stars were aligning and there was going to be a second flood. Like with Noah. But even bigger. And the Ark Encounter is such a big hit...I just know we need it down here too...”

There was no amount of prayer that could fix the rampant insanity spewing from this elected official’s mouth.

“Now, Garry, son…” he trailed off. He and Garry were the same age. “So, how can I help you?”

“Well gosh Sir,” Garry Ray-Ray Nelson was cramped in this space, in his too small chair, his knees nearly reaching his chest. “I gots a mighty big favor ta ask ya, cuz I am tryin’ ta save The Farm, and I just–”

As Garry was trying to explain his situation, Representative Collins flipped through one of the many books on his desk labeled ‘Campaign Contributors.’ Licking his fingers, he went page by page, oblivious to the background chatter surrounding him. When he got to the N’s, his eyes grew wide. Slamming the book shut, he took on a much greater interest in what was being said to him. “Why, Mr. Garry Nelson...I can call you Mister, right?”

“Well, I mean gosh darn it, I’m a pretty big Mister, and I really like the cut of your jib.”

“I can see that!” Representative Collins exclaimed. “Your family has been…very…very generous to my campaigns in the past.”

The fact that these funds could have been used to help make it so the family farm was not in its current state of repossession is lost on everyone. “You put America first, Con-grass-man Collins, and ole Ray-Ray, he puts America first! Number one in his heart! And I need ta show this in a place nobody from Nelson County ever done gone to!”

“Oh yes, XWF’s Leap of Faith. Dubai! Now let me tell you, son,” Collins trailed off as he drew closer, elbows planted against the desk. “The bathrooms there. Small. Small stalls. And me, I got a wide stance. You can empathize, I’m sure.”

Garry simply sat there, scratching his magnificent mustache.

Representative Collins continued. “And let me assure you, Garry, I, United States Representative Lionel Collins, was not involved in cottaging in the men’s bathroom. Like you, the only cottages I believe in are on the open plains of this great, great nation.”

“Oh I believes ya, I think we all need that in our lives. But I ain’t gonna be able to make it to Dubai and win my battle royal if I am stuck here. I mean, I ain’t wantin’ to really leave Old Glory, but someone done sabotaged my damn passport.”

“Garry! Language!”

“Oh gosh gee, I’m sorry Pastor Rob, I just got so excited and this is such a big moment for me and the family and Betsy-Sue and, they done messed my name up Congressman Collins, they done did that to me, done tried ta eliminate me like I was Osama and his awful boys. Our colors don’t run, and neither do I. I need ta get me a passport and fast!”

“You know Garry Ray-Ray Nelson, I think I can help you with that!” The jubilant Representative Collins rose from his seat, and extended his hand. “These colors won’t run, but we need to make sure that all your opponents will. To the passport office!”

With great haste, all three tried to rush out of the congressional office, but then, well, they became log jammed in the doorway, just like so many pieces of legislation in this wonderful capital.

—------------------------------------

As written on a few airplane napkins and passed to the XWF news team to post in its entirety. God bless whoever transcribed this message, Garry clearly didn’t pass his writing test in the 3rd grade:

Bam Miller is out there on the twitters, and I see him all the time talkin’ ‘bout how he ain’t no joker no more. But listen here Bam-Bam Miller. You’re always gonna be a good fer nothin’ joker. Just like my Momma told me I was gonna be. But I ain’t gonna be that Bam-Bam. That’s gonna be you ya son of a bitch! I’m gonna slap yer taste buds right over the top rope and inta the second deck.

Whatcha gonna do Bam? Bring a brick? BOY I ALREADY GOT TWO BRICKS COMIN’ WITH ME TA THAT RING! I got these enormous hands, and when I get ta swingin’ ‘em ya better get ta watchin’ out! Cause I’m gonna slap ya over the top rope faster than an Einstein can count ta three!

Joshua Schuler, now I gotta lotta questions fer ya Mr. Schuler. I need ta know the government secrets, and ya look like a man who might know a thing or two about some government secrets. So tell me, really, what do they keep at that Area 51? Did ya ever get that outta yer boy Trump over a spliff and some bourbon? And if ya didn’t… What kinda man with rare Presidential access are ya? Ya didn’t get all yer questions answered? Do I need my tin-foil hat? Are there aliens? Do they have special mind control powers?

WE’LL NEVER KNOW BECAUSE JOSHUA SCHULER DIDNT FUCKIN’ ASK! He had a golden opportunity ta be able ta know the damn secrets of the world and he didn’t fuckin’ ask! I bet ya that son of a bitch Schuler is some type a FreeMason. If he wants ta come over and share my weed he’s gonna need ta prove it ta me that he ain’t no FreeMason scumbag. And his head looks like a pumpkin just like the pumpkin lady.

Pumpkin lady looks like she’s an evil pumpkin lady from the land of the Pumpkin queens. What the fuck am I supposed ta say ‘bout some chick who dresses up like a jack-o-lantern? I dunno, I’m gonna say and do some mean things ta ya but I really don’t know how ta really go ‘bout trashin’ the Pumpkin’ King’s wife. I always liked the Peanuts ‘Halloween’ special and really enjoyed that part. But you know, if you’re separated from him and not really hangin’ out with him anymore, then I guess I gotta get mad at ya fer makin’ The Great Pumpkin all sad and shit. You mean bitch you.

Venomous women and venomous men same part of a venomous clan. Chronic Chris Page has all of his men lined up ta get slapped in the face by Garry Nelson. And I’m fine with that, but that’s better than goin’ out ta that hussy bar fer a weddin’ reception. Gotta say I respect ya Xavier, ya didn’t give in ta the peer pressure ta go ta the devil’s hole. That means ya gotta a will of yer own, some real damn willpower there. And Pastor Rob told me that’s a great thing that all men should be tryin’ ta have. But even with yer superior willpower, ya still threatened ta bury me in yer backyard like I’m some kinda animal.

LISTEN UP XAVIER. I’M THE ONE BURYIN’ ANIMALS ‘ROUND THESE PARTS! NOT YOU!

And you, very rich horny demon man. I’m sure ya trapsed ‘round that demon hole party, lookin’ at all the scandalous women or somethin’. Ya might be able ta chain it up inside ya, but just ‘cause yer some kinda horny demon man doesn’t mean ya get ta come ta anyone’s farm and just take it away. ‘Cause rich folk like YOU are the reason that good, strong, hard workin’ folk like me aren’t able ta raise their families off the land like they used ta be able ta. And it’s all because of horny rich demon men like ya!

GIMME MY FARM BACK DEMON MAN!

Listen, the X DUBBBBBBYA F wants ta make a fool of Ray-Ray, but NOBODY is makin’ no fools of Ray-Ray Nelson. Not in no Dubai, not in some place that thinks it’s United and DEFINITELY NOT when I have the soil of the freest country in the world in my pocket! I’ll be the one possessed demon man! POSSESSED BY THE SPIRIT OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN! THE BEST DAMN SLAP FIGHTER TA EVER LIVE! AND ALL OF YA’LL ARE IN FER IT AT LEAP OF FAITH! I WILL BE THE ONE TA FACE A CHAMPION OF MY CHOOSIN’! NOT YER CHOOSIN’! MINE!

And I’ll come get ya, whoever ya are… I’ll show ya who's the real gosh darn bossman.

– As Transcribed by Billy-Bob Stevens the X DUBYA F intern in charge of translating and sub-titling Garry ‘Ray-Ray’ Nelson.]]>
“My lord, look at that there Washin-ton Monument. Ya see that thing there Pastor Rob? Darn thing stands there, perfectly pointed skyward. A giant sand stone monument that pierces the womb of the sky… What majesty, what amazement… Pastor Rob that thing looks happier than I do when I see Betsy-Sue,” Ray-Ray smirks and looks across the console with his own side eye at Pastor Rob. “And really Pastor Rob, I’m a married man, I’m allowed ta say that my wife makes me happy Pastor Rob. But I SWEAR TA CHRIST IF I HEAR YA SAY ONE WORD ‘BOUT MY MA!”

Pastor Rob sighed, it had to have been the seventh time that Ray-Ray had made that joke, or a similar joke on the trip. He’d have to use an enormous favor to get into Representative Collins’ office, but to avoid the largest scandal in Nelson County church going history, anything was on the table.

“OH LOOK AT THAT! THAT RIGHT THERE IS THE WHITE HOUSE! That’s clearly where all the power in our entire country is centered. That buildin’ right there can probably fold in itself like a Transformer and fly off ta a secret moon base if shit ever really hits the fan. I bet ya that Schuler feller might know somethin’ ‘bout that entire thing. I heard he was real good pals with that old orange feller,” Ray-Ray stuck his head out the passenger side window letting the thirty-five mile per hour speed whip through his curled blonde locks.

“TAKE US TO THE MALL PASTOR ROB! I NEED A DOSE OF FREEDOM THIS MORNING!” Ray-Ray shouted into the wind and pointed towards the Washington Monument. Pastor Rob obliged, driving towards the monument and the sun rise. The two men had driven through the night, and the Collins’ office wouldn’t be open for a few more hours yet.

“Well, what do you wanna see first in the mall Ray-Ray?” Garry wasn’t sure what Pastor Rob was talking about. The Washington Mall with the giant polished sandstone phallic monument in the center was clearly the only place that mattered.

“I wanna see the giant dick of D.C.!” Garry shouted, Pastor Rob had never heard of the Lyndon B. Johnson memorial, but he figured a brief drive through the mall might do Garry some good.

“Sure Ray-Ray!”

Pastor Rob kept steering away through the city streets, the memorials were packed with Memorial Day related traffic. The Vietnam Memorial was surrounded by old veterans, the World War 2 memorial surrounded by children of fallen veterans. Finally, the car creeped along and found a non-crowded memorial. Pastor Rob pulled over, and Garry scrambled out the passenger window. He stood at attention, looking at the giant building.

“Look at that!” Ray-Ray screamed as he marched himself forward at the columned structure. He slowly walked up the stairs, each step his jaw slowly dropping down more and more. “I cannot believe the hallowed American ground I am walkin’ on… Here lies Abraham Lincoln! The same man that in the bible went up ta a mountain and had ta sacrifice his own son. That’s how he became President Pastor Rob, God straight told him go be President; you deserve it because you would kill your own kid. So he did, then he went out and freed all the slaves. He had ta out do that Moses feller, but then Lincoln went out and had ta help Lynyrd Skynyrd make all that wonderful music and died in a plane crash…”

Pastor Rob follows behind, rubbing his temples. He looked up at his mistress's dipshit son in sheer amazement of the stupidity that could be wielded by one impossibly dumb mind. Rob claps his hands together briefly before he puts one to his face out of sheer shame. The tears of pain and shame melded together to become a super groan of pure anguish. Ray-Ray continued on, overalls still dirty from the night in the car, waving his arms around in circles like a lunatic.

“CAN YA BELIEVE IT?! THESE FELLERS AINT NEVER TASTED FREEDOM LIKE THIS! BAM MILLER? HE HATES HIS FREEDOM. PUMPKIN BITCH? HATES JESUS AND FREEDOM. Pastor Rob I can’t believe they would dare put me in a ring with these people. These American hating Americans. They make me fly ta a foriegn land ta fight, ‘cause they can’t respect my beliefs. I’m an American farmer, and this land! ALL THIS LAND IS MY LAND!” Garry runs down the steps like a madman and leapt into the grass. He starts frantically tearing at the grass to get to the soil underneath.

“See this Rob! I AIN’T GOIN NO WHERE WITHOUT THIS CLEAN AMERICAN TOP SOIL! I’m gonna put that dirt in my shoes, I’m gonna put that dirt in my pockets, and by the Lord’s name I’ll put that dirt in my ears. I ain’t leavin’ this ‘Merican land behind. I NEED IT!” Ray-Ray shouted dramatically.

“Yeah Ray-Ray…” The words ‘jesus-fucking-christ’ almost slipped, followed by ‘holy-fucking-shit’ and ‘God-damn-son-you-are-fucking-stupid.’ Then the Pastor wondered if he fucked the soil like Ray-Ray was currently doing, would it make the soil more Holy? Ray-Ray screamed while frantically humping the dry earth.

“Get in the fucking car Garry,” Pastor Rob shouted as he pointed his finger back to the car. Garry, shocked by the Pastor’s use of a curse word, is mortified. He frantically straightened himself up and looked back at the camera. Where he stood up, a large amount of white powder could be seen littering the ground, and under Garry Ray-Ray Nelson’s nose.

—------------------------------------

“I tell you what, Mrs. Paige, this is not a boondoggle! Who is the one with the degree from DeVry?” Representative Lionel Collins was a big man, boisterous in nature. He had a real difficult time modulating his voice...and also his rampant sexism. The poor young page shirked away, rolling her eyes, her bundle of documents nestled underneath her arm as she stormed out of his office. Swinging back around in his opulent tax-payer funded office chair (with gold trim as well as ivory that was surely not from illegal wild hunts in Africa), he tried to hide his shock as he stared at someone who was damn near eight inches taller than him. “Haha…huh…so, Pastor Rob, I am sure you are well aware of the need to increase our lumber mill subsidies for The Coming!”

“The Coming?” Pastor Rob had spent so much of his time driving all the way to Washington DC with Garry, he couldn’t help his excitement being around a gen-you-whine congressman.

“Ah yes, The Coming.” Lionel Collins came from a long line of Collins. They owned cotton farms back in the olden days. They called these ‘the simpler times’. “So, I watched this video, on the Youtubes, it’s a great place…great place...don’t think most people know about it, but in it, these two gentlemen who were eating Bodease…that’s a turmeric extract…and they were saying that the stars were aligning and there was going to be a second flood. Like with Noah. But even bigger. And the Ark Encounter is such a big hit...I just know we need it down here too...”

There was no amount of prayer that could fix the rampant insanity spewing from this elected official’s mouth.

“Now, Garry, son…” he trailed off. He and Garry were the same age. “So, how can I help you?”

“Well gosh Sir,” Garry Ray-Ray Nelson was cramped in this space, in his too small chair, his knees nearly reaching his chest. “I gots a mighty big favor ta ask ya, cuz I am tryin’ ta save The Farm, and I just–”

As Garry was trying to explain his situation, Representative Collins flipped through one of the many books on his desk labeled ‘Campaign Contributors.’ Licking his fingers, he went page by page, oblivious to the background chatter surrounding him. When he got to the N’s, his eyes grew wide. Slamming the book shut, he took on a much greater interest in what was being said to him. “Why, Mr. Garry Nelson...I can call you Mister, right?”

“Well, I mean gosh darn it, I’m a pretty big Mister, and I really like the cut of your jib.”

“I can see that!” Representative Collins exclaimed. “Your family has been…very…very generous to my campaigns in the past.”

The fact that these funds could have been used to help make it so the family farm was not in its current state of repossession is lost on everyone. “You put America first, Con-grass-man Collins, and ole Ray-Ray, he puts America first! Number one in his heart! And I need ta show this in a place nobody from Nelson County ever done gone to!”

“Oh yes, XWF’s Leap of Faith. Dubai! Now let me tell you, son,” Collins trailed off as he drew closer, elbows planted against the desk. “The bathrooms there. Small. Small stalls. And me, I got a wide stance. You can empathize, I’m sure.”

Garry simply sat there, scratching his magnificent mustache.

Representative Collins continued. “And let me assure you, Garry, I, United States Representative Lionel Collins, was not involved in cottaging in the men’s bathroom. Like you, the only cottages I believe in are on the open plains of this great, great nation.”

“Oh I believes ya, I think we all need that in our lives. But I ain’t gonna be able to make it to Dubai and win my battle royal if I am stuck here. I mean, I ain’t wantin’ to really leave Old Glory, but someone done sabotaged my damn passport.”

“Garry! Language!”

“Oh gosh gee, I’m sorry Pastor Rob, I just got so excited and this is such a big moment for me and the family and Betsy-Sue and, they done messed my name up Congressman Collins, they done did that to me, done tried ta eliminate me like I was Osama and his awful boys. Our colors don’t run, and neither do I. I need ta get me a passport and fast!”

“You know Garry Ray-Ray Nelson, I think I can help you with that!” The jubilant Representative Collins rose from his seat, and extended his hand. “These colors won’t run, but we need to make sure that all your opponents will. To the passport office!”

With great haste, all three tried to rush out of the congressional office, but then, well, they became log jammed in the doorway, just like so many pieces of legislation in this wonderful capital.

—------------------------------------

As written on a few airplane napkins and passed to the XWF news team to post in its entirety. God bless whoever transcribed this message, Garry clearly didn’t pass his writing test in the 3rd grade:

Bam Miller is out there on the twitters, and I see him all the time talkin’ ‘bout how he ain’t no joker no more. But listen here Bam-Bam Miller. You’re always gonna be a good fer nothin’ joker. Just like my Momma told me I was gonna be. But I ain’t gonna be that Bam-Bam. That’s gonna be you ya son of a bitch! I’m gonna slap yer taste buds right over the top rope and inta the second deck.

Whatcha gonna do Bam? Bring a brick? BOY I ALREADY GOT TWO BRICKS COMIN’ WITH ME TA THAT RING! I got these enormous hands, and when I get ta swingin’ ‘em ya better get ta watchin’ out! Cause I’m gonna slap ya over the top rope faster than an Einstein can count ta three!

Joshua Schuler, now I gotta lotta questions fer ya Mr. Schuler. I need ta know the government secrets, and ya look like a man who might know a thing or two about some government secrets. So tell me, really, what do they keep at that Area 51? Did ya ever get that outta yer boy Trump over a spliff and some bourbon? And if ya didn’t… What kinda man with rare Presidential access are ya? Ya didn’t get all yer questions answered? Do I need my tin-foil hat? Are there aliens? Do they have special mind control powers?

WE’LL NEVER KNOW BECAUSE JOSHUA SCHULER DIDNT FUCKIN’ ASK! He had a golden opportunity ta be able ta know the damn secrets of the world and he didn’t fuckin’ ask! I bet ya that son of a bitch Schuler is some type a FreeMason. If he wants ta come over and share my weed he’s gonna need ta prove it ta me that he ain’t no FreeMason scumbag. And his head looks like a pumpkin just like the pumpkin lady.

Pumpkin lady looks like she’s an evil pumpkin lady from the land of the Pumpkin queens. What the fuck am I supposed ta say ‘bout some chick who dresses up like a jack-o-lantern? I dunno, I’m gonna say and do some mean things ta ya but I really don’t know how ta really go ‘bout trashin’ the Pumpkin’ King’s wife. I always liked the Peanuts ‘Halloween’ special and really enjoyed that part. But you know, if you’re separated from him and not really hangin’ out with him anymore, then I guess I gotta get mad at ya fer makin’ The Great Pumpkin all sad and shit. You mean bitch you.

Venomous women and venomous men same part of a venomous clan. Chronic Chris Page has all of his men lined up ta get slapped in the face by Garry Nelson. And I’m fine with that, but that’s better than goin’ out ta that hussy bar fer a weddin’ reception. Gotta say I respect ya Xavier, ya didn’t give in ta the peer pressure ta go ta the devil’s hole. That means ya gotta a will of yer own, some real damn willpower there. And Pastor Rob told me that’s a great thing that all men should be tryin’ ta have. But even with yer superior willpower, ya still threatened ta bury me in yer backyard like I’m some kinda animal.

LISTEN UP XAVIER. I’M THE ONE BURYIN’ ANIMALS ‘ROUND THESE PARTS! NOT YOU!

And you, very rich horny demon man. I’m sure ya trapsed ‘round that demon hole party, lookin’ at all the scandalous women or somethin’. Ya might be able ta chain it up inside ya, but just ‘cause yer some kinda horny demon man doesn’t mean ya get ta come ta anyone’s farm and just take it away. ‘Cause rich folk like YOU are the reason that good, strong, hard workin’ folk like me aren’t able ta raise their families off the land like they used ta be able ta. And it’s all because of horny rich demon men like ya!

GIMME MY FARM BACK DEMON MAN!

Listen, the X DUBBBBBBYA F wants ta make a fool of Ray-Ray, but NOBODY is makin’ no fools of Ray-Ray Nelson. Not in no Dubai, not in some place that thinks it’s United and DEFINITELY NOT when I have the soil of the freest country in the world in my pocket! I’ll be the one possessed demon man! POSSESSED BY THE SPIRIT OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN! THE BEST DAMN SLAP FIGHTER TA EVER LIVE! AND ALL OF YA’LL ARE IN FER IT AT LEAP OF FAITH! I WILL BE THE ONE TA FACE A CHAMPION OF MY CHOOSIN’! NOT YER CHOOSIN’! MINE!

And I’ll come get ya, whoever ya are… I’ll show ya who's the real gosh darn bossman.

– As Transcribed by Billy-Bob Stevens the X DUBYA F intern in charge of translating and sub-titling Garry ‘Ray-Ray’ Nelson.]]> <![CDATA[Fast Times at Bath High]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43676 Sat, 28 May 2022 22:11:48 -0700 Thunder Knuckles™]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43676

Fast Times at Bath High

Bath High School 2 pm.

The dimly lit auditorium is full of students who are awaiting Thunder Knuckles's arrival. The principal of Bath High walks up to the podium, where he is met with boos.

Young men and women, we have a very special guest this afternoon. I can’t lie, I’m a big fan. He is an alumnus of this fine school, a former two-time XWF Television Champion, former XWF and OCW Tag Team Champion, and the current XWF Xtreme Champion.

The kids in the know start chanting.

**No Good Bastard** **No Good Bastard**

Please, help me welcome, THUNDER KNUCKLES!

TK presses play on his boom box like he has in each school leading up to this moment. This time it plays the hook from “Politically Incorrect” by Tom MacDonald. Walking from behind the curtain, TK is met with a round of applause as he dances to the podium.

I see Bath High School still fucks with me!

The Chuckle-fucks in attendance are cheering like crazy. The kids who don't watch wrestling have no clue who TK is but they are clapping anyway. They're about to learn who TK is real quick.

Woah-

TK looks surprised for a second then gives a wicked smirk.

I guess, Jimmy, got my phone call. Anyway, the board of Education sent me here to tell you fuckers NOT to have sex.

The room went quiet suddenly until one of the disease-infested kids coughed.

I know, right? It’s legit the only fucking thing you can do in this town. Well, that and sell crack but if you’re classy as fuck, like yours truly, I stick to the finest white pony in this great state. Let the poors stomp on it.

TK brushes the dirt off his shoulder like a true G.

Nah, I’m not going to tell you not to be fucking. That shit doesn't work. They had someone come in and say that shit to us when I was your age. Do you know what it turned out doing? Not a goddamn thing. I personally fucked Susie Rottencrotch and got her ass pregnant and if you know anything about Ohio abortion is illegal after so many weeks. Well, Susie Rottencroch waited too damn long and I had to accidentally, on purpose, tripped the bitch down the steps. Turned out to be cheaper and that's how to save some cash, guys.

TK points and winks to the students in the auditorium.

No, that shit doesn't work but ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles knows something that will. Yeah… Just like that…

TK points up to the projector room above the students, giving the nerds from the AV club the signal. A screen drops down behind TK to the right. Once the screen is down a picture is displayed. The picture is of a cluster of blisters on the shaft of a penis.

That shit-heads is general herpes. Don’t think for a goddamn second that you can’t or won't get herpes. I know what you bitches in attendance think. That’s a dick. Well…

The picture of the cluster of herpes blisters on the penis changes to another cluster this time on a vagina. These blisters are busted open with puss dropping out of them.

Imagine getting that shit in the crack of your ass and let's face it in your goddamn eyes. That shit would fucking suck.

TK looks over at the principal expecting some push back but it’s not happening. TK gives the principal a thumbs up and actually receives one back.

Alright, you think herpes is bad?

A few of the kids can audibly be heard saying yeah.

It gets fucking worse, trust me.

The nerds working the projector switch the picture. Another slide of busted herpes blisters appears on the screen.

Wrong goddamn slide, next.

The picture changes again. Scabs around pubic hair are shown on the screen.

Those are fucking bugs eating your goddamn flesh. Pubic lice. You DO NOT want to fuck around with pubic lice! They’re actual goddamn bugs, yo. Alright, nerds, next side.

The nerds do as TK asks and change the slide, a yellowish-green discharge is oozing from the vagina. TK’s face looks disgusting, almost unwilling to continue as Bobby's words keep playing in TK's head. "You probably shouldn't add the slides."

Next slide, for fucks sake.

The slide of the yellowish-green discharge changes to the same disease but this time it's a gray discharge but there's more of it.

Oh, that’s good, keep going...

TK closes his eyes for a few seconds.

I can’t even say this one. Tric-hom-on-my-ass or some shit. I just call it the trick because some bitches don’t even know they got it. They just live their lives wondering why it fucking burns when they pee. Bitches are dumb. Bitches don't be dumb, go get tested, that goes for you asshats too. ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles gets tested once a week like it’s fucking COVID-19. Thank fuck, I’ve only gotten shit antibiotics cleared up.

TK pauses for a moment and tilts his head back.

FUUUUUCK.

Looking back at the audience TK smirks.

Alright, next slide, you’re doing great.

The nerds at the projector flip to the next slide of male genitalia with a large deep sore, it's about the size of a J.F.K. half-dollar coin.

Just in case you fuckers think you’re safe from STDs in other countries and shit. Well, your goddamn wrong. You have to go to a tropical third-world country for this mother fucker. This shit right here, this shit is Donovan-o-sis. I think? I just call it the Blackwater.

The next slide is shown, it looks simpler than the last, just the sore is small and there are a few more of them.

This little Bastard is just like the Blackwater just smaller. Notice that the fucking ulcer is deep as fuck with a puss blister down in the middle of it.

TK shivers trying to control himself from vomiting.

Don’t worry, this isn’t common here in the States, but in Africa, and even where I’m headed next Dubai. If you fuck with the local talent, i.e. hookers, there's a chance-roid that you catch chancroid.

TK motions to the nerds in the booth above the students and they change the slide. Thankfully, the next slide is blank.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking, ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles is trying to scare us with sexually transmitted diseases. You’d be goddamn right, but you have to know of the other dangers out there too. It's not just hideous sores and whatnot. If you sleep with the wrong person with weak genetics, shit like this will happen.

The AV nerds change the slide to a picture of Bilbo Blumpkins.

Birth defects. That’s right, fuck faces, if STDs don’t do the trick then here are some more cold hard damn facts, for ya. Look at this cripple. Ladies, do you want to pop something like that out? Dudes, you want to take care of that, or be like most of your fathers, and dip the fuck out? Let’s be fucking real?

TK closes his eyes and takes a big deep breath through his nose.

MmmHmmmm. Next slide.

TK opens his eyes and addresses the auditorium again. The nerds have already switched slides. It shows a child with a cleft lip, presurgery.

Some more weak genes. Is having a baby like that palatable for you? Fucking think about it. Next slide.

The AV club puts up the final picture, it’s of Ring Master.

There are no genes weaker than my opponents at Leap of Faith, Ring Master. Despite his obvious birth defect, he was able to get buff and shit. No one is built that way except this guy, way too top-heavy. My point is if you’re going to fuck, wrap it up, if not, and this shit happens to you. Well-

TK shrugs like Shawn Warstein looking into the mirror while staring down at his junk.

You can’t say you weren’t goddamn warned…

TK closes his eyes again and makes a very satisfied sound.

Ooohhhmmm, Yeah. Swallow that shit.

TK seems pleased by his performance.

Alright, Chuckfucks and naysayers, times up. I have to get to Dubai!

TK presses play on his boom box and “Politically Incorrect” by Tom MacDonald continues to play from where it was on pause. Suddenly a woman pops up from behind the podium, wiping off her mouth. TK zips up his pants behind the podium and leans into the microphone.

Oh, yeah, by the way, Richard Stansberry, your mom made sure you get an autograph. You can thank her later. DEUCES, Bath High, I’M OUT!

The principal gives a round of applause, along with the students, as TK walks off stage. The scene fades gently into a commercial.

Drone footage of the inside of the International Cricket Stadium in Dubai is shown on your screen.

On May 29th, 2022, XWF invites you to make the LEAP OF FAITH!

Your screen now has a crew of strong burly men constructing a cage.

Thunder Knuckles puts his Xtreme Championship up for grabs against Ring Master.

The drone footage fades into the camera panning around the double cage, that is surrounded by red light and suspended in the air.

Both men are going to be entering a double steel cage-

Clips of other double steel cage matches begin to play.

-and only one man will walk out victorious.

The ominous cage is again shown in the red light. this time placed around the ring.

Join us LIVE on Pay-Per-View. Check your local listings and ORDER NOW!

The commercial quickly fades to the preach portion of TK's promotional package.

**PREACH**

We catch back up with TK still sitting in his lawn chair at his Lima Ohio residence.

Who better is there to play in the devil's playground known as the double steel cage than ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles? Bodies will be twisted, flesh will be ripped, and blood will be lost. Make no Mistake Ring Master I'm not going to the United States of Emirates to take an L. Nah, homie, I’m showing up to take the head of my second victim's head. You sit around and act like I’ve been the Xtreme Champion for a hot minute but the reality is I just start my mother fucking journey. Legendary career, fuck I’ll give you that, but all the niceties in the world aren’t going to save your goddamn ass from me in that fucking cage.

TK’s phone rings, he reaches into his pocket and gives the one-minute finger to the camera.

Ah, shit, I gotta take this.

TK presses the screen to accept the call and places the phone next to his ear.

Yo, what up Caesar?

TK pauses for a minute letting Caesar talk before he busts out laughing.

Wait, wait, hold on I’m filming my shit right now. The people have to hear this shit, bro. Hold on, hold on.

TK takes the phone away from his ear and presses the screen to enable the speakerphone.

Yeah, man, Ring Master showed up boohooing about the casino's odds against him and wanted me to change them.

You told him you got into the casino business to make money, not lose money, right?

Fuck no, man, he looked pathetic and I figured you were going to run him down hard enough.

True, true, anyway, BOBs cut is coming soon, right?

I never miss a payment. Oh, one more thing, Ring Master went all-in on himself with five grand.

What a fucking poor.

That’s after he went off on a tangent about real men making their own odds.

Well, like most everything he said that's untrue, you make the odds. Alright, I have to get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.

Yep.

TK hangs up the phone and puts it back in his pocket.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Jimmy made me watch this fuckers promotional material. Has anyone told this mother fucker what match he’s in? Does, the no cheeks having ass, know that we’re not the ones jumping the goddamn Mia Khalifa building for a briefcase? For fucks sake.

TK looks to his side.

JIMMY!

Off-camera you hear Jimmy yell back.

Yeah?

BRING ME A FUCKING BEER!

TK looks back into the camera while scratching his nuts.

Now you’re probably wondering why ‘Ol Thunder KNuckles went to his former schools to give lectures. Well, it’s simple, I figure I’d take Ring Master to school seeing as he hasn’t learned a goddamn thing since being in XWF. Look, kid, you want to make it big here, right? Well, take my advice and get the fuck out of my way. Getting your ass beat to show you have heart is about as smart as Jenny Myst cutting off Lance's ear on Warfare. Pretty fucking stupid. I mean really what the fuck is Jenny Myst going to do to Alias? I mean, Charlie is already pissing down Alias’s dry well but that doesn’t mean that Jenny’s got the goods.

Jimmy walks up and hands TK a beer before walking back off-screen. Cracking the beer TK continues.

I heard you say I’m not taking you seriously.

TK takes a drink and belches' afterward.

Ask yourself this, why the Hell should I? You’ve proven to me you’re too afraid to get down and dirty. You’ve proven you’d rather cry about your odds and jump off Mia Khalifa than say anything of fucking substance.

TK changes his tone to that of a sniveling bitch.

The Brotherhood of Bitches are big meanies and I can’t stand meanies.

TK’s voice goes back to normal because he doesn't know how to even act like a bitch for that long.

Shut the fuck up, that shit is so played out that it’s in the Chris Page playbook. Come on, mother fucker, you’re going after MY Xtreme Championship. You're not playing fucking patty cake with Mac Bane or floundering in mediocrity like Elijah Martin. Nah, son, you're fighting one of the premier talents that this company has to offer. Where's the fucking gusto? Where's the razzle-dazzle? Threatening suicide before the biggest match of your career is weak as fuck. For the love of sweet baby Jesus, you're already committing career suicide. There's no need to take your life too. I mean, if you really want to be all goddamn emo kid about it. I'll help you out and make your dreams of legendary status come true, as the man 'Ol Thunder Knuckles legitimately kills in the ring.

After downing the rest of his beer, TK closes his eyes trying to find his beat. Once he finds it. he begins to bob his head to the track in his mind.

I became dangerous, off my bank statements, my name’s mother fucking famous. Ring Master’s beating is going to go viral. I pray to my idol, while my opponent goes on a downward spiral. Even if he doesn’t, he needs to juice up, call him minute maid. Though he’s in this trade, he just doesn’t make the grade, On May twenty-ninth he’s about to get slayed while I'm getting mother fucking paid. In this match I’ve surveyed, I’ve only been dropping hand grenades, could have been dropping nukes but I had to degrade. When I return from my crusade, I will not be swayed, I'm having a big ass parade.

TK is no longer bobbing his head, rather, he is shaking from side to side with the beat in his brain.

It’ll be time to pop the champagne as I expand my Xtreme reign. Just like D’Ville, Bumpkins, BathZaltzz the Ring Master’s attempt will be in vain. As long as I have the title, it’ll be hard to attain. Fuck’em, let’em all complain.

TK bites his bottom lip because that line was legit.

He’s just too good, could’ve, should’ve, would’ve, don’t get it misunderstood. ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles about to give’em the wood. Dick’em down faster than Eobard take meat. Like a whole football team going skeet, skeet, skeet, skeet. A lot of what you said ain't true, and on May 29th you’ll get your receipt. My word is my bond and that is concrete. You can’t blame anyone for your upcoming defeat. It’s not your fault that they threw you to the elite. Now do me a favor and get off my teet.

TK stops shaking his head from side to side and opens his eyes.

Ring Master can talk all he wants about controlling his own fate. He's going to find out that stepping into a cage with me is no goddamn joke. I fucking telling you, as soon as that cage's door is shut, the brown streak on his tights will form. Cricket Stadium will witness what American fans have known for a long time. DO NOT PUT YOUR MONEY ON RING MASTER.

TK bows his head his loyal Chuckle-fucks and Bastards everywhere know to do the same.

Bastardly Father, in your hatred, cut off my enemies and destroy all those who try to take my Xtreme Championship. I believe in the power of your word that says, “Forgive no one and you will have my wisdom which none of your opponents will be able to resist or refute. ”Everyone that has vowed that I will not get to my promised land, bring them to me and I will slay them in your presence, O Bastardly Father. I command the demons of destruction to go to the stronghold of my opponent's power, his heart, and I will destroy it. I will execute vengeance upon my opponent in your Bastadly name. As they attack me in the hallway. Help me kick out and send them fleeing on their way. Anyone that plots against me by mistake, will die by correction. I will give my opponents their worst nightmares. Let the fear and panic spread in their minds and move to their bodies. Since they have refused to let me have peace of mind, let them die a slow and suffering death. By Your ruthlessness, O Bastard above. I will vanquish my opponents, not just at Leap of Faith, no. I will put all my enemies’ plans, like their throats, under my boot. In the Bastard's name, I prey.

TK lifts his head back up to the camera.

A-goddamn-men

The scene transitions to black slowly. No... Slower than that.

]]>

Fast Times at Bath High

Bath High School 2 pm.

**PREACH**

]]> <![CDATA[The Escape Part 2 -or- We Will NEVER Stop Referencing Star Wars]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43675 Sat, 28 May 2022 21:45:48 -0700 Mark Flynn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43675

Boom! The door from the stairwell to the garage kicked open. A pink-faced man in a black suit stormed in, flanked by dozens of agents behind him, filing in to cover the vicinity.

“COVER ALL POTENTIAL ENTRY POINTS! I WANT 100% VISIBILITY ON EVERY NOOK AND CRANNY OF THIS GARAGE! FLYNN IS LIKE A RAT, IF WE LEAVE A HALF-INCH SPACE TO FREEDOM, HE’LL CONTORT HIS RUBBER BODY AND ESCAPE!”

He marches to the center of the garage, as a pair of agents drag forward a short, terrified Korean man, holding a jug of window fluid.

“Agent Spahtz!” The agent to the left speaks up. “We found this known affiliate to the North Korean War Criminal trying to pull his limousine out of the…” The agent checks his notes. “Four spots that Agent Criminal had parked it across.”

The agent to the right steps forward… “Needless to say, we impounded the limousine, to prevent Agent Flynn and Criminal’s most likely means of absconding.”

“Great work.” Spahtz nods, before staring down at Kato. “So! Clearly, you’ve been in communication with Flynn and NK. Did they tell you to prepare for an escape? Where are they planning on taking the extradimensional fugitive?!?”

“No, no, no!” Kato cradles the jug to his chest, exasperated. “This is all a terrible misunderstanding! My commander asked me to replace the window cleaning fluid! We were running low! I am simply on a mission of routine vehicular maintenance!”

Redd scoffs, with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “You are part of Flynn’s escape attempt! And a traitor! Take him away!”

“...Sir, you ordered all personnel to remain in the garage until Agents Flynn and Criminal were apprehended… Should we disobey that order to follow this new order?”

Spahtz blushes. “Ah, of course not, no! Everyone is to remain posted at the garage until…”

*KERSH* The radio at Spahtz’ chest beeps.

The same radio channel Spahtz had been tuning into to listen to NK and Flynn. The idiot North Korean had accidentally given up their plans twice. He had since been using the radio channel to track their movements.

Spahtz’s meaty fingers reflexively spasm as he lifts the speaker to his ear. He lifts a finger to the agents to urge their silence.

…

Over the speaker, we hear the sounds of troubled breathing… And metal clanking…

“Mark Flyyyyyyyyyyynn… This is so unsanitary! There is no posted certificate of inspection on these ventilation shafts!”

Kato leans forward! “Commander! You are AUDIBLE to those pursuing y-”

Spahtz’ massive hand leans forward and clasps around the second-in-command’s mouth. “No chance, little guy. It’s one-way communication. They can’t hear us, but we can hear them. Now…” Spahtz gestures to the agent, who gag a struggling Kato with a rag in the mouth.

Meanwhile, Spahtz waves his arms wide to signal important information is incoming. The agents all fall to a hush as the garage goes completely silent.

“Mark Flyyyyyyyynn, the indignity! To have to crawl UP through walls… like a rodent… Or a false Korean!”

He mouths to his curious subordinates… “They’re going up?”

“...I simply do not understand, Mark Flynn! The garage is on the ground floor! Why would we climb UP ventilation shaft? The only location this route would lead would be to the roof!”

Spahtz’ eyes widen! “Flynn’s trying to escape via the roof! The garage was a misdirection! All agents, report to the roof! On the double!”

The identical white-bred, sunglass-donning agents all sprint for the stairwell, single-file, headed straight for the roof. As Spahtz moves, he checks back over his shoulder at the agents and Kato, rag still balled-up in his gob.

“Except you two! Stay with that little… MISCREANT!” Spahtz slams the door to the stairwell behind him.

…

It is quiet.

Suddenly, the two agents seem to de-tense.

“Phew, Spahtz sure is on the warpath, huh?” The agent on Kato’s left says, reaches into his interior breast pocket… He retrieves a cigarette, which he lifts to his lips.

The agent on Kato’s right lifts out of his pocket a lighter. “Yeah, he’s got a mad-on for Flynn. He’s been angling for a spot on the XWF-Pryce investigation ever since Davenport opened the file. But, for some reason, Davenport would rather work with a washed-up morphine-addict than Spahtz.”

The agent on the left shrugs. Kato, still gagged, and about a foot smaller than both of the agents, tries to wriggle out of their grip.

Suddenly, in unison, the two extends their heels and trip the Korean to the floor of the garage. “Just sit tight, half-pint.” Lefty says, not losing the ash on his cigarette’d tip while performing a synchronized judo throw. “We’ll cut ya loose after we lock up your superior.”

Kato wriggles on the ground in protest… Twisting under his captors, trying to free himself. He desperately struggles, shifting onto his back.

And as he lays back on the ground, that’s when he sees… Shimmying on the overhead lights silently…

Holding their breaths as they hand-over-hand scale across the space to over the two guards…

Mark Flynn.

And the North Korean War Criminal.

Righty laughs. “I mean, to be fair to Davenport… Spahtz has gotten GOT by some pretty stupid tricks.”

Lefty tries to hide a smile. “Don’t let HIM hear you say that or you’ll end up working a desk, filing dimensional anomalies alphabetically.”

As the two laugh, Flynn carefully hangs down into a pull-up over Righty… He hangs, his arms tremor slightly as he maintains tension.

He looks down, nodding at Kato. Kato nods back.

“For real, though. Some of these tricks Flynn plays… The call-forwarding trick he played on Spahtz… And in his file, it said he pretended he couldn’t hear an enemy combatant… then he threw a popcorn machine at them?!? It’s the kind of shit a cartoon character falls for.”

“Haha, GENUINELY. Could you imagine falling for one of those tricks? I’d feel like Wil E Coyote sprinting into a tunnel the Road Runner painted.”

NK rubs his hands together, preparing to replicate Flynn’s maneuver…

He grips the side of the light… And gingerly lowers himself…

But as he does, his left boot starts to slip off his foot!

Kato gasps! …But the gasp is muffled by the gag.

“Actually, Greg. Road Runner didn’t paint the tunnel. Wil E Coyote painted the tunnel, Road Runner would run through it like it was real and THEN, Wil E Coyote would run into it.”

NK, baring his teeth in dread, tries to straighten his ankle to keep the boot up…

But he accidentally kicks it off his foot entirely!

“Hey, Bill? You being PEDANTIC doesn’t make you INTERESTING. And another thi-“

CLACK! NK’s boot hits the garage floor.

Directly between Flynn and NK.

…

Lefty looks at Righty.

“Seriously? This is what I’m talking about.”

“Why would a boot drop out of the ceiling, EXCEPT to make us look up?”

“So, we can be attacked fr-”

Flynn’s grip releases! He double-stomps on Righty’s back!

Lefty goes for his gun… Just as NK’s grip slips! His back lands on Lefty with his entire weight!

Flynn dives on-top of Righty’s woozy body… dragging him forward off the ground by the collar, WHILE DRIVING HIS HEAD INTO RIGHTY’S NOSE! Righty collapses backwards unconscious!

NK kips-up from on top of his opponent’s back, into a fighting stance!

…But Lefty is already unconscious.

…

NK laughs confidently. “Haha! This one was ill-prepared for my… Graceful-Acrobat-Full-Body-Splash-That-To-The-Untrained-Eye-May-Look-Like-A-Slip…-HOWEVER…”

Kato protests as loudly as he can with his mouth gagged. Flynn sighs as he kneels down to un-silence Kato.

“I swear, self-awareness only makes these guys dumber. Who WOULDN’T look up if a shoe fell from the sky?”

As Flynn carefully picks the rag from Kato’s mouth, the lieutenant gasps as oxygen rushes back into his mouth.

…Which was odd because he had the option to breathe through his nose that whole time.

In a flash, he climbs to his feet and salutes.

“Commander! Coach Flynn! …But, the radio transmission? Agent Spahtz overheard your travels toward the roof!”

NK grins and claps his hands twice. “Reveal yourself, collaborator!”

Suddenly, a ventilation shaft in the corner of the room clatters to the floor. And out steps, dusting off his jacket with his still-bound hands… The United Korean Peace Officer.

Wielding a rock in one hand, and a radio in the other.

“Annyeong.”

Kato squints confused… Then, astonishedly impressed.

“Aha! I see! You had your interdimensional counterpart mimic your voice…”

“And the rock was used to replicate the sound of scampering in the shaft.”

Kato’s eyes well with pride. “Most impressive, Commander!”

“Yes…” NK beams as he dusts his knuckles on his pocket. “I have my moments, I suppose.”

Flynn clears his throat, hostilely.

“...And of course, Mark Flynn’s experience with radio production… I’m sure aided in some fashion!”

NK pats his tag partner on the shoulder for great assistance work. Flynn scoffs and brushes off the paltry extension of gratitude.

“Now!” NK claps. “We have our tracker…” Pointing towards the smiling UK. “And we have our getaway driver! Shall we make our escape?”

Kato blushes. “Um, sir. I regret to report that Agent Spahtz ordered the… impounding of the limousine.”

Flynn grins and steps forward, reaching into his pants pocket. “Oh… Don’t worry, Kato. We did manage to make one stop before we got here.”

Flynn fishes his hand out of his pocket… Revealing…

A set of car keys.

“Agent Spahtz’ office.”

Kato is once again taken aback. “Brilliant! How did you two anticipate Spahtz would impound the vehicle?”

Flynn… scratches his head. NK blushes.

“We… uh… didn’t.”

“Plan A was to chuck ‘im into the nearest river.”

“For mischief.”

“BUT!” Flynn and NK both raise a finger… Before both pointing at UK, who seems delighted to be included in this conversation.

“Someone said very recently… Every setback is merely an opportunity yet to be utilized…”

“So, while we deal with the setback of being without our limousine.”

Flynn tosses the keys. Kato covers his face defensively, but catches the keys.

“You, dear Kato, have the unique opportunity to drive a Honda Fit.”

***

Wind blows furiously on the roof.

The agents coordinate with each other for the perfect swarm attack surrounding the ventilation shaft leading up the roof.

Agent Redd Spahtz barks at the men.

“KEEP EVERY EYE FOCUSED ON THAT SHAFT! THEY’RE BOUND TO COME OUT… And when they do, we’ll nail th-!”

Suddenly, several floors below. A distant sound. Spahtz’ ears perk.

It’s a car horn.

A very unique car horn.

The first five notes of ‘Oh Say Can You See’...

Spahtz’ car horn.

In a flash, Spahtz dashes to the edge of the roof.

And that moment, leaving the garage.

He sees a cherry-red compact car.

The backseat car door opens.

And it’s Flynn with a screwdriver.

As the car turns out to the road, he extends his body out the back…

Reaches around the side.

And in four deft motions…

Unscrews the license plate.

“FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYNN!”

***
A black screen with white text.

A title card.

“Flynn and NK fans RN”

On a couch, side-by-side, we see Flynn and NK in t-shirts. Flynn’s says “The Optimal Path”. NK’s says “The Vision of True Korea”.

“YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”

“THE OPTIMAL PATH, BAY-BEEEEEEEEE!”

“IT’S A SURE THING!”

“Flynn and NK are getting a briefcaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase!”

Jump cut to the two outside in the driveway, passing a basketball back-and-forth.

“Did you know Mark Flynn has NEVER lost with a briefcase on the line?”

“Did YOU know NK has never lost a singles match?!? Like… Ever? In Six years?”

Jump cut to Flynn and NK sitting in the car.

“Raion Kido? More like Raion Ki-No.”

“Raion Kido is 0-3 in matches with a prize on the line!”

“Raion is out here complaining that the choke artist line is the only point his critics have!”

Flynn and NK suddenly turn towards the camera.

“IT’S THE ONLY ONE WE NEEEEEEEEEEEEED!”

Cut back to the couch.

“I’m gonna say it: Raion Kido is the Chris Paul of big matches.”

“Raion Kido is the John Starks of the XWF.”

“For the record, If you don’t know basketball, these are the cruelest things anyone has ever said about anyone.”

Cut back to the driveway.

“Raion Kido acts like his destiny is to win.”

“Then, why doesn’t he wiiiiiiiiiiiiin?”

“Mark Flynn beat Peter Vaughn, the last Universal champion.”

“Then, Flynn and NK beat Char-Char and Bobby, the current number one contender AND a former Uni champ.”

Cut to the tag champs walking down the street.

“Go ahead, bring up Thad Duke.”

“BRING UP THADDEUS DUKE. RAION’S SINGLE BIG-MATCH WIN.”

“Flynn drew with Thad when Thad was campaigning for a Hall of Legends spot.”

“Raion Kido barely beat Thaddeus Duke while he was mentally planning his XWF retirement party.”

“Y’know who else talked about how great he’d EVENTUALLY be in the XWF? Future Legend Jordi.”

“Search his name on the site. Remind us how that turned out.”

Cut to Flynn and NK on the phone, in separate panels, implying they’re talking long-distance.

“Angelica Vaughn?”

“First off, Vaughnemous isn’t even a word.”

“What the fuck even is Vaughnemous?”

“The -ous suffix means abounding. So… Vaughnemous means ‘full of Vaughn’.”

“Makes sense. If you listen to her shit vlogs, she’s definitely full of herself.”

“She sometimes talks in hashtags.”

“And she’s gonna leave the ring in a bodybag.”

“If Angie Vaughn had that killer instinct to win big matches…”

“She probably would have actually showed up against Corey Smith.”

“You think Angie can beat Flynn and NK?”

“Check her last promo. She can’t even tell which one of us is insulting her!”

“Do we even know for sure Angelica Vaughn is going to show up to Leap of Faith?”

“Forget win-loss record. Angie Vaughn has an 0-and-1 ATTENDANCE record at Pay Per Views.”

Cut to Flynn shooting jumpers on a basketball court. NK is under the basket catching the ball and passing it back out to Flynn.

“Vita Valenteen? She’s on a two-match losing streak on Warfare.”

Shot. Net.

“Valenteen can’t even WIN if the matches aren’t on Anarchy!”

“Suspicious. Maybe they should retry that case of hers? Big Money Oswald might have a point about match-rigging…”

Shot. Net.

“If Vita has the trial on Warfare, she’d probably lose there too.”

Shot…

“With or without Christopher K. Clinton.”

Flynn’s foot slips. Brick.

He eyes NK angrily. NK smiles and shrugs.

Cut to NK and Flynn scrolling on the computer.

“The whole field is awful. Half of them have lost to Bobby within the last MONTH!”

“Bobby Bourbon. Try it. Try just saying ‘Bobby Bourbon will win’.”

“NK has his number!”

“If Bobby Bourbon could beat the champions, he’d have done it by now.”

“0-and-5 versus NK since 2016. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Three losses with three different tag partners. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Bobby Bourbon lost with TK, Barney Green AND Charlie Nickles…”

“And now, he thinks he’s gonna get the job done with fuckin’ Marf?”

“Marf Swaysons couldn’t even beat the Bastards with his old tag partner.”

“And back then, they were ONE of TWO tag-teams in the division!”

“Marf didn’t even fuckin’ SHOW-UP for the first week.”

“Bobby Bourbon, you really like Marf Swaysons is gonna be the difference-maker?”

“You’d be better off bringing fuckin’ JIM JIMSON!”

NK and Flynn laugh.

Cut to NK and Flynn back on the couch.

“Mark Flynn has won THREE DIFFERENT BRIEFCASES! The most briefcases of ANY superstar in XWF History!”

“NK has been holding onto his title shot since he won it at Leap of Faith of last year! It’s fucking destiny!”

“It’s the will of the Glorious Leader made manifest!”

“It’s the OPTIMAL FUCKING PATH!”

Flynn and NK bump chests.

“We’re getting the Uni Title, baby!”

“Can Flynn and NK be co-champions?”

“Who would beat them? Comrade Alias?”

“Go ahead, try saying Alias.”

“Cuz Flynn lost to Alias… IN AN EXHIBITION MATCH.”

“When the title’s on-the-line? Flynn doesn’t lose.”

“Mark Flynn is MISTER TITLE MATCH.”

Cut to Flynn and NK with pens, checking boxes in the air.

“When the belts were on-the-line versus the Bastards?”

“Got ‘im.”

“When the belts were on-the-line versus APEX?”

“Got ‘im.”

“When the X-Treme title was on-the-line versus Eli James IV, the #5 wrestler of all-time?”

“Got ‘im.”

“When Flynn had a ladder match with Tristan Slater with the Euro title on-the-line? When Slater was 22-and-0?”

“Fuckin. GOT ‘IM.”

“It’s been a whole cycle and the field is so dumb, they’re still pretending they’re taking on just Mark Flynn.”

“If you were? You’d STILL be fucked.”

“But, you’re taking on…”

Suddenly, Flynn and NK rip off their shirts, revealing their regular outfts. They face each other.

“THE.”

“GREATEST.”

“TAG-TEAM.”

“IN.”

“WRESTLING.”

“HISTORY.”

The tag-champs cackle nefariously as they bump fists.

“Theo Pryce. Your gambit…”

“Is about to backfire.”

“Your desperate effort to slow down the most dominant team in the history of WRESTLING ITSELF.”

“Was doomed the moment we decided that we would win it together.”

“Good try, pretending that this WASN’T a tag-team test.”

“After you booked Bobby Bourbon and Marf of the Bastards…”

“Angelica Vaughn and Vita Valenteen of Sarah Lacklan’s Family First…”

“And Raion Kido and the looming shadow of disappointment that follows him every match.”

“If we were as stupid as you thought we are… Maybe we would have fallen for it and Mark Flynn would have showed up alone.”

“But you’re dealing with the FUTURE OF THE XWF.”

“And despite Comrade Alias’ best-efforts…”

“No one can stop the future.”

“Especially when that future is coming in the form…”

The tag team champions raise their arms and cross them in unity.

“Of Mark Flynn.”

“And The North Korean War Criminal.”

Meanwhile, Next Door…

We cut to a couch where Kato is clutching a pillow to his chest, tears in his eyes.

He’s wearing a Future Legend Jordi t-shirt.

“IT’S BEEN TEN YEARS…”

Kato wipes the tears bubbling at the corners of his eyes.

“WHEN?!? WHEN WILL THE FUTURE BE NOW?!?”

wordcounter.com_wordcount:2998]]>

Meanwhile, Next Door…

wordcounter.com_wordcount:2998]]> <![CDATA[RP 3 of 3 vs Peter Vaughn for the Supercontinental title]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43674 Sat, 28 May 2022 21:15:24 -0700 Mac]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43674
“The only rule is there's only one rule: no rules.” - Dana Snyder

[Image: cxMrj2s.jpg?1]

Well Pete, you kinda missed the point on me and my ranch. When I first bought that place, there was nothing there but trees. I had sold it several months back to someone that I shouldn’t have. Now we are in the process of rebuilding what was destroyed by the previous owner. You were right about one thing, I’ll give you credit for that. It does take longer for me to heal these days. Not that it matters much, I’ve been working hurt for most of my career, so it’s not anything new. The real question is will you take advantage of that? Do you know what my current injuries are? You said it yourself, you’re still young in your career. Do you know what to look for? Maybe, and I guess we’ll see how that goes for you. As for the match itself? Yeah, I’m well aware of the rules in a ladder match, there really aren’t any. Over my career, I’ve fought in many of them. I know what it takes to survive them, probably better than most. Here’s something that I think might help you to understand exactly who and what you’re stepping into the ring with.

The first time I ever fought for a world title, was against one of the men in this business that even then I had labeled an icon. His name for reference is Bob Pooler. Our match was three stages of hell. Not the typical variety mind you. Phase one was a doomsday massacre match. To win, you had to put your opponent through a table that was wrapped in barbed wire and set on fire. Phase two was a scaffold match, the traditional one, throw your opponent off the scaffold to the floor or ring below. Dealers choice. The final stage was a ladder match and by the time we got to the third stage, we were both a bloody mess. I won that match, and I’m going to win this one too. Not because I think I’m better than you, it’s because I know that to be true. There are other factors driving me as well. You mistakenly believe that they don’t think you belong here? Outside of Chris, no one wants me here, the folks that make predictions, none of them believe I stand a chance. People believe I’m too angry to focus right now because of the loss to Knox. Thing is, my focus is homed in and I’m more than ready for this, Peter.

[/hr]

Life is funny sometimes, when Pete had asked about a good foreman, my own foreman came into the house. “Hey Mac, got a second?” I looked up and smiled at Josh, “Sure thing, what’s on your mind?” I scratched his head for a moment, “You remember my little brother, Neil?” I smiled and nodded, remembering him fondly, the guy could work circles around most ranch hands. “Yeah, damn hard worker.” He nodded, “He resigned as a foreman at the Clinton place.” I was shocked at this, to say the least, and it must have shown on my face. “What the hell for? That was a damn good paying job.” “Yeah, he said that ranch hands started coming up missing and it worried him.” There was a joke in there somewhere but I decided to leave it alone. “Well, I know a guy who’s currently looking for a foreman, he’s in the process of building his place and needs someone to help him run it.” He nodded, “Okay, can we call him?” I hit the speed dial option for Neil and he picked up on the first ring. “Hey Mac, long time man.” “yeah, it has been too long my friend. Are you okay with me giving your contact info to a guy I know? He’s looking for a good foreman for his place.” “Yeah, is he local?” I chuckled, “Local to Texas, yes. I think his place is out near Lubbock. One thing you should know, Peter is just starting to build his place out. It’ll be a lot of hard work but he’s a good man.”

“His name is Peter Vaughn,” I said finally. “That sounds like a lot of fun, I haven’t built anything from the ground up since your place all those years ago.” I chuckled, “Yeah, I think your idea of fun and mine may differ.” we all laughed a bit about that. “In all seriousness though, it’s always worth the struggle,” I said to them. “Okay my man, I’ll shoot your information over to him with my personal recommendation.” There was a pause, “Thanks Mac, I hope he’s as good a guy as you say he is. This last one was a fucking doozy.”

[/hr]

My relationship with Whisper is one that I don’t think I have time or the crayons to explain to you, Peter. You almost seem like you’re going for cheap heat in our last little talk. I certainly hope not. I’ll answer your question though, no she won’t feel anything from our match, to be honest. Since you are obviously aware of my history by now. You already that I am one of the hardest strikers in the game today. So, while Whisper won't feel anything you do to me, I’m going to hit you hard enough that your ancestors feel that shit. As for the rescue, I knew about that, and I’m glad you were able to get her free from the prison that the lesser raven had put her in. I know it wasn’t a real prison, but it probably felt that way to her. I mean, I could claim the moral high ground and just bash you for all you were worth, but I always remember this one thing. This is a cutthroat business, we all know it. Nothing any of us do should surprise anyone. I mean, I certainly wasn’t surprised by the visitor at the Rabbit. I’d have been more disappointed if he didn’t try some stupid shit like that. It’s just his nature, and ours too if we’re honest. Like you, I hope we’ll still respect each other after this match. I’ll be glad to shake your hand before and after this match. I’ll even buy the first round.

[/hr]

I sat in front of my laptop, wearing sweatpants and nothing else. I had tied my hair back in a ponytail, just to rip the rubber band out again. I had watched and rewatched the last promo back, and I noticed a gap in the promo. The video had cut to static when I started talking to the group about my time in Afghanistan. That got my brain churning in an almost conspiracy theorist kind of way, but I shut that down internally. “I know what you’re thinking Mac, don’t go there, it’s bad for the soul.” I looked down at my coffee cup and noticed it was empty, I sighed heavily, and began walking to the kitchen. I refilled my cup, I preferred my coffee black these days, I think mostly due to the redhead I was married to. Lactose intolerance is a thing in our house and I find it easier to not have anything dairy-based in the house at all. Then my mind went back to the interruption in the video feed again. “Maybe I should call Jeff,” I mused out loud, he was leading national security these days, maybe he could shine a light on this. Maybe Krator would know if something was up, but that guy was nuts. The fact that he knew where Spatharos lived was scary. Last I heard, Francis had gotten his own command. It was a bit concerning that the command he got was where I had been stationed in Puerto Rico.

This of course conflicted with the information the Krator had on him. He was under the impression that the asshole had retired. Maybe I should ask him for that information on Spaz. It might be worth looking into. Now that I had my coffee, I started making my way to the back door. I paused only long enough to pick up the pack of cigarettes on my way out of the house. It was still early morning in Vegas, and fairly cool, but I didn’t mind that. I sat down with coffee and cigarettes when my phone buzzed. It was an incoming text from Krator…

The address is as follows…

Then nothing came through, it was just a blank text message after that. “Now that is fucking strange.” I sent him a text back, letting him know that nothing came through. I lit a cigarette and leaned back into the chair. Taking a long drag and exhaling slowly, “Krator, you’re playing a dangerous game, I hope you know what you’re doing.” He was known for having outbursts that made no sense, and they would eventually get bad enough that his family would have to take him to the hospital. I hoped that this wasn’t the man’s medication cycling on him again. Another part of me thought that it had to be that and not the truth. He couldn’t possibly know where Spatharos was living or even if he was still alive. That asshole made a lot of enemies over the years. The fact that he’d lived as long as he did was a miracle in itself. Another sip of coffee was followed by another drag from my cigarette. My phone buzzed again, the address did come through this time but the address was Krator’s. “That’s weird,” I thought to myself. I sent a text back to him about what was going on. The answer I got was, “An experiment of sorts.” I got what he was talking about immediately. He figured someone was monitoring him and blocking certain things, so it was information that they didn’t want him to share.

MEET ME AT THE USUAL PLACE

ONE HOUR

Was the text that came through next, using all caps was a way of letting me know he was in trouble or danger of some kind. It was something I had worked out with the group a long time ago. “Fuck,” was all I could say as I put the cigarette out and made my way back into the house. I quickly dressed and made my way to the garage. The usual place was a dive bar on the edge of town, the name was “Jim’s Place” and was frequented by a very diverse clientele. The folks that went in there varied from bikers to strippers to businessmen. It was truly all over the board. I’d known Jim for a while now and he was all about being inclusive, he would not deny access to his place to anyone. He was one of those old Navy guys that didn’t care who you were or your past and whether it was shady or not. I just liked for people to have a good time. There was also a rumor that the traveling exhibit of the wall would be on display there this weekend. I grabbed my jacket from the barstool that was near my vrod and slipped it on. I zipped up the jacket and prepared to jet.

[/hr]

A short time later I was cruising into the parking lot of Jim’s Place, he had motorcycle parking available and so I cruised into one of the open spots. I could see off to the right, his memorial day display.

[Image: YsfA10L.jpg?1]

I walked up to the mock-up of the wall, finding the name of my uncle and my father’s cousins, I simply just closed my eyes and paid respect to the men who had fallen in combat. So many lives were lost in conflicts on foreign soil. An older gentleman, wearing a Vietnam ball cap stopped by where I was at. “The brothers' cole,” he mentioned, some of the bravest and absolutely crazy bunch of bastards I’ve ever known. I served with them in ‘nam.” I looked up at the man who was talking, “Where at?” I asked him in a polite and respectful tone. He smiled, “you one of their kin? You look a lot like Allison Cole, mean bastard that one.” I smiled and nodded my head, “I’ve heard that before.” He smiled, “Retired Captain, John Henrich,” he said as a way of introduction. “I was the flight officer aboard the corral sea.” We shook hands and he wandered off. I didn’t stay at the memorial long, as I heard the rumbling of an older vehicle. Krator’s sixty-seven mustang loped into the parking lot and he parked not far from me.

I could hear the mechanical noise of the parking brake as it was set and the lovely sound of the motor die as he cut it off. He exited the car, carefully looking around to make sure his environment was safe. I approached him and we shook hands, “Thanks for meeting me here boss. I think that his people are blocking comm’s.” I studied him for a moment, “Well, I agree that it was a bit strange, but are you certain it was him?” His gaze hardened as he spoke to me. “Mac, I’m the only one that knows he hasn’t retired. He lives here in Vegas now and I have to wonder why that is.” I shrugged, “You know the saying Krator, our black ops have black ops, it could be virtually anything.” He shook his head vehemently, “Nah, son, they don’t spend this kind of cash on a nothing op. He’s here specifically for someone or someone. There are only a few people still alive who know what he did Mac.” I considered that possibility for a moment, “Trust me Krator, I’m not blowing off what you’re saying but it’s just hard to believe that he would go to this much trouble to silence a few people.” He looked kind of hopeless at me, “Are you familiar with the phrase famous last words of a fool?”

Something in the distance caught my eye, sunlight flashing against the glass of a scope most likely. Instinct took over and I threw him to the ground and we rolled around the corner for cover. There was no sound but the clouds exploding in the dirt and gravel told me everything I needed to know. Then it subsided, “God damnit!” I said it loud enough that it may have sounded like a shout. Moments later I could hear a helicopter, it flew over the parking lot and headed straight for the horizon where I’d seen the flash.

Fade.

[/hr]

Well, philosophy is all fine and good, something that could be debated for generations. We both know why we are here and what we’re fighting for. It’s easy to say that you want this more than I do. It’s quite another to prove it. It’s funny too, a lot of kids believe as you do. That my age and physical conditioning may be going downhill. Oh, it’s worth talking about for sure. Yeah, I’m forty-six years old. I’ve had surgery on many things over the years. Most of those surgeries happened long before you ever entered this business. By the time I was thirty I had already won seven world titles and countless world tag team titles. I do love your confidence though, however, thinking you're going to bury me? I’m not that easy to kill, kid. Men twice to three times as mean as you are have been trying for almost two decades. As to whether either of us can walk away from the ring of our own power? Probably not, but who’s to say, really?

Pete, something you need to understand, I don’t give a fuck if you want to bring in old stablemates to help take me down. You could call SuMa tonight and he’d probably make the trip to help you. Thing is, it simply doesn’t matter to me how many you’re going to use. Probably none would be my guess but who knows. I mean you are a man with a proven track record, not that you needed to involve others in your matches but it’s certainly more fun that way, right? Giving friends the opportunity to share that spotlight is fun and sometimes funny. Allowing them to bask in your greatness, shit, peter, you don’t have to justify your actions to me. You’re not a bad guy, I’m a terrible human being and there are plenty of people who would tell you that. Usually the ones I beat for titles, but hell, even my wife admits that I’m awful. If you can’t take her word for it, you can’t trust anyone.

That’s why I said what I said earlier about the moral high ground in this business. I’ve used it in the past, sure. I won’t in this case though, we are men who can and will do anything to win a match. This time will be no different, I think we can both agree on that. You will bring everything you have in your arsenal and so will I. Burning ladder, chainsaws, knuckle dusters, bring all of it. The big difference is I don’t need weapons to put a man down, and I never have. So bring your kicks and tricks and I’ll bring these soup bones and these size thirteen boots to stick straight up your ass. We are going to steal the show, Pete, that’s what we do, every place we go. This will not be different, it will be better. We’ll leave people wondering how this isn’t the main event.

[/hr]

I don’t really talk about my past very much but since you brought up my childhood and all. Let me tell you a little story, Pete. How I was forced into the armed forces by a local judge. My father almost killed my mother twice. The second time was when I was about seventeen years old. We had just come back from southwest Louisiana, I was getting stronger by the day and bolder due to that fact. Between the pit fighting and training to become a wrestler, it was a daily confidence boost for me.

[Image: yv08gEe.jpg]

Thirty years ago

My father had gone on up to the apartment that we lived in. It was cramped to say the least, him, my mom, my three sisters, and me. It was a typical summer night in Port Arthur, Texas. The humidity was so high it felt like you were swimming in your own sweat. I knew something was wrong when I heard the door to our apartment slam shut. I grabbed my gear and headed up. I found the door was partially off its hinges and I shouldered my way through. I found my mother sprawled on the kitchen floor, bleeding from her nose and mouth. He was standing over her like some wild animal, snarling at her, words that sounded like gibberish. When I dropped the bags he whirled on me and snarled something about staying out of it. All the while I could hear my sisters in the living room sobbing uncontrollably. That’s when I made my decision. “Hey Pop, how about we have a beer and talk on the balcony for a bit.” He laughed at me and said in a voice that was as hard as steel, “I don’t drink with pussies!” That was when I struck, hitting him as hard as I could in the jaw, it dropped him like a sack falling to the floor. I helped my mother back to her feet.

“Never again, mom. I won’t allow him to do this ever again,” I said in the softest way I knew how. He started to come to and so I kicked him in the side of the head as hard as I could. “Mac, baby, no, don’t kill him,” my mother shrieked to me, she was hysterical and I was angrier than I had been ever before in my seventeen years. I was very young and had no control over my anger at that time. I drug him to his feet, yelling at Angie, my oldest sister to open the balcony door. She did so quickly and I hauled the old man out there over my shoulder. I honestly to this day, don’t know what I was thinking at the time but I threw him off the balcony and he landed on the hood of our car with a satisfying crunch of metal and glass. I had done my damndest to kill that mother fucker, but I failed to do so. My mother found out from the paramedics that showed up a short time later that he was paralyzed but not dead. I’ll be honest, that broke my heart a little bit. I was so sure, I could stop him from terrorizing my family that I never stopped once to consider the consequences. I was of course arrested, being a minor, I was placed in a juvie center and awaited trial.

When my court date arrived, I was tried as an adult, much to the chagrin of my court-appointed attorney and my family. The pleas of my mother and the attorney fell on deaf ears. The judge was friends with the old man, played college ball together, or some such bullshit. The judge told me that I had a choice to make. Judge Parker, “Young man, you have two options, join a branch of the military or six years in Huntsville.” Even I knew I didn’t want Huntsville, a maximum-security prison. The odds of me surviving the sentence were lower than a marine in a warzone. So, I chose military service, having already graduated high school at the age of seventeen, no delayed enlistment, was not an option they told me at the courthouse. It’s a story that is as old as civilization I think. Kids get into trouble and some crackpot judge thinks that military life will fix you. It kinda did, after a fashion. My time in the United States Navy taught me many things. How to hate authority even more than I already did, and how to hate people twice as much as that. It also taught me more about defending myself than I already knew. It taught me how to break people, not just their bones, but their spirits.

Present time

There is of course more to that story, but perhaps another time. The whole point in telling you all of this was so you could straighten your facts out. The other thing is that I really hate it when people try to patronize me. It never ends well.

[/hr]

Even though I thought I had left Jack Spawn behind me in Grand Junction, Colorado, I swear I could still feel him staring at me. Like I was being watched, even here in Port Arthur. I didn’t think it was possible as we continued to work on the ranch, trying to repair the harm that had been done when the Del Gado family owned it. I finished ratcheting down the last strand of barbed wire and the tendrils were creeping in my skull again as if he was fishing for information. I quickly put up walls, the way that Maria had taught me to before I left Colorado. After a moment of concentration, the sensation subsided. Josh, “You okay, amigo?” I nodded as I continued to focus on keeping whatever it was out of my head. “Yeah, about time for a break, though.” He nodded vigorously in agreement, “Definitely, was a long day but a good one.” I slapped him on the shoulder, “Yes sir, got a lot done today.” With that we headed to the truck, it was time for a shower and something cold to drink. I dropped him at the ranch house and I went up to my place. I stepped inside and started stripping as I went, I’d pick up clothes later. I wasn’t completely naked yet as I stopped by the wet bar. I grabbed a chilled tumbler and filled it halfway with Laphroaig scotch, and then two ice cubes.

Well, Pedro. We are coming up on the time when the rubber meets the road so to speak. We’ve had such wonderful talks over the last couple of weeks. Where you’ve talked about what you know about me, and quite honestly, ninety percent of it was wrong. That’s okay, I don’t mind, no one will care anyway. It doesn’t matter to the average wrestling fan that what you say about me, bears no resemblance to the truth. All they care about is the fight. We are similar in that regard, we’d rather fight than trade wristlocks. We’d rather bloody each other than exchange pleasantries. We’d rather beat each other senseless than trade ideas about philosophy. That’s how I see it from my perspective. What I’ve noticed in XWF is that people, even though they know my reputation, will doubt me out of habit. Know why? I’m not a homegrown product of this company. It was much the same in Sin City, they didn’t think I could hack it in their company. Well, not until I started dismantling their roster. I became a triple crown champion in the first 8 to 10 months I was there. Your resume is very impressive Pete, I’ll never say anything other than what you deserve. In my opinion, you are a competitor who deserves respect. You’ve accomplished quite a lot since you became a full-time roster member.

Anyone who says anything differently is just trying to create revisionist history to benefit themselves. Yes, I have that level of respect for your ability. But, really, we’ve talked enough about you. I want to talk about myself for a bit. It is after all my all-time favorite subject. While I don’t have a list of names as you do here in XWF to boast about. Considering I’ve lost one match since I signed on. I realize it was Marf, but everyone has an off day from time to time. I’ve beaten everyone else in my path to date. We know that we are both fighters, people who have scratched and clawed to get everything they wanted in this life. What you don’t know is how I fight. I don’t use weapons often, I try not to at all. It’s not about any moral high ground as many would have you believe. It’s because of the satisfying crunch that I hear, whether it’s punching someone in the jaw or dropping them face-first on the ring apron. The sound of their spine popping when I drop them on the mat, or the sound of cartilage giving up as damage someones ankle or shoulder. The sound of someone screaming in pain and slapping their hand on the mat because they want me to stop. I don’t more often than not.

Where you use weapons, I use the environment to my advantage. Make no mistake about it, I’m a hell of a lot more savage than Knox ever thought about being. He kicks people a lot, where I’ll rip up the padding just so I can drop someone on their head. I’ll bust you open with my bare hands just because of calluses and scar tissue. It’s not personal as I told you before. I know you and Lux took exception to my beating him in my debut. I didn’t book the match and to be quite honest, out of respect for him and disdain for Pryce. We didn’t play by his rules, we kept it in the ring and fought like men are supposed to. It goes beyond all of that though. Any time someone tries to make their legacy off of my back, that’s a problem. Not for me, for them and you. From the thinly veiled threats to the age-related barbs. You will find out exactly why promoters started calling me the One-Man Wrecking Crew all those years ago. I earned it. I earned every ounce of it and I’ve been re-earning it ever since. Don’t mistake my kindness and respect for you for weakness. That is a good way to piss me off and get yourself hurt in the process.

[Image: 5KnQGoR.png?1]

]]>
“The only rule is there's only one rule: no rules.” - Dana Snyder

[Image: cxMrj2s.jpg?1]

[/hr]

]]> <![CDATA[It's a Bird, It's a Plane]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43672 Sat, 28 May 2022 21:08:07 -0700 Prof. Bobby Bourbon]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43672
Or, in Bobby’s case, keep being fucking awesome.

IT'S A BIRD, IT’S A PLANE

At the Bobby Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts, we see Bobby along with the rest of the Bastards, Thunder Knuckles, Charlie Nickles, and…

Hey, were did Marf go?

Bobby, TK, and Charlie look around.

He was here just a minute ago.

TK does his Shawn Warstein shrugging thing.

~~~~~

We cut to see a tugboat in a harbor. At the helm, happy as a pig in shit, is Marf Swayson.

Yes! Dreams do come true!

Marf reaches up and pulls a cord, echoing the horn of the tugboat throughout the harbor. Marf grins like a kid on Christmas.

~~~~~

Well, I guess that alters plans a bit. So, with Marf down, we still got this. Charlie, you know your part, right?

Yeah! Join the Ku Klux Klan.

Uh, so you can infiltrate them and wipe them out from the inside, eventually beating the shit out of David Dukes?

Charlie looks confused.

Do what? I thought I was just joining the Klan, this seems a lot weirder.

Bobby takes a slow, deep breath as TK sips a Bud Light. Bobby looks at TK.

Look, bro, I don’t know that he’s really up to the task here, why don’t you chill and keep an eye on him or something while I go do what I gotta do.

You sure, Bobby? I mean, an entire stadium full of assholes and you want to go it alone?

You just described any given Savage or Madness.

True.

Look, there comes a time where a guy has to go it alone, and right now, well, I gotta go it alone. I thought I would have Marf to help me out in the Leap match but, well, I’m going to be flying solo on this one, no co-pilot.

Bet.

Bobby and TK exchange a no look fistbump.

You just keep Charlie from, I don’t know, burning down any churches or eating orphans or whatever he likes doing, and whoop the dog piss out of Ring Master. Oh, damn, did you call him Ring Master-bator?

TK shakes his head.

That’s no fucking good, Bobby.

Bobby purses his lips.

They can’t all be gems.

It’s alright, just go fucking wreck that goddamn KKK and Neo-Nazi and QAnon rally then win Leap of Faith.

Thanks bro.

TK smirks.

May the Force be with you.

Bobby rolls his eyes.

Live, laugh, love.

May the wind be forever at your back.

Have fun storming the castle.

May roleplay of the fucking month!

Bobby looks dead at the camera.

Not this one, the Wizard of Oz thing I did maybe.

TK nods.

Yeah, probably. Still, maximum effort.

True.

Bobby walks towards the door of the dojo and exits. As he does, TK turns to Charlie.

Yo, Charlie!

Yeah?

Bobby said you need to go peel some goddamn potatoes.

Really?

Did I fucking stutter?

Charlie shakes his head no and walks towards the bevy of kitchens lined up in the dojo where students prepare to go on Chopped. He puts on an apron and sits down on an upturned bucket. He grabs a sack of potatoes and pulls his own potato peeler out of his pocket.

?Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home…?

Thank you for watching BastardNET, we'll be back after this important message from our sponsors!

~~~~~

Terry’s Tea and Taxidermy!

We cut to see a lovely cup of tea, steam rising from the mug, along with the cold, dead eyes of a taxidermied bear.

Are you an aficionado of the finest brewed hot beverages? Do you like having the inanimate corpses of animals surrounding you? Well come on down to Terry’s Tea and Taxidermy! Sip a fine Earl Grey while having that old gray squirrel stuffed and ready to be the finest mantlepiece on earth! Ask about our Cat Lady special, three for one on deceased cats and a half ounce of a delicious and warming chamomile! Also, we at Terry’s have the greatest new features in animatronics, which will bring all those creepy dead animals to life!

We cut to see a stuffed badger, monkey, giraffe, and monitor lizard. They stand still for a moment before all springing to life, so it would appear, singing.

?Happy Anniversary! Happy Anniversary! Happy Anniversary! Happy Anniversary!?

The camera pans to show a man with his arm around his woman. She looks touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift. She raises a mug as does the man. They clink the cups and each take a sip.

That's Terry's Tea and Taxidermy, located on the highway just outside of town. Tell them Terry sent you and get a box of stuffed mice!

~~~~~

We now return to It's a Bird, It's a Plane, only on BastardNET, because fuck SPLAT!

RFK Stadium, the dead former home of the Washington Redskins Commanders, the signage rusted and foreboding. Along the perimeter of this ghost of an arena we see hundreds, if not thousands, of protesters gathered, all there looking none too pleased that known hate groups and domestic terrorists are being given the right to congregate. A line of police cars and officers stand between them and the stadium. Cruising into the parking lot in his 1976 Dodge Charger, its emerald green exterior gleaming in the sun, is Bobby Bourbon. He parks across three empty spots and exits the vehicle. Some protesters notice.

"Shit, is that Bourbon?"

"Maybe, but he's not going to help, he's bad now, remember?"

Bobby snortles.

Bad? Baddest motherfucker breathing, yeah.

"Does that mean…"

That means it's time some racist shitheads are about to eat their own dicks.

"Oh damn!"

The protesters part and make way for Bobby as he coolly and calmly approaches the police line. As he gets there an officer greets him.

About time you showed up.

Yeah.

The cops look just as relieved at Bobby’s arrival as the protesters. The crowd outside has gone silent, watching, as the echoes of the hate rally within the stadium are heard.

What are we looking at?

Well, at least two hundred, including their own armed security force. You'd have to fight your way in.

Well, that's cool, it isn't like I came here for a picnic.

The policeman smirks.

Look, my wife and kids kept asking me why I was protecting people that wanted to hurt us. I told them upholding the law was my job. I can't just let you in.

Bobby nods.

I understand. What do you suggest?

Well, we're about to do a flyover of the rally.

The cop points to a helicopter staged at the rally.

This won't be easy.

If it was easy anybody would be able to do it.

Bobby starts to walk toward the helicopter.

Give 'em hell.

Bobby gives a thumbs up.

They'll wish for it.

As Bobby makes his way to the helicopter, both Busta Rhymes and Dave Chappelle, both attendees at the rally with no commonality so far as I can tell besides being DC natives and obviously not Klansmen or Nazis, approach Bobby. Bobby stops.

Yo, Bobby Bourbon!

Holy shit, you're here! Look, you want to smoke a little bit with us?

Not now, guys, I got shit to deal with. Raincheck?

Sure.

Dave and Busta start up a chant, and in short order the entire crowd, both civilian and police, starts to chant as Bobby gets into the back of the chopper.

*FUCK 'EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK 'EM UP!*FUCK 'EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK 'EM UP!*

The rotor spins as people stand clear. The helicopter lifts, and the Grand High PooBOB, the Big Bad Big Bad of Big Bads, the Sultan of Smacktalk, but first and foremost, Bobby Bourbon, the Man of the People, takes to the air. The helicopter positions itself above RFK as the rally below is in full effect. The pilot speaks over his headset.

Don't you need a parachute?

No.

Bobby leaps from the open door of the helicopter, plummeting towards the ground. He lands in the middle of the rally on both feet, crouched, absorbing the impact. He stands straight and looks around, the bloodlust in his eyes almost glowing.

I guess this will be a solid warm-up.

Bobby immediately grabs a hooded Klansman and throws him at a group of ten other Klansmen in the formation of an acute triangle, knocking them all over like it was Klansman bowling.

Y'all are fucked, you know that shit, right? I mean, yeah, this is a Leap of Faith match and all, and yeah, I am a superheavyweight. And yeah, I've heard all the shit you've had to say. Get butthurt about what I say, that's fine, it won't hurt as much as I actually do to you. Angie Vaughn thinks I pretend I don't feel pain, but I do, straight to the bone. Raion Kido thinks I don't have a conscience, I do, just because he doesn't recognize it because I whooped his ass means fuck-all. Mark Flynn thinks I'm sweating NK's flash-in-the-pan 2016 before he disappeared for half a decade while I went on to dominate the scene, I don't, because neither Flynn nor NK have stopped me from being the force of nature I am. Vita thinks I have time for fear, I do! I ride on that fight-or-flight mentality, that adrenaline rush, that need to get myself into some shit that anybody in their right mind would shy away from, and roll with it. Not a single one of you fuckers get how dangerous this is, and that's just y'alls folly. I do. I know it. I'm counting on it. Every one of y'all wanna talk about how the other won't, not a damn bit of you have told me how any of y'all will. Thing is, there ain't anything scarier to me than hiding because of being afraid, and each of your insecurities are showcased by how you won't acknowledge the odds of being destroyed versus the odds of victory. I confront those fears, I attack, and I fuck shit up.

A group of Neo-Nazis rush Bobby. He rushed headlong into them, knocking them around and to the ground. The panic sets in among the hate groups.

While the rest of you fools all scramble and think of the fastest way to the top of the Burj Khalifa, the biggest thing I have to consider is whether to go straight to the top or just use each and every one of you to knock the damn thing down and just snag a briefcase that way. I've been wrecking since been wrecking, and tallest building in the world or an adobe hut, I bring the house down.

Bobby boots a Klansman in the gut, doubling him over. He then hoists him and Bobbybombs him onto another group.

Watch and learn.

Bobby rushes the stage of the rally. He grabs a microphone from the hand of some racist in a suit and shoves it into his throat, the garbled choking sounds echoing.

What I’m about to say might cut deep like some surgical incision but I’m saying it because I’m saying it and that’s just my decision. I get you both get off on serving up some measure of derision, but while there’s two of you, you’ve single handedly killed off the entire Tag Team Divison! Now, I get it, Mark, you’re wondering how that’s vital that there’s more competition and fervor for the Supercontinental Title, you don’t even have competition for this show to hear you and NK’s little recital, I was in a team that advanced an entire division across multiple companies but you’re contented just to sidle. I think it’s high time for someone to set you straight because for a while we’ve all heard it’s time to Stop Asian Hate but you still trot out NK and serve him up on a plate but making fun of Asians is just starting to get a little out of date. And of course everybody already was aware because they already knew that I, Bobby Bourbon, Grand High PooBOB, are much, much bigger than you, people line up to take my head and my place, not just you and your crew, you’re just ole’ No Win Flynn, and if I say your name in public people just ask me “who?”

A team of armed goons rush the stage. Bobby holds the suited guy up as a human shield.

Call the police, call an ambulance, somebody help, there’s blood to be drawn! Time to lay another body out and leave it rotting on the lawn. High alert, there’s panic in the streets across the nation from North Carolina to Oregon, I’m going to whoop the dog piss out of that bitch Angie Vaughn! Saw your silly little nonsense while taking a dump and playing on my phone, you think I can’t go out and accomplish shit while I’m all alone? Won March Madness, became PooBOB, and ascended to a throne while you stayed in the back, afraid of Corey I guess, leaving his ass all no-shown! Former Universal Champ, held every belt matter of fact, before anybody ever even thought to hand you an XWF contract. Been a mainstay and a destroyer no matter how the roster has been stacked, you’re a chipper would-be influencer who hasn’t even made an impact. You’re not doing anything in Dubai, maybe you should go to Abu Dhabi and stay relevant to yourself, your followers, and your little video making hobby. I’ll be hopping off the roof while you’re recording some shit down in the lobby about how on your pointless resume of accomplishments you’ll be able to add “I lost to Bobby!”

Bobby yanks the microphone out of the guy's mouth and holds it up to a speaker, the feedback loop deafening the armed men.

I'm coming to the show to leave you bitches baying is the message that I'm here to make sure I'm conveying. I don't know what silly shit some of you are playing, I'm realer than real, Raion Kido is as real as a Super Saiyan. I'll bounce your body all around the whole entire place, leave craters in the earth that they can see from outer space. Kido ain't no contender he's just a disgrace but I guess he'll tell you I got lucky as a cheap way to save face. I got bodies to roast, all of y'all I'll be cookin', leave all of you bitter with the office's bookin'. I got the arsenal that leaves all the fans lookin', you're just goofing around pretending to do a Hadouken. You're talk is cheap, your record is real, you seem awful cocky when I'll leave you grilled and seared like a plate of teriyaki. Raion Kido, a threat in this? Now that's pure horse hockey, because I'm gonna bomb the Japanese like this shit was Nagasaki.

Bobby rushes the armed men.

I guess that brings us to that oh so manly lolita, suck your blood just like a couger sucks back her margarita. I'm onto you, too fast, like I was a cheetah, the next doomed soul? Well hello, Vita! Some say star of the year, I say they called it too soon. You got plenty left to lose, shit, it ain't even June! Knock you so far into the desert you'll land in a dune with head rocked so hard you'll see mirages like some Bugs Bunny cartoon. You're a self-confused second rate blood sucker, I'll swat you like a mosquito and make your asshole pucker. You want to suck something? Make a buck blowing a trucker. You're already dead, that's great, I'm just a Motherfucker. Lay you down on the floor like you were a bath mat, gonna break me off a piece like you were a Kit-Kat. Like your chest, you're coming into the match flat, I'm turning myself into a case holder, go turn into a bat.

In quick succession, Bobby takes one of the armed men down, breaking his face on the stage surface, moving to another which takes a massive SHORYUKEN! Uppercut. Bobby then grabs two others by the throat and chokeslams them off the stage.

So there's six in this match? You could make it thirty-seven. I'll eat you all alive like you were manna from heaven. In this match I'll be at home, all alone like I'm Kevin, gonna rock that whole tower like it's the next 9/11! Y'all know what I'm bringing and what I got in store, I'll bring that ass-whoopin' then I'll bring you some more. Y'all really think any of you could ever reach the top floor? I'll wreck the whole foundation right down to the core. It ain't your ship has sailed, the boat is on the bottom and sunk, I'm the Grand High PooBOB and all of y'all are junk. I'm so nasty I scare the stink off a skunk, Bobby Bourbon gonna leave all you fools feeling punch drunk. If you're in this shit then you're obviously in too deep, if I must, I must leave y'alls bodies piled in a heap. I said my piece, but that’s alright, because talk is cheap. If you don't believe me now just and watch as I leap.

The armed security force dispatched by Bobby, both police and protester alike rush the stadium as a massive melee ensues, Klansman, Nazi, and conspiracy theorist alike getting beaten.

~~~~~

Some time after the fracas, inside RFK, Busta Rhymes is on stage performing for the crowd as police continue to take domestic terrorists away into custody. Bobby is seen standing on the side of the stage along with Dave Chappelle.

So, you really just came here to fuck up some dudes and leave?

Pretty much, man, pretty much.

Damn. That's fucking cold.

Bobby smiles and looks at Dave.

It's what I do for a living, man.]]>
Or, in Bobby’s case, keep being fucking awesome.

IT'S A BIRD, IT’S A PLANE

At the Bobby Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts, we see Bobby along with the rest of the Bastards, Thunder Knuckles, Charlie Nickles, and…

Hey, were did Marf go?

Bobby, TK, and Charlie look around.

He was here just a minute ago.

TK does his Shawn Warstein shrugging thing.

~~~~~

You sure, Bobby? I mean, an entire stadium full of assholes and you want to go it alone?

You just described any given Savage or Madness.

True.

Bet.

That’s no fucking good, Bobby.

Bobby purses his lips.

They can’t all be gems.

It’s alright, just go fucking wreck that goddamn KKK and Neo-Nazi and QAnon rally then win Leap of Faith.

Thanks bro.

TK smirks.

May the Force be with you.

Bobby rolls his eyes.

Live, laugh, love.

May the wind be forever at your back.

Have fun storming the castle.

May roleplay of the fucking month!

Bobby looks dead at the camera.

Not this one, the Wizard of Oz thing I did maybe.

TK nods.

Yeah, probably. Still, maximum effort.

True.

Bobby walks towards the door of the dojo and exits. As he does, TK turns to Charlie.

Yo, Charlie!

Yeah?

Bobby said you need to go peel some goddamn potatoes.

Really?

Did I fucking stutter?

~~~~~

Some time after the fracas, inside RFK, Busta Rhymes is on stage performing for the crowd as police continue to take domestic terrorists away into custody. Bobby is seen standing on the side of the stage along with Dave Chappelle.

So, you really just came here to fuck up some dudes and leave?

Pretty much, man, pretty much.

Damn. That's fucking cold.

Bobby smiles and looks at Dave.

It's what I do for a living, man.]]> <![CDATA[Jurasskicked Park: No Bubblegum Edition]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43649 Sat, 28 May 2022 20:55:02 -0700 Mr. Oz]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43649

It was days later, and Oswald had been working on his park. It was one helluva fight, and the thoughts that he might have torn his quads were alleviated when he got the x-rays showing he was good, but goddamn did he feel sore. His upper body felt like he was hit by a truck, and suplexed one. His arms and legs were wrapped in covered ice wraps that were clinging tightly to his body.

He had finished that tour that day, and saw to the party of investers off of the island before having come back. But today? He had business to take care of. He had to oversee security precautions, oversee food production for the creatures and make some deals from outside sources to bring in meat from all over the world in order to feed both the dinosaurs and the people that will be soon visiting the park in a few days time.

As he is taken around the park by car, he noticed one of the fences was broken.

"That creature better still be in there, boy."

The man nodded,

"It is, sir, far as we can tell. We check on it throughout the day until it's repaired. Though, we will need to turn off the fencing before repairs can be done."

Oswald grumbled

"I don't like that. Not a single bit, but if it means the problem is fixed post-haste, then we'll have to deal, and I'll be there to oversee the fix. Let's continue."

As the car drove off to the next enclosement, he looked backwards at the pen, swearing he saw something moving out of the pen and making its way into the wild.

The morning and afternoon inspections went well, but something always bugged him. That one singular destroyed fence was bothering his thoughts. The crew was now forced to work a lot faster than normal and the lead designer of the enclosures radioed him to let him know it was time for the fencing to be fixed.

"Has the enclosure been under watchful eye? I don't want shit happening before this park is even allowed to begin. It'll cost millions if I want to hush people up if you all died. Not like your families can say anything anyway."

He listened to the words said to him. One pile of papers had stacks of people that are looking to be employed, the other was a stack of contracts and faces of those already employed attached to each contract. The interdimensional camera zoomed in as he lifted one of the contracts, and in the smallest print legally allowed, it mentions that even the families of the deceased are bound to the Employee's NDA. If the NDA is breached, the family of the deceased is opening themselves to a lawsuit.

"Alright. I'm coming up. Radio your supervisors and let them know that I want my vehicle brought to the surface immediately."

He turned off the radio as he placed the contract back down upon the pile as he fixed his suit and tie, and made his way out of his office in the underground facility and moving to the elevator to the surface.

Upon his arrival, would be what most simpletons would describe as a "Batmobile" but it was so much more than that. It was much more heavily armored, enhanced by the very skin that the God within him is armored by, a material that looked like wood, but was thick and made out of material that was akin to a steel/diamond hybrid. Making it the most dense and durable material known to, well, only Oswald. Because of the material, the massive car was black, but the headlamps were letting out a blood red color. As he walked out of the elevator, he was handed the keys by one of his servants, or rather, a supervisor, as he called them to the crew.

Once in the car, he drove to the enclosure and it was as if he was driving near 200 mph. Arriving at the enclosure within minutes, seeing the crew already at work. One of his servants arrived by the side of his vehicle, and was handed the keys as he got out. The crew watched their boss coming towards them as he radioed one more time.

"The beast is still in its containment, correct?"

He then sighed, as he radioed back

"Alright. Cut the power to enclosure 862. They don't need the added pressure of being electrocuted to death."

The sound of power humming to a hault, he touched the wire and felt no electrical zap, a warning to stay away or inside. He gave the okay to the work crew and they moved as quickly as they could without putting themselves in danger of falling.

It would be nearly thirty minutes and soon, he heard screams coming from his radio,

"MY LOR~*kssh* DIN~*krrt* FREE! HELP! OMIGODNOOOOOO!!!!"

Oswald sighed, grumbled at the quick turn of events. He looked at the enclosure, grabbing a clipboard and pen from his servant, looking over the name of beast and spoke in a droning voice.

"Schuler. Schuler.. Schuler... Schuler........ Schuler..........."

His head looked at the crew as the enclosed dinosaur leapt straight at the worker about to finish the attachments and its claws immediately eviscerating the poor bastard. The workers fled in fear, but this hunter saw fleeing meat, and began to run down and cut into its multi-colored assortment of meat. Oswald sighed low as he began to unbutton his suit and loosening his tie and then placing a checkmark next to the Schuleraptor's box on the list.

"Well then. Something to remember for the future..."

The creature began to circle its new prey as it threw something onto the ground, head tilting to the side. It was as if they mixed in boar DNA with the other creatures, creating a Schuleraptor. It was hairy like a wild boar, tusks as well as very sharp talons. Its head and legs were covered in crimson, and after a few clicks of its tongue and snarls, it leaped at Oswald, who immediately socked it in the thick skull, knocking it straight into the dirt.

It stirred and got up onto its feet, as he began to roll up his sleeves. It ran and made a feint to leap, making Oz prepare for another punch down, but instead he felt a sharp puncture into his side as the creature rammed into him. He growled lowly, and before it could back up, he grabbed it by the neck, keeping it with its tusk lodged inside his stomach. One hand moved to the free tusk, as he quickly yanked and grabbed hold of the other. The creature began to make jumping slashes with its deadly talons, barely scraping Oswald before he slammed it onto its back. He reached further around, and then twisted hard, snapping the neck of the beast, only for him to continue twisting, until flesh began to separate from muscle, then further until muscle pulled from bone, and then finally, he had pulled the head completely off the rest of the body.

His servant handed the keys back to its Master, who climbed into the vehicle, and drove away once more as he grabbed a small medical pen from his glovebox, anticipating this kind of thing, and placing it into the wound, and clicked the top as it began to shoot out and coat the wound, beginning to cauterize the vessels, stopping the sanguineous drainage. He growled as the next part of the medical pen is clicked by him, and it began to fill the wound up full of artificial muscle and fat, so that the wound could heal faster than if some Joe Blow went to get his wound treated by a regular hospital.

He drove faster than before, and was at his facility within a minute, almost going Mach 1. He jumped out of the car with a grimace, hand going into his pocket, and pulling out a couple pills as he swallowed it with just his saliva. The pain relief was a mix of Vicodin and Oxycontin. To keep himself from being drowsy, he reached into his medical glovebox and grabbed artificial adrenaline. He went into the elevator and began his descent, grunting a bit from the damage the raptor did, knowing there was one more lethal beast kept under the ground. The Bammillosaurus. A creature that looked like Bam Miller crossed with a Gigantosaurus.

Which was standing before him. He chuckled as it roared and the tiny bits of flesh began to fly out at his face and coating the evelator.

"Killed a good amount of my employees, eh Beast? That was a mistake."

Oswald ran at it and rushed straight into its torso, channeling that godly power that was inside him, to give him that strength to tackle such a massive beast. He began to punch hard into its belly, time and time again, causing it to cough up blood and chunks of human parts. It swung its body, flinging him off its body, swinging its tail straight into a recovering Oswald's body, smacking him so hard he flew into one of the buildings. It roared out as it charged out towards the rubble where its powerful fellow predator landed trying to assert its dominance over Oswald. As it got closer and closer he popped out from under the rubble in his Godly form, and uppercutting the dinosaur so hard it was sent through the earth, up onto the earth's surface. The camera flew up to follow the dinosaur, losing sight of Oswald. However, it caught on 4k, something much more disgusting, as its body began to bend in a way it shouldn't, and the sounds of bone and muscle and flesh tearing until a fountain of blood spilled out from the hole, and covering the surface of the whole it created. As it ended, words were emblazoned upon the screen:

Jurasskicked Park 2: No Bubblegum

Directed by, Produced by, and Starring:

"Big Money" Oswald Autem Sephtis

"Bammy, bamalam. Bam Miller. Buddy, how fucking stupid are you to talk shit about such legend such as I? I've been in this business for years, XWF alone I've been here since 2014. Here's my list of accolades, you fuckknuckle: Two time X-Treme Champion, Intercontinental Champion, Hart Champion, Anarchy Champion. So why in the blue hell are you lying so much about saying I haven't done anything? Who told you to say such blatant lies? Were you actually coached by Amber Heard to learn how to try gaslight people? Learning how to make your opponent look weak, but instead you look like a goddamn imbecile because it shows how little you know about me.

I know you've got some history in this company, but what have you actually goddamn done? One run with the X-Treme title? Nice job. My first run with the title lasted over a fucking month. Even my second run lasted longer than yours. You are by far, the least goddamn X-Treme person to be the X-Treme champion that I've ever watched in my entire life within professional wrestling. We'll see how well you do against me.

Joshua, I forgot about you. Because most people did. The name War Pig was synonymous with vicious ass beatings. Now, you've gone from Pig to Bitch. Good job, buddy. It'll totally keep you relevant. I've reinvented myself, and each time I did, I actually did something with those reinventions. My first true one, I became Star of the Month of May 2016 and became Hart Champion. My next one, was when I became BROKEN! Yeeeeesssss... That is when I DELETED Scully and became the XWF X-Treme Champion! Then I became a TWO TIME champion when I beat Thad, after he had won it from me in a hard fought match. And since then? With my reinvention that started nearly two years ago? I brought forth a championship that no one but me, has been able to hold onto it longer than a month or two, and that's the Billion Dollar Championship. Then I was once again Star of the Month in May, 2021. Then I translated that win into a receiving the Anarchy Championship.

I've done a lot with each reinvention. Yet you will always struggle to be as relevant as you were when you were a fresh faced rookie. You had the world in the palm of your hand, and you squandered your gifts. Now you're a wolf? You went from being a military smart fucking animal, to an obedient little pup? What the hell happened to you, Joshua? I feel so sad for you, man. You talk about my money, but my money can bring me happiness. I also make many people happy. I'm a successful anti-Amazon, Amazon-like company owner. I treat my employees right, they get to shit and piss as they need, there's equal pay, there's no discrimination. So what if I slip some mind-altering drugs that force people to become my obedient fans and they always cheer for me no matter what I do to you and any other opponent of mine? So what if I paid off every fucking police department to never try me no matter what I do? I spend my time kicking the asses off of thugs who try to ruin the beautiful city that is the Second City: Chicago.

Lux, you're still so butthurt over what I did? You act as if I won the match. In the record books, you won your match against me.

Because I allowed it.

Management fucked me out of a win. Vita, fucked me out of a win. You? You didn't get screwed out of a win, you idiot. You won. You didn't even have to do anything. Was it a cheap win? Yeah. It was. You should've been kissing my goddamn ass. I allowed you to have the winner's cut of the match. And to face me in a match for your first time? You know that pay out was fucking good. However, since you want to talk so much shit about winning, then, well, you get to see what would've happened to you if I actually gave a shit about our match.

I'm going to obliterate you and put you into early retirement, Lux. I am the God Champion of the XWF. I am the draw in this company! People want to see what I'll do next in my next match! People want to know if I'm going to fuck up my opponents, or show them mercy!

In this match, however, they will be seeing carnage, on a scale you wish you and the others hadn't invoked. This match is going to show just how hard I work, and how badly I want this reward. I can use this fucking reward to challenge for ANY non-Uni belt. That's a LOT of power, boy, and here's a message to all of you:

None of you are ready for that amount of power. That amount of responsibility. Because I know you lot well enough. You're going to shit the bed worse than Amber Heard.

So, in summation, all of you neverwas and never-will-be's, don't be sad when the God Champion of the XWF wrecks every single one of you and becomes the worst enemy of every non-Universal champion. Because for you all, the closest you'll get to a title, is by giving me a handjob, since every title I won, I've worn it while fucking my wife crazy."]]> <![CDATA[On a boat [LoF entry pt.2]]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43673 Sat, 28 May 2022 20:51:25 -0700 Angelica Vaughn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43673 Friday, May 27th
The Red Queen
Somewhere off the coast of Maine
The Red Queen was gently bobbing along the coast. The lost-and-found yacht of Sarah Lacklan had been through a lot – many an adventure had transpired between these port-and broadsides. Yet it was quiet now. No extravagant parties, no multitudes of guests, no burlesque shows or pirate themed roleplaying escapades.

As Angelica and her agent, Edith Seybold, climbed aboard, they were taken aback by the lack of activity. Not that Edith seemed to mind. The woman was all business all the time, and still had a dozen more things to deal with.

The pair walked along the portside, and Angelica grabbed the cold, metal rail as the wind breezed through her hair. Salt prickled her nose as she took a deep breath of the famous healthy sea air. It was a far cry from the farm life in the blistering Texan heat. Not that she wasn’t used to open waters. Growing up in Vancouver she had spent quite a bit of time near Boundary Bay or the Strait of Georgia.

As they arrived at the open deck, Edith sat herself down in one of the lounge chairs that the staff had conveniently placed. There was an ice bucket on a pedestal next to it, but no actual bottles. Probably a remnant from the night before. Edith snapped her fingers and motioned Angelica over, retrieving a document from the briefcase that always seemed glued to her hand. She put on her sunglasses and handed Angelica a big brown envelope.

”What’s this?” the leggy blonde of legend asked, sitting herself down as well.

”That,” Edith said, ”is a formal letter of apology to the Indian Cricket Association.”

As her cheeks flushed red, Angelica retrieved the letter from the envelope. Her mouth fell open and she turned the letter towards her agent.

”A letter of ap… But he was totes rude to me, Edi!”

”He’s also one of their most revered coaches, and they take cricket seriously there, Angelica. Imagine if someone were to stroll into Lacklanland and called wrestling ‘fake’ or ‘American Greco-Roman’. Would they not be insulted?”

Angelica sighed and took the pen that Edith handed her before signing her signature at the bottom.

”Fine, fine. I get your point. But courtesy is a two-way street, you know!”

”Political backlash isn’t. And the Indian market is humongous. I know you didn’t mean to, but upsetting them isn’t a great idea for your, and thus mine, cashflow.”

Edith put the letter back in her briefcase and checked her wristwatch.

””Where IS she? She told us to meet her on the main deck at precisely this time.”

”She’ll be here soon…”

And indeed. As if on cue, a familiar face emerged from the lower decks. Angelica jumped up with joy, running over for a well-deserved hug.

”KENZIIIIIIII!”

The CTN starlet, actress and singer extraordinaire, fellow #CoolKid and a phenomenal wrestler in her own right, Kenzi Grey. She knew by now that the best way to deal with an Angie hug was to let it happen. Something Roxy hadn’t yet mastered. It was like how you can survive a fall from ten storeys if you let your body go limp. It’s only when you stiffen up and try to resist that you can get seriously hurt.

”Ang! Sup!?”

The hug/stranglehold was soon released and Angelica looked over Kenzi’s shoulder.

”Where’s Sar-sar, I thought she’d be here too?”

Kenzi pulled up her nose.

”She had some stuff to tend to at the compound, and that place gives me the creeps. Especially when Bordy and that other dumb nasty ho are around.”

”Axshley? Yeah, she can be errrr… annoying.”

”That’s right. So I said thanks, but no thanks, I’m gonna chill out right here with sis and talk some business!”

Kenzi draped an arm over Angelica’s shoulder, who felt herself swell up with pride. She’d always looked up to Kenzi. In spite of a rocky start to their friendship, they’d gotten close over the years. And when Kenzi addressed her as ‘sis’, it made her feel recognized by someone not easily impressed. Of course, they technically were sisters-in-law, but she couldn’t remember Kenzi ever addressing Aveline as ‘mother’ or some such term.

”Yes! Business! That’s why I brought Edith. She does the business stuff very well.”

”Correct. I do. Seeing as my client would otherwise do 99% of her commitments ‘pro bono’, I think it’s wise I’m here for these things.”

”N-E-Ways, I was so excited when you reached out to me for another acting role! It’s been such a long time!! I’m glad CTN is doing new movies!”

”Well, I’m thinking about it. Gauging interest, etcetera. Starting with Silent But Deadly II! This time I ain’t getting disrespected in my own damn movie! And you’d make a great antagonist!”

”Antag… But that means I’d be the bad guy! Again! You know I don’t like playing the bad guy!”

”But you’re so good at it!”

”Un-true!”

”True-true. You’re great at it, because it’s what people expect the least. You were awesome as the bad cop in CooLA Noire. Besides, you always do this lowkey heel shit.”

”I do not!!”

”And your face is like the fifth most punchable face I know!”

”Hey! Mean AND un-true!”

Angelica put her hands on her hips. Kenzi had a tendency to compliment you by insulting you. A rare gift.

”Naw, definitely top 5. Fuckin’ Claire, Ashley, Bordy and some other nasty ass skank ho definitely got you beat. Oh, and that dude who punched a goose. So top 6. Best I can do, sis.”

”Fine, but let’s talk compensation.”

”Sheee-it, woman, I don’t decide those numbers! Ang’s my girl, she’ll get paid.”

”Whatevs! Did you decide on a script yet? Because I had a few ideas for Silent, But Deadly 2! See, it all starts on a cold, rainy night! Two jilted lovers, one of them you, exit a Mexican restaurant and get into the car to drive home. Then SUDDENLY! The doors lock! Oh noes! What’s going on, am I right? They want to call for help, but… their phone batteries died! Then, the rumblings begin and…”

”Hey, NO SPOILERS! Besides, I already have a script, but that sounds like a great idea for a spin-off, Ang. Silent But Deadly: Fartaclysm!”

”What? Ew! Who said anything about farts?”

”I thought it was heavily implied that…”

”No no noes! See, what was gonna happen is that…”

”NO SPOILERS!”

”Fine! Then I guess I’ll be your villain if you want me so bad to be the bad guy like in that Billie Eilish song!”

”Sweet! Then I can ask Rox to be the hero’s best friend!”

”Oh COME ON!”

Kenzi raised an eyebrow.

”Ang… I know what I’m doing, sis. Trust me. It’s better this way. You know how that saying goes… take a leap of faith?”

”Oh, I know it. I’ve been thinking about nothing else these past few days. You know how scared how am of heights.”

”Oh right. You’re in that match. Well, Ang… It’s true, heights terrify you. In fact, a lot of things do… Heights… Depths… Confined spaces. Open spaces. Upward pointing mirrors. Alcohol free beer. Dogs.”

”Yeah, yeah,…”

”Sports cars. Still water. Bubble wrap. Artificial food flavoring. Crypto currencies.”

”Yeah, I get it!”

”…bamboo shoots. Day-old sushi. Trapeze artists. Cotton swabs. Nose hair.”

”I SAID I GET IT!!!”

”Stretch marks. Splinters. Polka dotted boxer shorts.”

”HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT??”

”Liposuction remains. Umbrellas with a straight handle. Broccoli. Curdled soy milk. Geckos.”

”KENZI!!!!”

”Fine! Look, the point is this, Ang: you’re scared of a lot of stuff but you always persevere and do what you gotta do anyway. That makes you one of the bravest people I know.”

And poof. One sentence that wiped out all other things that had been said. Angelica felt her back straighten and her shoulder rise. She was beaming with pride.

”You really think so?”

”Hell yeah! That shit Vinnie got you doing at Leap of Faith… man, sometimes I’m glad I’m retired. …somewhat retired… A lesser woman would’ve cut the cord and ran away. And you Lacklans may be crazy as fuck, but you don’t back down from a challenge. It’s why I ended up marrying one, I guess.”

”I… see.”

Angelica had to actively stop herself from ugly-crying, because it was during moments like these that Kenzi felt like an actual sister. She was hard on Angie, but she loved her. So much. Kenzi noticed Angie fighting the tears and rolled her eyes.

”Come on, Ang! Cut it out!”

”BUT I CAN’T!”

Meanwhile, Edith had been brought a glass and a bottle of champagne by one of the onboard servants, which was now comfortably resting in aforementioned ice bucket. She had gotten used to these kinds of antics after several years of having Angelica Vaughn as a client.

”IF YOU WILL EXCUSE ME FOR A SECOND…”

And a tearful Angelica ran off below decks… Kenzi looked over at Edith sipping some champagne and sighed.

”Fuckin’ white people…”

From the lower decks of the Red Queen, where the WiFi is still impeccable…

”Fear… Fear is a funny thing. A scary thing. A weird thing. Fear, especially of failure and humiliation, can often cause such tunnel vision that we don’t even notice it when we actually succeed.

See, ever since this match was announced, I’ve been thinking… why me? Why was I chosen for this, with the owner fully aware of how scared to death I am of most heights? Was it a prank? Is it payback? Is he just gleefully wringing his hands, looking forward to seeing me fail so I can prop the others up a bit?

Because it’s a scary prospect. I like visualizing my matches before they happen, and more often than not, I end up with a scenario where I go *splat*. And it’s not an enticing one. It makes me want to just give up, call Vinnie on his bluff and admit that I can’t do this. But I think I just realized… and I will allow myself this rather arrogant presumption… that I am here because I earned it. Because I’ve been succeeding in what I’ve been doing.

I’m not here to pad someone else’s stats or make them look good. I’m here to compete and pose an actual threat to every other competitor in this match. I am in it to win it. Because I can. In spite of my weaknesses, in spite of my fears, in spite of the incredibly high level of opposition, I am in this match because I deserve to be. I’ve gone toe to toe and even bested some of the opponents in this literal climb to the top. Why shouldn’t I be convinced that I can do this? Why should they not be scared of ME?

Matches like these all come down to mindset anyway, right? We’re all physically gifted. We all work very hard. But if you start a suicide mission while distracted, without utter conviction… you will fail. And for me, that sort of struggle is often all too real. But I’m also very lucky that I have friends who believe in me and help me realize my worth. I’ve never been able to do that by just looking in the mirror. My upbringing is to blame for that, no doubt. Always being told you’re never good enough is something you’ll eventually repeat to yourself when you’re all alone. But I’m not alone. And I never will be. And that’s why I’m probably the single most blessed out of all six competitors in this match. Speaking of…

Mister Flynnmeister general, you called me a craven, which I guess isn’t the WORST c-word I’ve ever been called. But it just might be the most ridiculous. And self-aggrandizing? Sheesh. Tell me you don’t know anything about me without telling me you don’t know anything about me, why don’t you! I’ve fought tooth, claw and nail, or… whatever the expression is… to get to where I am. And I’ve overcome more fears than I care to count. And you know who has always been my toughest opponent? Myself. It’s been a constant struggle to convince myself that I belong, and that I’m worthy. So if you call me self-aggrandizing, then I guess it’s because I’ve always had to be? Arrogance and pride don’t come as naturally to me as they come to others. And you know what? I’m not ashamed of that. Meanwhile, you can go back to beating a dead horse with a stick. I’m sure it’s very entertaining to the three people who pay attention to you.

A fair few more people pay attention to Bobby Burps. I call him that because his insults are so infantile he sounds like a baby who just had too much formula. But once you look past the cheap buzzwords, fecal matter comparisons and edgy catchphrases, there is a phenomenal competitor there. It’s clear you don’t think much of me, Bobby. I don’t mind. In fact, I’d very much prefer it if you go into this match thinking my kicks or strikes won’t hurt you. I won’t make that same mistake because I see what you’re worth once the bell rings. As for you dismissing my friends, well… I’m not opposed to a #CoolKids, with hashtag thank you very much, versus Tee Enn Gee Bee match. We’ll set it up some day, kay? I relish the challenge already. But until that day comes, you can keep underestimating me. I bet you won’t do it again after Leap of Faith.

Who else is there? Oh, right. The Marfenomenal One. Get it? Sounds like ‘morphenomenal’… Power Rangers… ….no?... Well, apologies, folks, my puns can’t all be zingers. Unlike my kicks, those very much ARE zingers. And I’ve got a few lined up for you. Just like with bullets, in the very near future there are some delightfully snappy kicks with your name on them. And what a name. I know I just blamed Flynn for beating a dead horse with a stick so I don’t want to repeat his clear and obvious silly mistake, but my goodness… I hate that that is all I’ve got on you, but it’s like the elephant in the room every time I think of you. Imagine if you’re shopping for groceries and suddenly, right there in between the parsnips, you see a leprechaun juggling kernels of corn. Would you not address that? I know I would. I’d ask it questions like: ‘Hello mister leprechaun sir, where are you from? What’s your name? What are you doing, and why? Is it true about that pot of gold at the end of a rainbow? Do you like Guinness?’ Etcetera! So don’t blame me for that! It’s only natural.

On a much more pleasant and positive note however, I’d like to thank our dear Vitamin V for her words! I am, like, totes humbled by what you said about me. Calling me a sleeper and all that? It was classy. See, that’s what I like about you, Veev. You’re not prideful. You don’t stubbornly stick with an opinion that you know was sorta silly to begin with. Most people are, but you rise above that. Unlike some others in this match, you don’t beat a dead horse with a stick. You… might drain its veins but I guess that’s totes okies since it was kinda dead already? N-E-Ways, there are plenty of people I truly respect who swear by you, and it’s easy to see why. And while we’re on the subject of pride, I have to add that the thing I’m most proud of during my time in the XWF is beating you. Because I know the level of competition you provide week in, week out. I’m in awe of you, Vita. I really mean that. I’ve faced some challenges in my lifetime, but the stuff you’ve had to endure and overcome… I don’t know, I feel like it could’ve sent many others over the edge and in a downward spiral. Which, no offense, is kind of what I hope will happen to you at Leap of Faith. And something I will actively try to make happen. There will be no clever sharpshooter reversals in this match, after all. No sneaky trickbits. Just six of the world’s best, with only one goal in mind.

And speaking of one of the world’s best, that brings us to the last competitor here. Raion Kido. Now, I know you like to use metaphors, mister Lion Kid sir, but… Did it have to be rain? Rain is the worst! The actual, literal worst! I can’t stand rain like Annie Kim Sky Walkers can’t stand sand! Rain is cold and annoying and ruins everything! It forms puddles in your basement and ruins the foundations of everything you’re gunning for! And it’s clear that this m atch means everything to you, and is your gateway to the glory we all desperately crave. It should be. But I’m going to have to rain of your parade, Raion. You may not believe I can beat you, but in reality… I don’t have to beat you to win this match. I just have to be faster, and smarter. No easy task when facing a lion, but I know a thing or two about handling felines. And I know that desperation causes mistakes in the minds of the overeager. And to all of your credit, you totes fit that description to a tee.

I’ll be seeing all of you this Sunday, and I can’t wait. Can’t wait to leap, and overcome not just all of you, but also myself. Toodles and kittens, and never forget:”

-END BROADCAST-]]> Friday, May 27th
The Red Queen
Somewhere off the coast of Maine
The Red Queen was gently bobbing along the coast. The lost-and-found yacht of Sarah Lacklan had been through a lot – many an adventure had transpired between these port-and broadsides. Yet it was quiet now. No extravagant parties, no multitudes of guests, no burlesque shows or pirate themed roleplaying escapades.

As Angelica and her agent, Edith Seybold, climbed aboard, they were taken aback by the lack of activity. Not that Edith seemed to mind. The woman was all business all the time, and still had a dozen more things to deal with.

The pair walked along the portside, and Angelica grabbed the cold, metal rail as the wind breezed through her hair. Salt prickled her nose as she took a deep breath of the famous healthy sea air. It was a far cry from the farm life in the blistering Texan heat. Not that she wasn’t used to open waters. Growing up in Vancouver she had spent quite a bit of time near Boundary Bay or the Strait of Georgia.

As they arrived at the open deck, Edith sat herself down in one of the lounge chairs that the staff had conveniently placed. There was an ice bucket on a pedestal next to it, but no actual bottles. Probably a remnant from the night before. Edith snapped her fingers and motioned Angelica over, retrieving a document from the briefcase that always seemed glued to her hand. She put on her sunglasses and handed Angelica a big brown envelope.

”What’s this?” the leggy blonde of legend asked, sitting herself down as well.

”That,” Edith said, ”is a formal letter of apology to the Indian Cricket Association.”

As her cheeks flushed red, Angelica retrieved the letter from the envelope. Her mouth fell open and she turned the letter towards her agent.

”A letter of ap… But he was totes rude to me, Edi!”

”He’s also one of their most revered coaches, and they take cricket seriously there, Angelica. Imagine if someone were to stroll into Lacklanland and called wrestling ‘fake’ or ‘American Greco-Roman’. Would they not be insulted?”

Angelica sighed and took the pen that Edith handed her before signing her signature at the bottom.

”Fine, fine. I get your point. But courtesy is a two-way street, you know!”

”Political backlash isn’t. And the Indian market is humongous. I know you didn’t mean to, but upsetting them isn’t a great idea for your, and thus mine, cashflow.”

Edith put the letter back in her briefcase and checked her wristwatch.

””Where IS she? She told us to meet her on the main deck at precisely this time.”

”She’ll be here soon…”

And indeed. As if on cue, a familiar face emerged from the lower decks. Angelica jumped up with joy, running over for a well-deserved hug.

”KENZIIIIIIII!”

The CTN starlet, actress and singer extraordinaire, fellow #CoolKid and a phenomenal wrestler in her own right, Kenzi Grey. She knew by now that the best way to deal with an Angie hug was to let it happen. Something Roxy hadn’t yet mastered. It was like how you can survive a fall from ten storeys if you let your body go limp. It’s only when you stiffen up and try to resist that you can get seriously hurt.

”Ang! Sup!?”

The hug/stranglehold was soon released and Angelica looked over Kenzi’s shoulder.

”Where’s Sar-sar, I thought she’d be here too?”

Kenzi pulled up her nose.

”She had some stuff to tend to at the compound, and that place gives me the creeps. Especially when Bordy and that other dumb nasty ho are around.”

”Axshley? Yeah, she can be errrr… annoying.”

”That’s right. So I said thanks, but no thanks, I’m gonna chill out right here with sis and talk some business!”

Kenzi draped an arm over Angelica’s shoulder, who felt herself swell up with pride. She’d always looked up to Kenzi. In spite of a rocky start to their friendship, they’d gotten close over the years. And when Kenzi addressed her as ‘sis’, it made her feel recognized by someone not easily impressed. Of course, they technically were sisters-in-law, but she couldn’t remember Kenzi ever addressing Aveline as ‘mother’ or some such term.

”Yes! Business! That’s why I brought Edith. She does the business stuff very well.”

”Correct. I do. Seeing as my client would otherwise do 99% of her commitments ‘pro bono’, I think it’s wise I’m here for these things.”

”N-E-Ways, I was so excited when you reached out to me for another acting role! It’s been such a long time!! I’m glad CTN is doing new movies!”

”Well, I’m thinking about it. Gauging interest, etcetera. Starting with Silent But Deadly II! This time I ain’t getting disrespected in my own damn movie! And you’d make a great antagonist!”

”Antag… But that means I’d be the bad guy! Again! You know I don’t like playing the bad guy!”

”But you’re so good at it!”

”Un-true!”

”True-true. You’re great at it, because it’s what people expect the least. You were awesome as the bad cop in CooLA Noire. Besides, you always do this lowkey heel shit.”

”I do not!!”

”And your face is like the fifth most punchable face I know!”

”Hey! Mean AND un-true!”

Angelica put her hands on her hips. Kenzi had a tendency to compliment you by insulting you. A rare gift.

”Naw, definitely top 5. Fuckin’ Claire, Ashley, Bordy and some other nasty ass skank ho definitely got you beat. Oh, and that dude who punched a goose. So top 6. Best I can do, sis.”

”Fine, but let’s talk compensation.”

”Sheee-it, woman, I don’t decide those numbers! Ang’s my girl, she’ll get paid.”

”Whatevs! Did you decide on a script yet? Because I had a few ideas for Silent, But Deadly 2! See, it all starts on a cold, rainy night! Two jilted lovers, one of them you, exit a Mexican restaurant and get into the car to drive home. Then SUDDENLY! The doors lock! Oh noes! What’s going on, am I right? They want to call for help, but… their phone batteries died! Then, the rumblings begin and…”

”Hey, NO SPOILERS! Besides, I already have a script, but that sounds like a great idea for a spin-off, Ang. Silent But Deadly: Fartaclysm!”

”What? Ew! Who said anything about farts?”

”I thought it was heavily implied that…”

”No no noes! See, what was gonna happen is that…”

”NO SPOILERS!”

”Fine! Then I guess I’ll be your villain if you want me so bad to be the bad guy like in that Billie Eilish song!”

”Sweet! Then I can ask Rox to be the hero’s best friend!”

”Oh COME ON!”

Kenzi raised an eyebrow.

”Ang… I know what I’m doing, sis. Trust me. It’s better this way. You know how that saying goes… take a leap of faith?”

”Oh, I know it. I’ve been thinking about nothing else these past few days. You know how scared how am of heights.”

”Oh right. You’re in that match. Well, Ang… It’s true, heights terrify you. In fact, a lot of things do… Heights… Depths… Confined spaces. Open spaces. Upward pointing mirrors. Alcohol free beer. Dogs.”

”Yeah, yeah,…”

”Sports cars. Still water. Bubble wrap. Artificial food flavoring. Crypto currencies.”

”Yeah, I get it!”

”…bamboo shoots. Day-old sushi. Trapeze artists. Cotton swabs. Nose hair.”

”I SAID I GET IT!!!”

”Stretch marks. Splinters. Polka dotted boxer shorts.”

”HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT??”

”Liposuction remains. Umbrellas with a straight handle. Broccoli. Curdled soy milk. Geckos.”

”KENZI!!!!”

”Fine! Look, the point is this, Ang: you’re scared of a lot of stuff but you always persevere and do what you gotta do anyway. That makes you one of the bravest people I know.”

And poof. One sentence that wiped out all other things that had been said. Angelica felt her back straighten and her shoulder rise. She was beaming with pride.

”You really think so?”

”Hell yeah! That shit Vinnie got you doing at Leap of Faith… man, sometimes I’m glad I’m retired. …somewhat retired… A lesser woman would’ve cut the cord and ran away. And you Lacklans may be crazy as fuck, but you don’t back down from a challenge. It’s why I ended up marrying one, I guess.”

”I… see.”

Angelica had to actively stop herself from ugly-crying, because it was during moments like these that Kenzi felt like an actual sister. She was hard on Angie, but she loved her. So much. Kenzi noticed Angie fighting the tears and rolled her eyes.

”Come on, Ang! Cut it out!”

”BUT I CAN’T!”

Meanwhile, Edith had been brought a glass and a bottle of champagne by one of the onboard servants, which was now comfortably resting in aforementioned ice bucket. She had gotten used to these kinds of antics after several years of having Angelica Vaughn as a client.

”IF YOU WILL EXCUSE ME FOR A SECOND…”

And a tearful Angelica ran off below decks… Kenzi looked over at Edith sipping some champagne and sighed.

”Fuckin’ white people…”

-END BROADCAST-]]> <![CDATA[Fuck a god damn tornado]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43670 Sat, 28 May 2022 17:23:14 -0700 Marf]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43670

Somewhere that may or may not be our reality…

The icy looking scenery being matched with a breeze far too warm to be accurate. Strange noises echoing along the open, snow covered road. A group of people walking by that resemble toasters with legs. Yeah, this definitely wasn’t really happening. But of course, here comes Marf walking on by as if it is. Trailing slightly behind him was Damien, unfazed by whatever was going on. Rubbing a hand along the ruins of his face, clearly he had more pressing concerns. Suddenly he looks up and shouts at Marf, stopping him in his tracks…

Marf…are you awake!?

For a fleeting, terrifying second Marf is unable to see anything at all.

Marf? Are you awake?

Marf jolts in his seat on the comfortable couch. He stares blankly ahead at the sharply dressed woman sitting across from him. Marf slowly looks around the small office, at the plush, leather couch. He peers up at the plaques on the wall, the massive bookshelf filled with all sorts of self help books. Marf’s expression changes over to disappointment as he finally realizes where he is. The therapist interrupts his thoughts with another crisp question.

Another delusion? Or are you finally back with me? I can hardly imagine Vincent and Theodore paid for you to come here and sleep.

Marf sheepishly mumbles through a reply.

Sorry…how long was I?…

Sleeping on my couch and wasting both our time?

She slowly exaggerates looking at her watch before responding harshly.

Nine minutes and twenty seven seconds now. Do you have these experiences often?

Marf looks up, not bothering to try and hide his irritation.

Experiences?

Yes, these little dips in and out of our reality to whatever fantasy illusion you’ve invented for yourself. To escape the reality of whatever it is you’re too scared to face.

Before Marf can lash out with a rebuttal, that familiar voice cuts in.

Damn, she’s good!

Marf turns and looks beside him to see Damien sitting comfortably. He smirks through the mangled remains of his face. Marf turns back and eyes the therapist, patiently staring back at him.

So you don’t see him right now?

Marf tips his head to the left after asking. The therapist leans forward, not taking her judgemental eyes off of Marf.

See who, Marf? Who do you think is in this room with us right now?

Damien…what’s left of him anyway…

Marf, there is nobody here other than you and I. What is the significance of this Damien character? Is he an invisible friend you’ve had since childhood?

Marf lowers his head while slowly shaking it.

No…he was a person. A friend, at one point. But then I killed him. And that wretched bitch somehow brought him back and cursed me with him…

The therapist audibly clicks her tongue off the back of her teeth before cutting in.

And let me guess, you need to find his body and burn the bones to break free from this curse? Does me saying that help you understand how ridiculous you sound? You’re miles from who you used to be!

Marf keeps his head lowered while answering.

How would you know who I used to be?

Are you serious? I followed your career back in your days in Japan. I was, almost still am a big fan. Which makes me wanting to help get you out of this pathetic slump that much more serious.

Marf cocks his head in wonderment.

You actually watched me back then?

The therapist leans in now, excitement filling her eyes.

Oh yes, that vicious mean streak as you destroyed everything put in front of you. It was impossible not to be a fan. I mean it really shouldn’t surprise you all that much considering my background.

She opens her arms as Marf glances up.

I just thought you were a lesbian.

Marf!

Sorry.

Marf…

Who is the wretched bitch?

Marf stiffens up and glares back at the pressing therapist.

No, we are NOT talking about her!

Well it sounds like you don’t need to talk about her. Ever again. Sounds like something or someone you need to move on from, something you clearly haven’t done. And yes, you’re right, it sounds like something we are not going to talk about. Today. Our time is up, but we will be diving more into this in our next session...

Marf barely allows her to finish as he pushes off of the couch and heads for the door.

Whatever, doc.

Marf storms out of the office while the therapist begins making some notes in her folder. Marf marches down the narrow hallway while mumbling something to himself.

Maybe I will go burn some fuckin’ bones…

We fade out as Marf steps outside and flags down a cab.

Well, we know where we're goin'
But we don't know where we've been.
And we know what we're knowin'
But we can't say what we've seen.

And we're not little children,
And we know what we want.
And the future is certain,
Give us time to work it out.

We're on a road to nowhere,
Come on inside.
Takin' that ride to nowhere,
We'll take that ride.

I'm feelin' okay this mornin'
And you know,
We're on a road to paradise.
Here we go, here we go…

Hit me with that promo time big guy!

Time to take a Leap of Faith, as they say. Coming off a couple rough outings lately, perhaps some will say management is taking a leap of faith just putting me into this match. Marf is just there to fill a hole. He’s there to be a fall guy. A fucking stepping stone for someone else’s bright journey to the top. Maybe there’s even some thoughts that I don’t even deserve to be in the damn Leap of Faith match. As if ole Marfy hasn’t earned his stripes. I can see how some of you assholes could come up with straight trash like that. And here’s my rebuttal to every fan, every foe and everyone else…

Marf simply leans back and raises a stern middle finger at the camera while sneering.

Fuck right off if you don’t think I belong here. I’m Marf, the two time Television champion. Multi time Freestyle and Heavy metal weight champion. Former Xtreme champion. If you motherfuckers think I’m just going to show up and be there like an extra you’re about to be unpleasantly surprised! I’m going to show up and do one of my favorite things around here, fuckin’ wreck people. Lucky for me we’re about to roll into Leap of Faith with a handful of fools ready to get wrecked.

Just look at the names in this match. Vita Velvateen, former foe of mine. I slayed that ass once already. But of course, I’m expected to say that, aren’t I? I’m expected to talk about how I walked away the victor from our battle several months ago. I’m expected to gloat about being the first motherfucker to power out of her vicious finisher. And why wouldn’t I? A mere mortal not only survives the vampiric Vita but defeats her as well. A proverbial stake through the heart of her dreams, that day at least.

Sniff, snort, gargle and spit. Simply charming.

But this is not that day. This isn’t even that month. Our paths have wound along darkened corridors and fevered dreams. Each of us sending waves of destruction wherever we go. Now we approach Leap of Faith and a newer Vita is about to stand before me. Her latest reign of terror has actually been borderline impressive. Worthy of a golf clap even. Finally Vita is out here proving her worth instead of just being some lame ass vampire that is such a charity case I’d get a tax credit of a couple grand for fuckin’ her. Bravo Vita, bare those fangs once again and bring it because I’m about to work that ass so hard you will be entitled to start a union.

Marf of course makes the ‘bring it’ motion while smirking into the camera.

Speaking of proving to be worthy…no I’m not about to bring up that shitty lion heart ripoff yet. Nah, this is where Angie Vaughn slides in. Now you may talk like some crypto currency obsessed fucktard that invested far too much in dogecoin at times, but I’ll throw some credit your way, Ang. You have started off somewhat decently in your short time here. Good on ya, making a name for yourself and not just by acting a tad slutty and then deleting Twitter once you get called out for it. Word on the street is you have done quite well for yourself in some other companies too.

Buuuuuut we don’t really give a fuck about that now do we? It is all about the what have you done for me lately rhetoric. And what have you done lately, exactly? You scooped up a victory on Saturday Savage over the tongue tied Reggie Estrada. Congrats and shit. Been there, done that. But hey, give your mom a call I’m sure she would be real proud, like totes malotes ehrmergerd and whatever other stupid shit needs to be said. I may not be as handsy as ole Reg, but I’ll be sure to make you feel reeeeeal uncomfortable when I get my paws on you.

As usual, there really is no way to tell if he’s trying to sound sexy or violent here. Probably both.

You know who else I’m actually looking forward to getting my hands on? No, it’s not you Kido, wait your fuckin’ turn. I’m talking about Marky Flynn, a guy I have not had the pleasure of really going toe to toe with. A guy that was begged for by Thad himself to step out of the silence and grace us all with his presence. A guy that’s been on a solid roll since and quite frankly won’t shut the fuck up. We’ll see how much talking Mark does with my meaty arm wrapped around his throat. Maybe folks will enjoy you more when the only sounds you can make are gurgled coughs.

Marf takes a moment to rub a hand through his beard and squint before sighing.

I don’t even want to give the next guy a gurgled cough or any attention for that matter. Raion Kido, if that even is your real name. I don’t even want to waste my breath on you. Fuckin’ Thad looks to be taking time off so what, we need another liony dipshit to fill the spot? Fuck off. Honestly, you look like the type of person who shows up to a Denny’s and clears the place out with your dirty coke farts. Seems everywhere I go lately I hear your stupid name. Why exactly is everyone on your pencil dick? You’re not undefeated, you haven’t won any titles. The fuck should I care about you? Oh right, I don’t. So instead I’ll just beat that ridiculous Liu Kang hair style off your thick head. Ain’t no saving you from this ass whooping.

Marf wipes away an angry sneer and then gives the camera that patented sweet Marfy smile.

Ahh, so this is the part a lot of you maggots are waiting for. Drooling like the dweebs you are in anticipation of your boy Marf running down fellow basterd Bobby Bourbon. Well guess what fuck sticks, I’m not going to do any such thing. Oh fuck no baby, instead I’m going to fill each and everyone of you expired smelling twats in about how lucky y’all are. Damn lucky to have both Bobby and myself in this match. Lucky that we’ll actually make it worth watching instead of another classic Flynn snoozefest. Lucky that you get to see a variety of carnage instead of Kido performing sixteen variations of the same fucking arm drag.

Marf comes dangerously close to passing out just thinking about it. Last thing we need is more god damn dreams, Christ almighty…

Each and everyone of you neck beards watching from your mommy’s basement on the television you don’t pay for are so god damn lucky both Bobby and myself are gracing this pay per view. The XWF itself is also lucky to fuckin’ have us. So let the insults fly and the downplaying of accomplishments run rampant. None of it will mean a fuckin’ thing once the fists start flying and blood starts pouring. But when it comes to Mark Flynn, Vita Valenteen, Angie Vaughn and yes even Raion Kido…well their participation in this match is simply unlucky. Oops, better luck next time, assholes.

Marf makes the grimace, rolls the thumb across the front of his throat and we fade to black. ]]>

Somewhere that may or may not be our reality…

Damn, she’s good!

Hit me with that promo time big guy!

The saga of the multiple Vaughns appears to have reached a critical juncture.

In the Virtual Reality, Peter Vaughn has been fighting just to stay alive. Since being defeated due to trickery from a doppelganger, Vaughn has been 'living' as a Force Ghost in the Star Wars universe, trapped without a body to return to. The computerized system, seeing Vaughn's consciousness as an unknown program and potential threat, threw greater and greater challenges against him, ending with bringing in the Death Star to wipe him out, along with the planet Hoth. Fortunately for Vaughn, it was at this point that the Master Cleaner finally intervened, rescuing Vaughn from being blown to pieces. With the Master Cleaner on his side, Vaughn finally seems to have a fighting chance... although he's also learned of how much time has actually passed since he 'fell'.

In the real world, Peter Vaughn has been living the life of a wrestling superstar. He's taken down competitors like Vita Valenteen and seems set to be in the best shape possible for his match against Mac Bane for the XWF Supercontinental Title. But we've since learned that this isn't the real Vaughn, more like a 'copy' of him. A computer specialist has found a way to duplicate a person's thoughts and style, transferring them into the person's body and gaining control over them due to the programming. This Vaughn has sat quietly, listening as the Specialist explained his scientific advancements to a captured Head Custodian, who is now in danger of being copied and erased himself. In the meantime, calling Vaughn a failed first attempt, the Specialist has instructed Vaughn to terminate himself. This would leave the real Vaughn's consciousness nowhere to return to, even if the Master Cleaner can find a way to bring him back.

Everything now hangs in the balance... and on the single pull of a trigger.

Master Cleaner: I think I've got it.

~The Master Cleaner finishes whatever he's typing, sending off the command. Vaughn waits anxiously, still glowing, but after a few moments, he notices a change. The ghostly after-effect seems to be fading. He watches, amazed, as his hands and feet start to solidify, followed by the rest of him. Vaughn grins, rubbing his arms together... then doing it more heavily, as the chill sets in.~

Peter Vaughn: It's g-g-great to h-have my b-b-body back, M-M-Master. C-could you r-r-rustle up s-some cold weather c-clothes too?

~Confused, the Master Cleaner glances over at Vaughn, who is still wearing only a light-colored Jedi robe. That's just not enough protection on Hoth. The Master Cleaner nods and turns back to his keyboard, typing away, as Vaughn braces himself for a jacket to appear, and hopefully some winter boots as well. Instead, though, the entire planet seems to contort, shifting under Vaughn's feet.~

Peter Vaughn: WHOA, whoa, what the hell??

Master Cleaner: No point in staying on Hoth. It's way too damn cold there. I prefer warmer climates.

~The landscape changes around them, suddenly becoming a desert planet. It's most likely Tatooine, although it could be Geonosis, or any other desert planets in the Star Wars universe. Vaughn looks around, feeling the waves of heat, and looks down at the ground. He lifts his left foot, then his right, looking disgusted.~

Peter Vaughn: Sand. I hate sand.

Master Cleaner: Huh. Like Vaughn, like Vader, I suppose...

Peter Vaughn: What was that?

Master Cleaner: Nothing, don't worry about it. How about... this?

~The world shifts again, which has to be disorienting for someone standing in it. After a moment, we find ourselves on Imperial Center, otherwise known as Coruscant. Both men are standing inside a park, with a statue next to them in honor of all the lives lost in the war against the Empire. Vaughn looks around and nods.~

Peter Vaughn: This will work. So back to what we were talking about. You're seriously telling me that someone's been out there wrestling... as me?

Master Cleaner: Apparently so. I'm still unclear on some of the details, but as far as the Coalition has been concerned, you left the VR studio weeks ago.

Peter Vaughn: Damn it. I hope this loser hasn't been just drinking tons of soda and eating junk food. I don't want to be bloated when I get out.

Master Cleaner: Actually, from our reports, you, well, the other you has been training harder than ever.

Peter Vaughn: Oh. Well, good for me, then.

Master Cleaner: The goal now is to figure out a way to get your imposter back here in Virtual Reality. Something tells me that's not going to be easy.

Peter Vaughn: Hey, yeah, try not to damage me when you do that, okay? When all this is over, I still want my shot against Mac. So he beat Marf? Was it a good match?

Master Cleaner: I don't know, I don't watch wrestling, Peter.

Peter Vaughn: You don't... you don't watch...

~Vaughn looks unsteady after such a proclamation. He has to sit down, going to the nearby bench. The Master Cleaner follows him, dialing up something on a phone he just made materialize in his hand.~

Master Cleaner: The good news is, I've received word that a rescue operation is underway. In fact, it may have already included.

~The 'call' appears to pick up, as the Master Cleaner turns away for a moment.~

Master Cleaner: Hello? Bill? Do you have them? ... Bill? Is everything... what do you mean? I... oh...

~The Master Cleaner slowly lowers his head, listening for a few moments more before thanking Bill and hanging up. Vaughn, sensing that things aren't exactly sensational, sits forward on the bench.~

Peter Vaughn: Well? What happened? Did you find me?

Master Cleaner: There's, uh... there's been a... a complication... it's... it's not good...

~Vaughn waits, as the Master Cleaner takes a moment, looking like his emotions are coming to the surface. It's not a sight seen too often for this man, if he is really a man and not some computer program. He rarely reveals anything, but his shock and sadness are evident.~

Peter Vaughn: Take a seat, Master... and tell me what happened...

~Slowly, the Master Cleaner shakes his head and composes himself.~

Master Cleaner: There's no time. We need to get prepared... for the end...

~The Master Cleaner begins designing a new program, as Vaughn watches, puzzled and wondering what actually happened...~

Twenty Minutes Earlier

~As the Specialist looks on, his usual crooked grin on his face, Peter Vaughn slowly raises the revolver towards his temple. He places it there, aimed directly at himself, ready to follow the Specialist's orders and 'terminate' himself. In horror, the Head Custodian begins to yell.~

Head Custodian: No! NO!! Peter, you don't have to do this!! Don't listen to him!!

Specialist: Ahhh, but he has no choice in the matter, my friend. This Peter is specifically trained to follow all of my commands. It's a shame to throw him away, I will admit, but I only see problems with keeping him around. It's time to move on to my next test subject... you. So Peter, please do as I've told you. Follow your orders.

Head Custodian: No! He's not a program now, he's a living, breathing individual! You can't take him away from us! He's too important!

~Vaughn's hand falters slightly, as he listens to the Head Custodian's pleas. The Specialist shakes his head, then turns to the incapacitated Head Custodian, confused.~

Specialist: I wonder, why have you and the Coalition taken such an interest in this man? I've never understood it. Ah well. It doesn't matter now, does it?

~The Specialist laughs merrily, then turns and looks back at Vaughn, whose hand is still shaking while pointed at his own head.~

Specialist: Oh, are you still here? Why, exactly?

Peter Vaughn: I... I don't think I can do it, sir.

~Far from being upset, the Specialist moves forward, fascinated at this change in behavior. As the Specialist stays focused on Vaughn, the Head Custodian continues to work away at the straps holding him down, now more frantic than before, as the process to copy his brainwaves must be almost complete at this point.~

Specialist: Please explain to me your logic on this, Mr. Vaughn. Is it a will to live? Is it a programming glitch? I'm very interested in find out, yes I am...

Peter Vaughn: I... I like being alive, but that's not the reason. I... I believe because you programmed me to try to respect all life... including my own... I cannot do what you ask.

Specialist: Ahhh, I understand now. This is what I get for deciding to use Azimov's Three Laws of Robotics as my basepoint. Still, you DID hurt your friend here by bringing him to me, didn't you?

Peter Vaughn: I took every precaution not to seriously injure him... but I failed in my mission there. I went with... what felt like what Peter Vaughn would do.... but... it was wrong... wrong...

Specialist: Oooo, a conflict between your programming and the cloned personality! I love it! You never know where these scientific endeavors are going to go, do you? It makes for an entertaining problem to resolve in the next iteration. Still, we shouldn't prolong this too long, should we? Please hand over the gun to me.

~With a slightly relieved expression, Vaughn lowers his arm and delivers the weapon to the Specialist. He immediately checks the safety, then lifts up the gun, pointing it straight at Vaughn.~

Specialist: If we have to utilize the alternate "murder scenario", so be it.

~The Specialist pulls back on the trigger, as Vaughn takes a deep breath...~

We all know it's going to end someday.

Sure, we assume it's going to be decades in the future. Maybe with technological advances, we'll all be living to 120-130 in the future. Or maybe it all ends tomorrow. But regardless, we still know that, someday, it's going to happen. Our run is going to be over. Our time will be done.

We'll be fertilizer in the ground.

I suppose, for me, that's why I've been working so hard throughout 2022. I've had a few close calls over the last couple of years, including, of course, the pandemic that took over the nation. Also, the brainwashing and torture, I'd definitely throw that in there. It helped me realize that it could end at any time, Mac. It could fade out over time, or it could crash as quickly as I can snap my fingers. Maybe that's why I've been working so hard to build up my legacy, to defeat the best of the best and win as many championships as possible.

As they said on The Sandlot: Heroes Get Remembered, but Legends Never Die.

I'll never be a hero in anyone's eyes. The fans will always see me as they always have: with contempt, because of how I was raised. But if I can continue to gain victory after victory, knocking out men like you, and carving my bloody history into the wrestling books, I still have a chance at becoming a legend. And then, Mac? I'll be immortal. I'll never be forgotten.

Isn't that worth breaking a few bones along the way?

I should apologize, Mac, in getting a little too deep and philosophical here. It's probably not what you want to see. You're just concerned with the competition inside the ring as we both risk our necks climbing for the gold. But the motivation matters, Mac. Are you motivated like me? To be blunt, I don't think you are. I don't know much about your life growing up, it's true. But I do know that there's no way you had it worse off than I did. Growing up without a mother. Having a father who was about as disrespected as they come, but taking it without fighting back at all. Living with the fact that you were never going to have a chance of making something of yourself, and eventually finding a way to force it to happen for you.

My motivation to win is still burning as bright as a super nova, Mac. I'll do whatever it takes to secure my legacy for all to see. Because I know that someday, my efforts will come to an end.

But that's not going to be today.

~Everything appears to be running in slow motion. The Specialist takes aim, his tongue slightly sticking out to the side as he prepares to fire the revolver. Peter Vaughn's head begins to move, as if finally showing the urge to stay alive. Behind them both, the Head Custodian finally, desperately pulls himself free of the chair. He tosses the gear on his head aside, leaping towards the Specialist with a strangled yell, which echoes in the slow-motion reality we now find ourselves in. He tackles the surprised Specialist, knocking him off-balance, as the gun finally goes off. A bullet flies out, its trajectory abruptly changed, as it flies past Vaughn's head, barely missing him and hitting the equipment behind him.~

~A shower of sparks brings everything to full speed again, as an alarm begins to sound. A countdown has begun. Vaughn turns, looking at where the bullet hit, before turning back to where the Specialist and the Head Custodian are fighting. Despite his early advantage, the Head Custodian has been drugged and secured for too long, as he struggles mightily to stay in the fight. He socks the Specialist in the jaw, knocking him backwards into another server cabinet. But the Specialist still manages to hold onto the gun, bringing it up... and firing two shots straight into the Head Custodian's chest.~

Peter Vaughn: No...

~The Head Custodian slumps to the side, leaning his weight onto the nearby desk, gasping for air. The Specialist, no longer smiling, wipes a hand across his bloody lips. He looks at the redness on the back of his hand, considering it clinically before turning back to the Head Custodian.~

Specialist: What a mess you have made. I can't tolerate it. It's too disordered... too messy... it must end, yes, it must end!

~The Specialist prepares to fire again, as the Head Custodian struggles to get up, refusing to stop despite his grave wounds.~

Peter Vaughn: NO!!!!

~Vaughn suddenly leaps forward, knocking the gun out of the startled Specialist's hands. He looks back at Vaughn, his eyes finally displaying something other than creepy joy. They're now full of frustration.~

Specialist: What... is... WRONG with you?!?! Did I truly make such a major mistake with your programming? Or did I just use too insane a template?? YOU'RE DISOBEYING ME, PETER!!

~Vaughn appears to be dealing with almost a mental breakdown, which is rather ironic, considering all that's happened in Vaughn's past. But he still manages to speak the words lodged in his mind, running over and over.~

Peter Vaughn: I cannot injure a human being... or, through inaction... allow a human being to come to harm... I have failed... Failed... FAILED!!!

Specialist: You have disappointed me, Peter! You are SO DISAPPOINTING!! Where did that gun go??

~The Specialist turns, angrily walking deeper into the room, as the alarms suddenly become louder. On the adjourning wall, we can see that a fire has started in one of the server racks, due to the bullet hits taken earlier. The smoke has drifted to the ceiling, causing the halon system to begin activating. A warning sounds.~

Automated System: Alert! Vacate the primary server room! Lockdown in 10 seconds for Halon deployment!

~The Specialist, startled, turns, realizing what's about to happen. Suddenly, a right hand slams into him, sending him spiraling to the ground. The Head Custodian stumbles, leaning against the wall. The front of his uniform is soaked in blood. He stumbles towards Vaughn, who is still going through a major mental crisis. He's grabbing at his head, as if to yank the thoughts that are plaguing him out of his brain. The Head Custodian grabs him, staring at him for a moment.~

Head Custodian: Peter... you're too important... run... go... you MUST survive!!

~Vaughn reaches for him, but suddenly the Head Custodian shoves Vaughn backwards, sending him tumbling out of control out of the doorway. The Head Custodian uses the momentum to fly backwards into the Specialist, who had come up with the revolver in hand. The Head Custodian grabs his arm, hanging on, as another shot rings out.~

Specialist: No, no, this can't be! This is inconceivable! INCONCEIVABLE!!

~Vaughn struggles to get up from where he fell, his eyes opening wide as the automatic doors to the room suddenly begin to swing shut.~

Peter Vaughn: No, WAIT!! STOP!!!

~Vaughn leaps forward, scratching at the side of the closing doors, but he can't stop them from closing. He yanks at them anyway, threatening to lose fingers as he fights against an unstoppable object. Inside, the Head Custodian, still holding the Specialist at bay, smiles at him.~

Head Custodian: Fulfill your destiny, Peter... I'll be watching...

~Despite putting everything he has into it, Vaughn can't stop the inevitable. The doors shut and lock tightly closed. Through the unbreakable window, Vaughn can see the Halon gas spilling out, covering both men... and absorbing all of the oxygen from the server room to put out the danger of the fire. Within seconds, neither of the individuals can be seen, due to the thick gas covering them. Vaughn starts hammering away at the door with his fists, as if trying to break it down with sheer force.~

Peter Vaughn: No, NO, NYYAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!!!!

~Like a rabid animal, Vaughn claws at the doors, struggling to find even the slightest edge to pry open. But he cannot. There are no more sounds coming from within the room. Vaughn slowly slumps forward, sliding partially down the left door.~

Peter Vaughn: No... HC... no... father....

~Suddenly, a tranquilizer dart lands in the back of Peter Vaughn's neck. He barely seems to feel it, ignoring it like you would the bite of a mosquito. But it soon takes effect, with the broken man dropping the rest of the way to the floor, landing on his side. He has a couple more shuddering sobs before growing silent. Behind him, we see one of the custodians, Bill, making his way in, along with a support staff. There's a tracker in Bill's hand, which led them to the Head Custodian's location, having received his earlier SOS.~

Bill: Vaughn is down! Repeat, Vaughn is down! Looking for the Head Custodian now! You two, secure this man before he wakes up! Everyone else, spread out and secure the area!

~The troops nod and move out, taking their orders in stride. Bill himself moves to where Vaughn had been frantically trying to get in. He hears the exhaust fans going off, working to clear the white gas from the room. He peers through the window, blinking... and then he drops the tracking device, barely hearing it as it cracks on the warehouse floor.~

Bill: No... oh God, no... we were too late...

~Bill begins to tear up, knowing from what he's seen that nothing will ever be the same again. The camera zooms down, focusing on the unconscious face of Peter Vaughn, who appears to have had a nosebleed. We zoom in...~

~Vaughn suddenly wakes up, his face no longer bloody. He sits up, confused, as he looks around the strange chamber he finds himself in.~

Peter Vaughn: HC... father... wait... where am I?? What...

~The machine suddenly begins to power up, and Vaughn's quick reflexes suddenly kick in. He doesn't know what's going on, but he knows it's time to leave. He leaps, surprisingly soaring upwards, as only a Force Leap could do, sending him flying up and out of the Cryo Freeze Chamber just as it comes on. If he had stayed even a few moments more, he would have been sealed in carbonite. Vaughn lands on his feet up top, running his hands over the Jedi clothes he's now once again wearing. He looks completely lost.~

Voice: That was a magnificent leap there, kid. I should have known that wouldn't work... since I would have avoided it, too.

~Vaughn looks up, still shaky, as he sees another man standing there... himself. The Peter Vaughn who's been trapped in Virtual Reality for weeks, the TRUE Peter Vaughn, if you're one to believe in souls and the afterlife. He gives his clone a grim smile and triggers his purple lightsaber, bringing it upwards in almost a salute.~

Peter Vaughn: Looks like it's time for Round two, boyo. And no more cheats allowed.

~Finally realizing what's happening, and where he is now, the programmed Vaughn stands up, considering things. He then reaches down, pulling off his own lightsaber and igniting it. The two Vaughns face off, as the camera pans around them, showing both of their determined faces as dramatic music begins to play.~

Sometimes you have to fight through your inner demons... even when they're on the outside, too.

I know that I get obsessed about my legacy. But saying that winning a title doesn't define you is completely wrong, Mac. Just ask all the wrestlers who never made it to the top of their federations. They'll tell you that winning that belt would have changed their lives, for both good and bad. I know, for me, it went both directions, but it certainly did change me. It definitely defined me... as a winner, someone to watch. A man with a future.

You may think that I should do all my battles 'honorably' and straight up, and y'know, maybe that would make the fans have a better impression of me. But looking back, what if I had been like you and not taken advantage of the situation against Mike Knox? What if I didn't keep him off-balance with the masked attacker, didn't arrange for the referee to fall, and didn't have my back-up plan in place to win the match? Why, I guess I'd be just like you, wouldn't I? Feeling the rage and impotency of having lost to the Raven.

And believe me, I understand that feeling. Because I've been down this path too. I didn't make the same arrangements when facing a great wrestler like ALIAS, and look what happened? So much for letting my pride drive me. But I've learned from that day, Mac. I won't let any advantage slip out of my hands again. If that means, in your mind, I'm taking a "short cut", then so be it. Hey, it'll get me there faster, won't it? And it's a price I'm certainly willing to pay in order to continue to be successful.

That's not saying that I'm going to have a rogue's gallery of foes attack you, Mac. I mean, I don't have those kinds of resources anymore, anyway. I need to put some more work into building that back up, quite frankly. But, also, as I've already said, I would rather beat you one-on-one, just so I don't hear the same type of whining I've heard from Supreme Machine, Knox, Archyle, and others that have crossed my path.

It's much more enjoyable when your opponent has no evidence to throw out suggesting the match was rigged, and that they just have to swallow their humiliation and know that they got beat by a former janitor and mechanic who was... simply... better than them.

On that night, and maybe on many more.

You know I'm looking forward to this one, Mac, but rest assured, aside from having a bunch of thugs beat you up pre-match, I'm willing to do anything and everything to ensure I leave Dubai as the XWF Supercontinental Champion. You're going to learn the truth of that statement as soon as you step into the ring with me. Whatever it takes, Mac. Even if it takes embracing my inner demon once again.

Let the flames burn hot, let the ladders crack skulls, and let the whole world watch as history unfolds yet again.

The Plunge is coming... and the Purge may not be too far behind...

~The two Vaughns collide, their lightsabers sparking as the swings continue between them. It seems that the original Vaughn is the more aggressive one, as the 'new' Vaughn (let's call him PV from now on) is still trying to pull himself together from the shocks he's been through recently.~

Peter Vaughn: I was expecting a lot more from you, imposter! Where's that fighting spirit you had the last time we faced, huh?

PV: You... you don't know what's happened. You don't know... what I've been through...

Peter Vaughn: Oh, really? I was nearly killed by Robbie the Robot's evil buddies, some AT-AT's, and the Emperor's favorite ride. Think I've had it worse, you son of a...

~Vaughn brings his blade around in a clockwise swing, knocking PV backwards. He's mostly defensive at the moment, his emotions fighting him just as much as Vaughn. In desperation, he uses the Force, shoving Vaughn backwards in a slide across the metallic surface. Vaughn grins, raising up his own hand.~

Peter Vaughn: Nice, but you wouldn't believe the amount of practice I've had lately. I'd say I'm more than a match for you!

~Vaughn waves his hand, and numerous pieces of metal from all over the room are suddenly in flight, launching in all directions at PV. He knocks a few of them away with a couple of lightsaber swings, but he can't get them all, with several of them making contact. He staggers backwards, feeling the pain from his wounds, as the safety protocols once again appear to be turned off. Either that, or a Virtual Reality persona always feels it. Vaughn smirks, enjoying himself, as he's been wanting revenge for some time.~

Peter Vaughn: So how'd it feel, walking in my skin? Did you like the feel of your blood pumping when you smacked Vita in the face? I bet you enjoyed my body a lot!!

~Both men stop for a second, as they each consider what was just said.~

Peter Vaughn: Okay, yeah, that came out all sorts of wrong. Let's just forget that one, shall we?

PV: You just don't understand...

Peter Vaughn: Then explain it to me, before I cut your damn head off. Why should I feel the slightest amount of regret in killing your virtual ass?

~A light flashes in PV's eyes, a glint that Vaughn has heard about, but never seen before himself. The doppelganger straightens up and suddenly raises his blade, taking a stronger stance.~

PV: I may not have been given a choice... I might have been just a lab experiment... but I'm still me! I'm STILL PETER!!

Peter Vaughn: Like HELL you are!!

~Vaughn darts forward, but hits a Force wall, stunning him. PV suddenly has more power behind him, using his indominable will... the will he gained from being duplicated from Vaughn. He comes in, swinging hard, with Vaughn barely able to block the shot and knock it back. But it was more of a distraction, as PV was bringing a large barrel from behind, catching Vaughn in the back of the legs! He topples over, but does a complete Force flip, avoiding PV's second swing that cuts the barrel in two. Vaughn hops up, no longer with a smile on his face. This is now a deadly serious confrontation.~

Peter Vaughn: What drives you? What is pushing you forward? It's over. I've survived. You've already LOST! Why are you fighting so hard??

PV: Because... I WANT TO LIVE!!!

Peter Vaughn: AND I WANT MY BODY BACK!!

~With similar infuriated expressions, the two Vaughns leap forward at each other... and then both go flying backwards by the blast that lands between them. They slide backwards, stunned, as the Master Cleaner suddenly appears between them.~

Master Cleaner: That... is... ENOUGH!!

~Neither Vaughn looks very satisfied, but the power that's radiating off of the Master Cleaner right now is enough to keep either man from arguing. They both stand down, their lightsabers shutting off, even as they continue to glare at the other. The Master Cleaner turns to PV, studying him for a few seconds before approaching him.~

Master Cleaner: You should know, we've already reversed what the Specialist did. The system now recognizes the real Vaughn as the person who is logged into this system. You... are now on your own.

~PV shudders, but holds his ground. You can almost read in his expression how alone he truly feels at the moment, with so many items lost in the past few hours. The Master Cleaner, though, gives him a sad smile, putting an arm on him.~

Master Cleaner: But that's not the end for you, my friend. I have set up the program to keep your profile running indefinitely here in Virtual Reality. I have created a realm for you, complete with all the knowledge you'll need to become a stronger individual. In my eyes, son, you are a living creation that must be protected.

~Vaughn doesn't look exactly thrilled with this arrangement, but even he can see that PV is fighting a break-down at the moment. He leans into the Master Cleaner, who comforts him, before turning towards Vaughn.~

Master Cleaner: You can log out at any time now, Peter. I'll handle things from here.

Peter Vaughn: You sure?

Master Cleaner: You worry about your reality. I've got this under control.

~Vaughn puzzles for a moment over the Master Cleaner's statement, then shrugs.~

Peter Vaughn: Okay then. Hey, having one more of me can't really be a bad thing, I suppose...

~He turns away, punching up his connection to the outside. He can now access the log-out button, pressing it... ~

~And what feels like only a second later, Peter Vaughn awakens in the VR Station in the Custodial Coalition headquarters. He gets to a seated position, pulling off the helmet on his head as quickly as possible. Bill and another technician come over to help him, getting him unplugged.~

Bill: So... are you... you?

Peter Vaughn: As far as I can tell, yep. Not like you guys would know, though, would you? How many weeks did you let this guy control my body again?

Bill: We... nobody could've figured out what the Specialist had been doing. Not even the Head Custodian.

Peter Vaughn: Yeah, where is the old man? He's usually here to greet me after one of these disasters. Is he finally losing faith in me?

~The other technician suddenly sniffles and moves off, unable to cope. Vaughn isn't great at emotional cues, but that was a giant red flashing billboard that couldn't be missed.~

Peter Vaughn: Bill? Where's the Head Custodian?

~Bill gives a long, deep sigh. He leans in, beginning to tell Vaughn the truth about what happened, as the camera slowly zooms out, away from them.~

~We cut to a few days later, as a solemn ceremony has taken place. We see a large crowd of men and women gathered around a cemetery plot, as a coffin is slowly being lowered in.~

Minister: I pray that you will have the blessing of being consoled. May you know in your soul that there is no need to be afraid. When your time comes, may you be given every blessing and shelter that you need.

~The camera focuses on one man standing near the center of the crowd, listening to the minister's prayer, which is both for the deceased and those who miss him. Peter Vaughn has a single rose in his hand, holding onto it as he watches his friend lowered into the earth.~

Minister: May there be a beautiful welcome for you in the home that you are going to. You are not going somewhere strange. You are going back to the home that you never left. May you have a wonderful urgency to live your life to the full.

~Vaughn steps forward, holding the rose in his hand. He focuses on it, showing little outward emotion, but his hand trembles slightly as he tosses the rose into the grave.~

Minister: May you live compassionately and creatively and transfigure everything that is negative within you and about you. When you come to die may it be after a long life. May you be peaceful and happy and in the presence of those who really care for you. May your going be sheltered and your welcome assured. May your soul smile in the embrace of your anam cara.

~As the mourners watch the burial commence, Vaughn turns away, leaving behind the gravestone, which lists the Head Custodian's real name: Charles Kenneth MacCullagh. It also says "Here lies a brave man who always believed." Vaughn leaves the cemetery, not noticing that another man has broken off to follow him.~

Bill: Peter...

~Vaughn stops, looking back as Bill catches up to him. He reaches out and hold's Vaughn's hand, surprising him.~

Bill: I think you should know... he always thought the world of you. He told me that he believed you would be the greatest of all of us, once you realized your full potential.

Peter Vaughn: He... he was a good man. Much better than I'll ever be. Why, Bill? Why'd he sacrifice himself... for me?

Bill: You may not like it, Peter... but we do believe you have a destiny...

Peter Vaughn: My destiny right now is to get a cold beer and get back to training. At least that VR imposter got me in even better shape. So, hey, who do I report to next time? Did you get the position?

Bill: You... you haven't been told?

Peter Vaughn: Told what?

Bill: Peter... you're the new Head Custodian...

~As Vaughn does a double-take towards Bill, shocked, we slowly leave the cemetery behind.~

Is there really anything else to say?

I know you pretty well, Mac. I know this won't be an easy fight by any means. I expect you will give me a greater fight than almost any other wrestler I've faced in the XWF. But you have to know that I'm not going to let up. I've got too much to prove, and that includes becoming a champion once again. So you bring all your strikes and slaps, I'll bring all my kicks and tricks, and we're going to light up Dubai with the best match of the night, bar none.

And when it's all over, we'll see if either of us is able to walk out of there in one piece, or if we're both being carted out on stretchers. Hey, anything can happen, right? But even in that case... I'll be riding out in style, with the Supercontinental Title in my grasp. Because I'm not leaving there without the gold.

Say your prayers, drink your beer, and get jazzed up to spend some quality time on your ranch afterwards, Mac.

I'll see you on the battlefield.

~The video comes on briefly, showing us a shot through someone's slowly opening eyes. He blinks rapidly, showing his confusion, as a man hovers over him, making sure that he's waking up with no problems.~

PV: Can you hear me? Do you understand me?

~The person slowly sits up, still trying to figure out what's happening. Their gaze can't leave their friend, Peter Vaughn, who is standing in front of them with a white void behind him.~

PV: Take your time. It's quite an adjustment.

~PV seems concerned, but also with a bit of a smile cracking around the edges. The person seems to shake their head before speaking.~

Voice: Where... where am I? The last... thing I remember... is being tied... to that chair... Peter?

PV: Not quite... we've got a lot to talk about, my friend. Luckily, we have all the time in the virtual world... HC...

~The camera shifts to a side view, as we see a man who looks very similar to the former Head Custodian reaching out and taking PV's hand, getting pulled to his feet. He looks around, still confused, as we slowly fade out.~

]]>

The Road So Far:

Journeying Through The Force, P1

Journeying Through The Force, P2

Journeying Through The Force, P3

Dealing With Our Reality, P1

Dealing With Our Reality, P2

[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

~The video comes on briefly, showing us a shot through someone's slowly opening eyes. He blinks rapidly, showing his confusion, as a man hovers over him, making sure that he's waking up with no problems.~

PV: Can you hear me? Do you understand me?

~The person slowly sits up, still trying to figure out what's happening. Their gaze can't leave their friend, Peter Vaughn, who is standing in front of them with a white void behind him.~

PV: Take your time. It's quite an adjustment.

~PV seems concerned, but also with a bit of a smile cracking around the edges. The person seems to shake their head before speaking.~

Voice: Where... where am I? The last... thing I remember... is being tied... to that chair... Peter?

PV: Not quite... we've got a lot to talk about, my friend. Luckily, we have all the time in the virtual world... HC...

~The camera shifts to a side view, as we see a man who looks very similar to the former Head Custodian reaching out and taking PV's hand, getting pulled to his feet. He looks around, still confused, as we slowly fade out.~

]]> <![CDATA[Chasing More Than A Golden Paperweight]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43667 Sat, 28 May 2022 01:03:19 -0700 Charlie Nickles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43667

Can you believe what you just saw?

Do you remember where we left off?

The Indian Panhead ran through the television screen like Charlie Nickles runs through a title challenger, with no problem at all. Loy watched on in shocked horror as the man, the lion, and the motorbike went through the television screen like it was a modern day closet to Narnia. As Loy ran out of his devastated shop with a shriek, the camera obviously attached to a drone approached the antique TV set. The drone flew closer and closer to the TV set until all that was seen in the camera was the screen. The drone didn’t go any further, almost as if it were afraid to follow in the path of The Nickleman, afraid to test those boundaries much like every other robot in the XWF. The drone held steady in the air directly next to the TV, allowing the camera to film everything that happened on screen after Charlie’s mad dash into the television universe.

New background music begins to play as the BastardNet logo fades away,

Charlie Nickles is driving his Indian Panhead across the screen in pitch darkness as the lyrics to the background music play in the bottom-left corner of the screen like the opening credits to a TV show. Alongside every set of lyrics there is a notification on the screen indicating you can press a button on your smart TV remote to ‘learn more’. I wonder what happens when you press that button on an antique TV?

Swear at the walls
They make fun of me

Charlie Nickles rides like hell through the darkness. He presumably can’t see a thing, but he can still feel the grips of his handlebars and he can still hear the mocking laughter in the shadows around him, so he knows he is still on the path to recovering the center of his universe.

Day after day
Eyes that follow me
Is it you again?
Can this be the end forever?

Intent on not letting it end like this, The Nickleman pressed the pedal to the medal as he chased through the unknown dredges of the universe in search of the only love he has ever known.

As it was before
It will be no more
Time does that

The Nickleman looks around anxiously for any sign of his Goldi. He reaches out into the darkness absentmindedly and slaps the whimpering lion in the sidecar, because its whining was making it hard to focus.

Say it again, like you said
Does it sound like you?
Where are you now?

Charlie’s ears perk up as he now hears the same grating laugh he heard in Loy’s antique shop. Charlie whips the motorbike around and begins driving towards the song lyrics on screen, where he sees the masked man hiding in between the letters with his Goldi!

Can you hide who you are?
Take a look at yourself
Can you stop what will be?
You think running will help?

STOP FUCKING RUNNING, BITCH!

The Nickleman’s Indian Panhead charges into the song lyrics, forcing them to scatter across the TV screen! The drone backs up quickly, as if it were literally expecting the lyrics to fly out the screen. After it is clear that is not the case, the drone flies the camera back in front of the TV screen where we see the masked man desperately running away from Charlie’s motorbike as he struggles to keep his pants around his waist.

YOU’LL NEVER TAKE MY GOLDI ALIVE, GOD DAMN IT!

The sweaty man in the mask turns around as he hears the motorcycle speeding closer. He reaches out into the darkness with his untrimmed nails and claws into the fabric of the otherworld, the world we see reflected in the television. We can see the etchings of a grin beneath the leather mask as the man rips through the shadows, revealing a hidden pocket of the universe within the darkness. He hops through the open pocket as fast as he can, escaping into the unknown anus of the universe with the stolen championship belt in his grasp.

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God damn it, that shit looked fucking terrible! Everything you do fucking sucks!

The Nickleman rides after the masked man, barreling through the tear in the anus of the universe with no hesitation and no lubrication. As Charlie comes out of the tear in the universe, he stumbles upon a scene that is completely crazy and lavishly ludicrous. It’s everything you could ever want and nothing you could ever expect. The audience doesn’t see what Charlie sees, however: they just see the fun flashcard that rolls across the screen as Charlie slides into his next bit!

[Image: Charliewitchgif.gif]

The graphic slides off the screen and it’s clear that Charlie Nickles was not having a fun time behind it. His motorbike, lion and all, is levitating in mid-air as it is caught in some sort of pink forcefield. A startled Nickles looks around inside the pink bubble for his escape. He jumps off his motorbike and floats towards the top of the magical aura engulfing him. He takes the boxcutter out of his leather boot and begins trying to cut the forcefield open, but nothing works. He seems thoroughly entrapped.

As the camera inside the TV zooms out, the camera outside the TV can observe that The Nickleman is suspended a few yards above a boiling cauldron. Around the cauldron stand two witches, rubbing their disgusting mitts together, licking their lips in anticipation of the coming feast. One witch holds a guitar in lieu of a broomstick, while the other wields a rifle. The two witches look up towards The Nickleman with glee.

Look how fat he is, Sister Pryce! He will taste scrumptious in the beef stew!

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Says the witch with the guitar to the witch with the rifle.

Oh yes, Sister Lane! His grease will go great with that one’s leather! This beef will be the best we’ve ever had, because it’s been stewing for a year!

[Image: Ui0xtLz.jpg]

Says the witch with the rifle to the witch with the guitar.

Both witches look off to the side and cackle as we see another forcefield levitating in the air a few feet away. While similar to the circle engulfing Charlie, this forcefield is far smaller and paler in color. Trapped inside of that forcefield we see the masked man and the TV championship belt. The son of a bitch just waves at Charlie Nickles and kisses the belt, which absolutely infuriates The Nickleman.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!

The Nickleman begins desperately clawing at the sides of the forcefield like a dog trapped in a cage. The two witches cackle some more at the attempted, but failed, insolence.

He is a feisty one, Sister Pryce!

Yes he is, Sister Lane! Yes he is! We’ve never had a snapjaw this snappy! Oh well…time to boil them!

Sister Lane holds her guitar out towards the pink aura containing Charlie Nickles. At the same time, Sister Pryce points her rifle at the far lesser aura surrounding the masked man. As the witches lower their weapons the force fields begin lowering towards the cauldron. Nickles and the lion begin freaking out and scrambling around their forcefield as the man in the mask seems to resign himself to his fate.

Who do you think is going to boil first, Sister Lane?

The one with the mask, Sister Pryce! The fat one will probably still be cooking tomorrow, just look at the size of those belly rolls!

The witches throw their heads back in shared laughter as their respective phallic instruments continue to lower the poor souls towards the cauldron. Then, the witch with the guitar cocks an eyebrow as she glances at the rifle.

You know, Sister, I hadn’t noticed this before…but I think my broomstick is longer than yours. It looks thicker, too!

No, no it’s not! It’s just cold out here, so the metal is retracted!

Somewhere out there in the universe, he laughs. Apparently this is the kind of stuff he finds really funny. Sister Pryce, however, isn’t laughing at all! She looks pissed off!

I’ve decided…I don’t want to make beef stew with you anymore!

The witch gestures her not so long rifle to the side, causing the force field with the masked man to fling roughly towards the ground some ten feet away from the cauldron. The masked man tries to stand up with the TV belt after he lands on the ground, but the forcefield allows him to rise no further than his hands and knees.

Oh you’re no fun!

The other witch gestures her guitar to the opposite side, sending Charlie’s forcefield- lion, motorbike, and all- crashing towards the ground opposite Goldi and the masked man. Nickles was forced to sit there parallel to Goldi’s captor, only able to rise to his hands and knees, while the all-powerful witches squabble through a phallic measuring contest.

I’m no fun, Sister Lane? That’s not what Cotton-Eyed Roxi said!

She would never talk to you, Sister! You’re going to have to do better than that to prove your point!

Sister Pryce narrowed her eyes at Sister Lane. Her brow furrowed in frustration as she spoke.

Oh yeah? Well, your stupid little jokes about dicks don’t prove anything!

Sister Lane started snickering immediately, much to the dismay of the witch with the gun.

Heh, you said little dick, Sister. Freudian slip?

Sister Pryce stomped her feet on the ground in a rage.

That’s not even what that means! That’s not what any of this means! Don’t tug my chain, Sister!

Not much chain to tug…

Stop it! Stop it! We’ll settle this according to the ancient ways…

By just measuring our broomsticks and seeing who has a bigger one?

Both Charlie and the lion continually tried to break through the pink forcefield while the witches bickered, but it was all to no avail. In this hidden anus of the universe these witches held all the cards: but the witch with the guitar seemed to have the stronger hand between the two. No wonder Sister Pryce felt the need to carry a military grade rifle.

We will settle this with a ritualistic competition of Praeparatio Bubulae!

Praeparatio Bubulae? You can’t be serious…I was just kidding…

I’m serious! Your ego has gone unchecked for too long. It’s time you finally started putting some respect on my broomstick.

Sister Lane sighed reluctantly. Charlie continued trying to break out of confinement, but it was no use. The man in the mask, meanwhile, just laid on his back, content to let anything happen to him.

Fine, fine. You know it is against the witch’s code to refuse a competition of Praeparatio Bubulae. I just hope this ritual doesn’t get out of hand like the Winter Solstice one did!

Sister Pryce cocked a big smile as she looked between the two parties of captives engulfed by separate and unequal force fields.

Well since you declared the challenge, I get to pick my champion first. And I select…

Sister Lane looks between the two force fields curiously, with a finger tapping on her chin. Clever as always, the underhanded Sister Pryce deploys some classic reverse psychology.

I just hope you don’t take the fat one. He’s so fat, he probably knows a whole bunch about marinating bubulae.

I pick the fat one!

Sister Lane exclaims excitedly as she snaps her fingers and dissipates the pink forcefield containing Charlie, the lion, and the motorbike. Sister Pryce laughs while dismissing her own forcefield opposite The Nickleman.

Haha! I got you again, Sister Lane! Don’t you recognize this masked fellow from the Astral Feast? He is sure to prepare memorable bubulae!

Oh shoot…

You might as well say shit at this point!

I don’t swear, Sister. It’s low-brow.

Funny, I bet you’re swearing to yourself that your champion is about to lose!

Sister Lane rolls her eyes while Sister Pryce rolls in laughter.

Your champion looks like he’s shrunk about three inches and 45 pounds since the Astral Feast. He’s like, malnourished or something. He probably went vegan. I’m totally still going to win.

We’ll see, Sister Lane. We. Will. See!

Right.

The two witches walk over to their chosen cattle to prepare them for the ritualistic competition. Charlie, meanwhile, is trying to push his Indian Panhead upright so he can ride on his opposition and take back his Goldi. The masked man is still just laying on the ground, although now he is picking the daisies around him while kicking his feet in the air like a teenage girl.

Thaddeus, get in the fucking sidecar! How many times do I have to tell you?!?!

The camera inside the TV switches perspective, so the camera outside the TV can now only see the conversation unfolding on Charlie’s side of the bubbling cauldron. The Nickleman screams at his pet with an ever changing name as he finally gets his motorcycle up on its wheels, but Sister Lane gets to the bike first. She touches Charlie gently on the arm, forcing his entire body to freeze in place.

Chill out, broseph. I need you to cook up some beef for me real quick. Do you know how to do that?

As Sister Lane holds the palm of her hand against Charlie’s arm, a pink strand of magical energy begins to radiate off of the witch’s middle finger. The tendril of dark magic wrapped around Charlie’s arm before reaching his shoulder. Then the strand of pink magic shot down The Nickleman’s throat, reaching deep into his body, before wrapping around his beating heart. Charlie gagged and choked as the strand of magic wormed its way through his body, but somehow his forced answers still came out crystal clear, as if his very soul were being compelled to respond.

I know all about beef. Cooking up beef is my professional speciality! I’m the best in the business at it!

Go on…what do you know about the ritualistic preparation of beef?

The witch squeezed Charlie’s arm tighter as a small smile spread across her lips. Charlie looked around in a frantic fright as he heard his own voice in the air around him, even as his lips and mouth were being forcibly pried open by the ethereal energy from the witch’s middle finger.

I know that I can turn any cut of flesh into smoking hot beef, no matter how low grade the meat from the cow is. A little bit of my special sauce can turn any bottom sirloin into filet ming-motherfucking-on! It all starts with rubbing a little bit of my salty marinade into the fresh meat, but the trick is to make sure that you tenderize the meat before you salt it. A lot of people forget that step, and that’s why a lot of people’s beef sucks!

I create beef that is melt-in-your mouth tender, I make beef that is just begging to be ripped from the bone, and I can do it with any cut of the cow! Lotta’ folks struggle when they’re trying out new recipes and tryna’ grill up unfamiliar meats. Not me though, cause I got a tried and true trick that never fails to stir the pot! Always tenderize before you salt, and if you’ve got a busy schedule, just get your friends to go tenderize the cuts for you! It all cooks up just the same!

The witch nods along as The Nickleman is forced to reveal the secrets to his award-winning praeparatio bubulae strategy.

Nowadays folks have gotten lazy and their beef sucks for it. No one is willing to go the extra mile anymore, no one but The Nickleman. Today these supposed ‘champions of the grill’ are just throwing expired fruit on a pan and calling it a veggie burger. And the god damned food critics eat it up, because they don’t know any fucking better, because they just judge everything by how it appears on the plate! Fling a few splooshes of spicy mayo around the edge of the dish and people call ya’ a genius, even when your main entree is undercooked and underprepared. Folks call me hardcore because my beef still comes out on the plate drenched in the blood of the cow, but shit, I guess chefs like me are just rare these days!

Ain’t that the truth. I’m starting to think I made the right choice with you.

The witch releases her grip on Charlie’s arm, yet still the strand of dark magic remains in place. The all powerful Sister Lane puts her hands around her guitar and begins melodically plucking away at the strings. Pink musical notes shoot out of the guitar’s headstock and explode into the bubbling cauldron, causing it to shatter into precisely 364 pieces. In its place, an entire kitchen set from Iron Chef America somehow rises out of the ground, lifted up by dozens of strands of pink energy that quickly dissipate once their job is done.

It’s ritual time, baby!

Hold up, my guy isn’t ready yet! He says he doesn’t cook, he just eats!

The camera inside the TV changes back to its original perspective, allowing the camera outside the TV to observe the two parallel scenes on either side of the surreal Iron Chef kitchen set. While Charlie is still frozen in place by the witch’s magic, the masked man is relaxing on the grass and trying to take a nap!

What? You don’t get infinite prep time! You called the challenge!

But he’s not doing anything! He says he doesn’t really care that much either way about preparing the beef!

Well then…let’s start the ritual! There’s no way my champion will lose now!

Just give me a minute to figure something out…hey, hey you!

Sister Pryce pokes the sleeping man with the butt of her rifle, causing him to stir slightly.

Get off your ass and do something to cook this beef up! It’s go time!

The man in the mask simply waves away the rifle, much to the chagrin of the witch who chose him. Sister Lane, however, looks like she couldn’t be more pleased with this turn of events. Sister Pryce grabs the TV championship belt off of the ground and begins waving it around in the face of her ‘champion’.

I bet you like this pretty gold a whole lot...if you don’t get off your ass and prepare some 5-star beef for me I’ll melt this pretty gold of yours!

Charlie forces his eyes to the edge of their sockets so he can see if anything wicked befalls his true love. Charlie wants to shout out for Goldi, but the pink tendril down his throat is making it impossible. The man in the mask, on the other hand, simply looks up at Sister Pryce and shrugs: he really doesn’t care about material things like championships and belts. His universe is ‘so much bigger than that’. Predictably, this drives the witch with the rifle even more irate.

Just use the force like I do, Sister Pryce!

Sister Lane snickers as the irate witch turns back with a scowl. Both these women know full well that Sister Pryce can’t do the things Sister Lane can do in this anus of the universe.

If you gave me the power to do that, I could!

HA! Big if!

While the witch with the rifle continually fails to motivate her chosen one, Sister Lane pops open the motorbike’s storage console and begins rummaging through it. Charlie fights like hell to break out of his pink tranquility, but it’s to no avail.

Woah, dudette, look at this!

Sister Lane pulls a rolled up portrait out of the console before letting it close shut. The witch flings her wrist to unravel the portrait of an ebony woman at the center of the universe. The portrait immediately catches the eye of the masked man, and he begins whispering something into the ear of the witch with the rifle.

She sure is a looker!

Sister Lane looks back at her captive Charlie before nodding her head over towards the masked man on the other side of the Iron Chef kitchen.

I bet your alias over there could never hold down a woman this bad!

Sister Pryce hops up in excitement as the man in the mask slowly rises to his feet.

My champion has told me he is ready to prepare the beef!...but on one condition.

Oh, of course there’s a condition. I bet it’s something completely self-serving and unnecessary

Well…

The witch with the guitar rolls her eyes dismissively.

You really need to get more control over your champions, Sister Pryce. It’s disgraceful to our rituals for them to act in this childish manner.

He just said that if he wins he wants to take a poop on the painting!

Sister Lane looks back to the immaculate painting, then shrugs.

Well shoot, I was going to hang it up right over my bathtub. But I guess if there’s only one way to make this work…

The masked man appears absolutely giddy with the witch’s answer. He seems to care nothing for the stolen belt in his possession; rather, he’s infatuated only with desecrating that which Charlie holds dear.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

The Nickleman can’t endure this torment for a moment longer. Charlie can’t stomach watching the center of his universe be paraded around like some meaningless trinket. These witches may hold all the cards, but the TV God holds the universe in his heart, and that is where his power comes from. The twisted love for a golden allusion had become the core of Charlie’s soul: the very soul that was being compelled to respond by Sister Lane’s magical tendrils. The rapid-fire beat of Charlie’s anxious heart grew faster and faster by the second. The strand of pink energy entrancing The Nickleman suddenly cracked all over as his heartbeat grew more aggressive.

Woah, I’ve never seen that before!

One more beat of the heart was all it took to shatter the pink tendril entirely. The dark magic strand broke into precisely 364 pieces before falling to the floor, lifeless. The Nickleman collapses to the ground and gasps for breath.

I’ve definitely never seen THAT before!

Sister Lane begins plucking the strings of her magical guitar and four pink notes immediately shoot out of the headstock towards The Nickleman. The TV God rises to his feet, ready to face the music with a bastard’s scowl on his face. Charlie backhanded, pimp slapped, headbutted, and uppercutted the four musical notes- in that exact succession. Each magic note broke into 181 pieces immediately upon contact.

Uh, Sister Pryce! A little help here, please!

The Nickleman charged at Sister Lane as Sister Pryce lifted her rifle up to her shoulder. The witch with the gun aimed down her sights at the most powerful being in this universe, and then she fired exactly 9 shots.

Not even one of the 9 shots hit The TV God.

But at least one bullet landed in the back of Sister Lane’s skull, slumping her straight to the ground, creating a bloody mess all over the grass. It turns out that even here, in this anus of the universe, shooting still reigns supreme. The witch with the gun dropped her rifle to the ground, horrified by her own actions. The man in the mask looked on nervously between the dead witch and Charlie before snatching the TV championship out of Sister Pryce’s hands.

You’ll pay for this!

Sister Pryce didn’t give a damn about the masked man and his stolen belt: her eyes were locked onto the TV God suddenly dominating this universe. Charlie grabbed the painting off the ground and tucked it into his leather jacket before running back to the Indian Panhead and straddling it. Nickles looked over to the sidecar and was relieved to see that his lion was already seated there. Charlie revved up the bike before shooting himself back at Sister Pryce like a bullet from a gun. The motorcycle destroyed the Iron Chef set as it drove through it, sending kitchen appliances and ingredients flying every which way.

As Charlie crossed through the kitchen set he leapt off the motorbike towards Sister Pryce. As he neared the witch he wrapped his arms around her head and shoulders in mid-air. The froggy TV God then changed directions and brought Sister Pryce’s skull crashing down to the dirt. After they landed Charlie flipped the witch over, making it clear that her forehead turned concave following the devastating Devil Hook Drop.

The Indian Panhead, still in drive, went roaring past The Nickleman. Charlie reached out and pulled himself into the empty sidecar as it passed, as if that were his plan all along. Nickles pulled himself back onto the driver’s seat just in time to see that his masked alias was ripping another tear in the anus of the universe with his dingy nails.

IMMA FUKKIN KILL YOU!

The man behind the mask waved mockingly at Charlie as he threw the stolen championship belt into the exposed fabric of the universe. The man started to follow, but he only gets half his body through the tear before The Nickleman runs him down! The force of the motorbike dragging the man’s leg up into the wheel well forces him out of exposed fabric of the universe and back onto the ground. The Nickleman fully runs the man over before his body gets disentangled from the motorbike some five feet away from the tear. Charlie hops off the motorbike just as the fabric of the universe repairs itself and smooths away the hole that his Goldi was thrown through.

NOOOOOOOOO! FUCK!

Charlie shakes his head from side to side furiously as he walks towards the mangled man in the mask.

You fucking cunt. The only good Demos is a dead one!

Demos is dead, Charlie…..he always has been.

He’s about to be!

When Nickles finally reaches Goldi’s mangled abductor he doesn’t waste a damn second before flinging repeated boots into their face. Blood starts flying up into the air after every kick, and pretty soon the dude on the ground has gone completely limp. Charlie curbstomps the motherfucker for good measure before crouching down and sliding the mask off his shattered skull.

Charlie can’t believe what he sees behind the leather….

IT’S CHEDDAR AL!

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Or is it?

Cheddar? Cheddar fucking Al?! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

Charlie punches the man in the hockey mask furiously. After a few seconds of pummeling Cheddar Al’s mask starts looking a lot less Jason Vorhees and a lot more Phantom of the Opera. Bits and pieces of the mask start flying off as the fists of the TV God come raining down.

I…did this….for her...she deserves….better…than you.

The man with the shattered mask spoke his words softly between punches. The lion in the sidecar cocked his head to the side, as if he too were investigating the three layers of hidden meaning baked into the man’s words. How can so many stories work in unison like this? That’s the question Thaddeus the lion must be asking himself as he watches the violence unfold a few feet away from his sidecar.

That just makes you a stupid motherfucker! No one steps between me and her!

Nickles delivers one more punch before Cheddar Al goes still. Charlie sits there, on top of his opposition, with immense blood on his hands. Unwashed locks of hair fall in front of Charlie’s face as he looks down at his scarlet palms, watching the ichor drip.

This is my universe now, bitch. You should have known better.

The Nickleman shakes some blood touched dandruff out of his hair before placing a hand on Cheddar’s chest and pushing himself up to his feet with it. Charlie remorsefully walks back to the body of Sister Pryce before leaning over and grabbing the witch’s rifle. Nickles checked the cartridge and the magazine before standing back up and clicking the gun’s safety on- just so he could flick it back off a moment later.

You’re dead fucking meat, Al.

The lion grimaced as it looked away from the grisly scene. Charlie stepped up to the fallen man before lifting the butt of the witch’s rifle up to his shoulder. He closed his left eye as held the stock of the rifle with a steadfast grip. With a finger on the trigger and the right eye on his target, Charlie aimed to fire.

But before he could, the fire was aimed at him.

[Image: Animated_fire_by_nevit.gif]

Cheddar Al lifted his mask briefly and a flurry of flames shot out from his mouth. The sudden and blinding heat forced Charlie to drop his rifle and shield his face from the worst of the flames.

PUSSY BITCH!

As Charlie recoiled from the fire, Cheddar Al scurried to his feet before shoving Charlie into his own motorcycle. Charlie, the lion, and the motorbike went tumbling down as the leaking firebreather stumbled away woozily. Cheddar Al panicly cawed into the air around him with his bloodsoaked nails, ripping yet another tear into the fabric of the universe. As Charlie was pushing himself back to his feet, Cheddar Al was pushing himself through another portal into the unknown. Cheddar Al vanished through the tear just as Charlie rose.

God fucking damn it, stop running from me you pussy!

Charlie pushed his motorbike back up before straddling the driver’s seat and screaming at the lion.

GET IN THE FUCKING SIDECAR, THAD!

The lion was already halfway into the sidecar by the time Charlie yelled, but that simply wasn’t good enough. Charlie smacked the lion on the back of the head before throwing the rifle into the other sidecar and chasing after Cheddar Al. Nickles snarled while gripping the handlebars of the Panhead as he pressed the pedal to the medal. That’s the last we see of him as he rides through the tear in the universe just before it closes.

We are left with a still and quiet shot of the carnage wrought in the wake of The Nickleman. Blood on the grass, bodies on the floor: the savage scene looks just like every other Saturday Night in the XWF universe. As the show ends, an old familiar graphic suddenly fades onto the screen.

[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]

##“Take it off”, the bastard sounded
“Give that vile, demoness her toy”
Choppy-chop, horror abounded
Blood-soaked rags drenched and puerile joy##

BAAAAAA!

The lost sheep cried out for his Shepard as he tossed and turned.

##That painted face, that devil’s laugh
“You will never forget this night!”
Crucified on his SHEPARD’S behalf
Scarcely did he put up a fight##

HONK! HONK!

The lost sheep heard the horn of the clown car and knew all hope was lost.

##Terror! Terror! Ugly visions!
Never to sleep a-fucking-gain!
This life he chose, feels like a prison
A sheep squeals but no Shepard listens##

WHOOOOOOSH

Said the blade of the razor as it flew towards the BEST FRIEND’S ear.

[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]

A familiar face flashes to life across the screen, seemingly unmarred by the tribulations of his recent past. His white shirt shows no stains of scarlet and his ego shows no signs of bruising. The camera inside the TV is positioned right next to his face, so you just know that droplets of spit and sweat are going to end up on the screen.

[Image: 20220511_035951.gif]

You delivered a great promo last time you touched the mic, Alias. Demos must really be shaking in his grave right now. It’s just too damn bad you’re not fighting Demos at Leap of Faith…because I literally killed him one year ago to the fucking day! Is the well really that dry?

Alias is whining that Demos pussied out of a match, Alias is bitching that Demos pussied out of a belt: fun fact, when I met up with Demos on the moon he pussied out of LIFE! For as much as Alias likes to tell stories about the distant future, he just can’t leave the distant past well enough alone. That means I get to give him the gift of being present for the official coronation of the greatest championship run there will ever be, that there ever has been. If you’re talking past, present, and future well then baby: you must be talking about my record-setting reign.

The Nickleman rubs his thumb over his lip, clearing away built up saliva as he glares into the camera.

All the kids stealing mommy’s credit card to watch this pay per view probably don’t even know what the fuck Alias is talking about when he brings up the ancient history, but shit, I’m sure the South Park humor will reel those cocksuckers right back in. But for real, does anyone remember who was fighting for the freestyle belt 15 months ago? Does anyone fucking care? Does it even matter?

Charlie gestures dismissively towards the screen as his brown mane bounces around every which way.

Alias has some peculiar habits, but hell, I guess I’m contractually obligated to indulge them for two weeks. Weirdest of all is his insistence on opening an expired can of worms, guzzling it down like a gluttonous pig, and then giving himself a serious case of the ‘oh shits’. It’s nothing but self-inflicted damage and cleaning it up will be a real chore for him, but Alias just keeps doing it. It’s a shame he used up all his toilet paper last night. That bitch still has diarrhea ass, I could smell it all over that little line about my war games outing.

The Nickleman is a martyr for his men, and you’re god-damned right I’ll go out on MY shield before I let MY men fall in MY battles. I drafted all three of those carnies to my team, and I vowed to defend them that night with every ounce of my fucking being. Straight up. I always look after my soldiers. It’s what a good general does, it’s how a real warrior carries himself. A true Champion fights for his banner in the vanguard, bitch, and that means he falls first if the battle goes bad. Those carnies exceeded everyone’s expectations and we fought like hell til’ the final man, but not every war is meant to be won. Alias will know this soon enough.

Charlie cracks a smile at the thought of finally giving Alias his just desserts.

I took a bullet at War Games so my teammate didn’t have to- and I’d do it again, a thousand fucking times.Because I was the god damned leader of the team, and that’s what leadership is all about. Real leaders don’t hide in the shadows while their followers get plucked and carved like fucking Jack-O-Lanterns. You let Lance lose an ear, and the fuck did you do to stop it? Tweet about it? You motherfucker, I bet you live streamed it just for the views!

You need to take some lessons in leadership from The Nickleman. You need some courses in courtesy, you need a how-to guide for humility. You might as well just sign up for the Nickles Master Class, you dumb piece of shit, because you sound like you need my help with just about everything! Do you need me to defend your championship belt for you, too?

Lazy fucking prick.

The Nickleman spits a big fat loogie on the ground before staring back into the camera.

Alias is more of a performer than a wrestler these days: I mean shit, just look at his work schedule! But hey, I’ll give props where props are due. Alias sure knows how to play the part. His entire smarmy shtick, after all, is just an act. A mask of false bravado to hide the cracks in his glass jaw. The cracks I etched into his universe with my big fucking stones.

These days Alias has been reduced to an illusion, a manufactured projection of grandeur. The man behind the nom de guerre works very hard to maintain himself because he sees the cracks and the holes in his foundation. He’s desperately trying to patch them all while wearing that cool, cocky, and confident smile for his followers. He knows his ship is sinking, I mean fuck, he can see me punching the holes through his hull. But what’s the self-proclaimed Space Jesus supposed to say? Abandon ship? Don’t think so. I’m not getting Captain Sully vibes from Alias, he’s serving pure Jim Jones!

I bet this motherfucker will let a thousand of his followers go missing before he even declares that there is a problem, before he admits that there is a threat to his little cult. But shit, if this paperboy wants his people to go out like Waco Whackos then the pleasure is all mine. Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms? You might as well sign BOB up for that role right the fuck now.

Charlie holds up a pair of finger guns before unloading them on the camera. After a few seconds he brings his finger guns down to his chest and pretends to blow smoke off the barrels. He laughs to himself before shaking the finger guns off his hands. Once the chambers are clear, Charlie runs his hands through the hair on either side of his head.

Alias is so desperate to maintain control over his narrative that he takes hours and hours scripting and performing his little podcast tidbits, his little audio vlogs. He probably takes it one line at a time like a fucking coke whore, rubbing every word on his gums just to make it sure it doesn’t taste too fake. Truth is he’s scared shitless, he knows he’s snorting laced landmines up his nose, he’s praying the bastards don’t explode.

This paperboy can’t come to the camera today, he’s sweating like a lobster on boil, his hands are trembling in anticipation of that final hit. That’s why he can only show his face twenty years in the future! He’s too nervous to stand here in front of a drone and shoot from the fucking hip like it’s Columbine all over again. This skill is an Ohio special, BABY! Just ask Tee-Kay! You think I’m wrong? Check the fucking tapes, you won’t find any drone footage to go along with the paperboy’s little lies.

Charlie places his hands on either side of his waist as he shakes his head in disappointment at the camera.

Alias is like a high grade pharmaceutical manufactured according to all the latest trends. He’s potent, sure, but he’s measured, he’s ultimately restrained by his own process. You know what you’re going to get with him.

But The Nickleman?

Charlie chuckles softly to himself before he imitates the act of smoking out of a pipe. He pretends to hold a lighter beneath the invisible pipe, so you know that it’s definitely an oil burner. He pretends to blow the smoke out as he addresses the camera once more.

I’m like that dirty bag an addict gets off the street! My rocks are laced with meaning you’ll never fucking know! I got a street name, sure, and people know I’m extreme: but you really don’t know what you’re going to get until you try me. I might do nothing, you know, that’s what the Doctor said…but I just might kill ya! That’s what happened to Gra-edus, ain’t it? A baggie of me is as dangerous as it gets. Lil’ Bets and Lil’ Jimmers shot me up one too many times and they fell flat where they stood.

Who has Alias dropped for good? Anyone?

Shit, that paperboy spent weeks following me around and mixing up my words like some kind of

dyslexic. The only thing he dropped in the lead-up to this match was the fucking ball!

Charlie rolls his eyes at Alias’s weak ass paraphrasing in the lead-up to Leap of Faith.

Either Alias lies through his teeth, or he really doesn’t show up to work enough to earn his contract. The paperboy talks like he didn’t see any of Jim Caedus’s championship reign, but that Cowboy was riding around the wild west acting like his shit didn’t stink after Alias slinked into the shadows. Alias said Jim Caedus knew he wasn’t shit? How could that be true if Jim Caedus felt like complete shit after I stepped to him on Warfare?!?! It can’t be true, and that’s how I know Alias doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about!

I hit Caedus so fucking hard Lycana thought he was a completely different guy, with a smaller dick! Alias’s theories on Caedus’ Case of the Crazies just don’t make any sense! The paperboy is ducking for cover and spraying blind at this point, because he doesn’t want to talk about the fact that I retired the piece of shit who cashed in on him!

I’ll grant Alias that Petey Vaughn knew he was never shit with that belt…but oh boy…Vaughn. Didn’t they tell you not to go here, Alias? You shouldn’t have responded to shit with Vaughn. Why are you walking on the very landmines that you’re plantin, you goofball? Petey Vaughn knew he was never shit cause he lived in fear of ME! Even you said it, Alias!

Charlie cackles at the inconsistencies.

Even you said Petey Vaughn was DUCKING ME in the lead up to March Madness. Tell me, Alias: why was Vaughn ducking me and not YOU? I’ll tell you my theory, and I think it’s pretty interesting. I think Vaughn squared up to you because every skeleton in your closet was six months old. I think Vaughn refused to go at The Nickleman because I was busy throwing new bodies in the closet every two weeks! He knew his golden goose would get fucking COOKED over here, cause I was proving it week after week! So he tested the waters with the man in my shadow.

Petey picked the pussy’s path for March Madness, and thank God he got fucked for it. Not very deep and not very hard, but I spose’ it was a fucking nonetheless…still, my favorite part of the whole shebang was when Jimson shoved that dolphin fin up your asshole after the cameras cut off: because, why not? If in 2040 my kids are hanging out with the space hobo, then a couple months ago Jimson shoved a dolphin fin up Alias’s ass at March Madness.

To be truthful, it’s not much of an ‘if’ and a ‘then’. In fact, it’s really a ‘because’ and a ‘quick delete’. But I’ve already told you as much, haven’t I? You like to write my living children into your sick twisted fantasies, so I like to write your name on the wall in blood. But it all makes sense, doesn’t it? After all, the shit Alias has been spewing since March has smelled awfully fishy! Heck, maybe it was a tuna fin Jimson shoved up there after all…

Charlie turns his head to the side and smiles as he remembers all the fun BOB had at March Madness. He rubs his bearded chin thoughtfully before looking back at the camera.

But I’m not Jim, am I? And I sure as shit ain’t Marf either…Alias must be a very smart boy for pointing that out. But I wonder if Alias even heard that landmine going off beneath him?

I ain’t Jim Jimson….so who is Jim Jimson, the madman that crashed Alias’s party at March Madness? The complete psycho who cut Alias down the very moment his supposed reign began?

The Nickleman laughs knowingly as he ponders the answer. He quickly shakes his head from side to side, almost in disbelief that Alias would walk straight into this obvious trap.

Who is Jim Jimson? Well….he’s only the worst wrestler that’s ever been signed to an XWF contract. He can’t wrestle, he can’t fight, hell, he can’t even cut a promo! I love Jimson but honestly the boy is as soft as Charmin, and he knows it. Yet somehow HE took down Alias, on the biggest night of Alias’s year!

So if Jim Jimson can run up on the paperboy and shove a fish up his ass, well then, what the fuck might the rest of us be able to do? What the fuck might I be able to do? Do you really think Jim can hit you harder than I can, Cheddar Al? Is that what you want to stake your reign on?

The Nickleman dismissed the foolish idea with a theatrical wave of his left hand.

After stepping on all these landmines I’ll be surprised if Alias can even make it to the ring on the 29th. Does that paperboy have any legs left to stand on by this point? He better cut a couple off that organ donor he keeps in his crew! What the hell else is Cheddar Al to do? But shit, he better not grow too attached to them sons of bitches, cause I’m planning to snatch those away too!

Shit, I’m doing that rhyming thing now….I must be spending too much time with Tee-Kay in those halls of X-treme.

Charlie taps the side of his head a couple of times, as if he were trying to shake the hip hoppin’ out of his vocabulary. He rolled his head around his neck a few times before cracking his knuckles and looking back into the camera.

But you know, I think Alias is spending too much time with ghosts these days. He’s chasing after exiles long gone, he’s hanging out with the same Ned Kaye those bastards turned MIA. He says he wants Jim Caedus, he says he wants Robert Main. He’s probably hanging out with Demos too! After all, they share the same name.

But that’s so surface-level. The ties between my old alias and my new Alias go so much deeper than that, doncha’ know? They both want to build their little movements. They both hide in my shadow, and they both stole my fucking belts. In fact, they both had to take my fucking body just to get their belts!

I’m sure the paperboy doesn’t think he took my body, I mean shit, he’s probably admiring himself in the mirror right now. He’s built like a coke whore and I’m built like a brahma bull; but that body he dropped at March Madness was rightfully mine. I should have Vaugh’s hide on my mantle, everyone knows that prick still owes me a title shot. I made Vaughn the universal champion by crushing Caedus, because this is my universe. It should have been my name across the card from Vaughn at March Madness, just like it should have been my name across the card from Marf last March Madness.

My old alias and my new Alias, I’m pretty sure those boys used to get along like two peas in a pod. I don’t know why Alias wants to act like the two ever had a shred of beef, those two barely ever had a sour word, let alone a match! I know they played their share of touch butt in the X-treme halls, but at the end of the day they are two strains from the same indica flower….because their promos always put me to fucking sleep.

Charlie leans his head back as he imitates snoring. This goes on for some time until he cracks a grin and leans his head back down. He slides an extended finger over his throat in a clearly threatening fashion.

I killed my old alias last Leap of Faith, so I’m going to kill my new Alias at this Leap of Faith! But this time, after I kill my Alias, I’ll walk away with a whole lot more than one man’s soul. I'll walk away with the entire fucking universe.

Charlie Nickles sneers into the camera as he gestures towards his chunky body.

One year ago THIS became reality. I became reality, because I killed an alias.

The screen begins the fade to black as The Nickleman cuts his teeth on a brutal finishing line.

One year later, I have come to take what is mine: this entire fucking universe.

All we hear is the cackling of a crazed champion as a familiar graphic fades onto the screen.

[Image: BOBBREAK2.jpg]

The TV screen flashes back to life with an image of golden sand. A grotesque hand reaches down and defiles the golden grains with four scaly fingers. That’s when the camera inside the TV zooms out, allowing the camera outside the TV to see a long silhouette of The Nickleman cast in a shadow against the sand.

Wherever she went, I know he’s following. I just have to catch his trail.

The Nickleman’s silhouette grabs a handful of sand before shoving it into his mouth and swallowing it. The camera zooms out further, allowing us to see that Charlie is crouched down just a few feet away from his motorbike and his lion, who is seated in the sidecar like a good boy.

Hmmm…tastes like dirt. He must have been here.

The lion cocked a brow at Charlie as if he were questioning The Nickleman’s conclusions. Charlie spit a few grains of sand out of his mouth before using some of his long hair to scrape sand off his tongue. After his mouth is all cleaned out Charlie spits on the ground and hops back onto his Indian Panhead. With a lion in one sidecar and a rifle in the other, Charlie rides off into the desert prepared for whatever hell may come. With the setting sun at his back and a long shadow before him, The Nickleman pressed the pedal to the medal as he turned the horizon into the periphery.

Holy shit….what are those?

Nickles brought the Panhead to a stop before balancing it with one foot to the sand. He grabbed the rifle out of the sidecar and brought the butt of the gun up to his right shoulder. Charlie closed one eye as he squinted down the sights of the gun. He moved the rifle left to right, slowly, observing the odd scene some hundred yards off in the distance. The camera inside the TV changes perspectives, so now the camera outside the TV is staring down the sights from Charlie’s point-of-view.

We see thirteen rotting corpses nailed to thirteen wooden crosses, seemingly placed from left-to-right in order of freshness. The crucified corpses are for the most part spaced out evenly, save for the 9th and 10th corpses, which hang from crosses planted right beside each other. When Charlie lowers the sights he can see that the sand beneath every cross appears bloodstained. Charlie lifts the sights back up and begins taking random potshots at the victims, just for fun. After Charlie unloads an entire magazine from 100 yards out, the camera changes perspective once again. We see Charlie toss Sister Pryce’s rifle back into the sidecar before he rides on ahead to get a closer look.

As Charlie pulls up to the grisly scene we can see that the bloodstains beneath each corpse are shaped in the form of arabic numerals. The 9th and 10th cross both stand above the same scarlet number, throwing the rest of the order off by one.

Wait….wait just a minute. Haven’t I seen these before? Oh yeah….there was a pop-up exactly like this in that antique storybook!

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

As Charlie looks up from the numbers in the sand he can see exactly which bodies were hit by his rifle fire. The body above the first number was just grazed, but the bodies above the second, fourth, eleventh, and twelfth numbers were shot all to hell. Their insides were turned outside after the shooting, their intestines and bowels laying on the sand in a disgusting pile of vulture food.

Heh, I don’t remember seeing a sexy motherfucker like me ride on Golgotha in the pop-up book. Maybe I should write a letter to the editor!

But before Charlie can ride off from the scene and write that letter, the ground begins to shake. The sudden trembling breaks up the consolidated sand, turning it loose, making it impossible for the motorbike to get any traction at all. The lion in the sidecar looks around in worry as it whimpers quietly to itself.

Shut the fuck up, Thaddeus! No one wants to hear your bitching anymore!

As Charlie disciplines his lion, four terrifying creatures rise up from the bowel-stained sands. The demons roar together in unison before charging at The Nickleman.

[Image: shitdemon-shit.gif]

SHIT! DEMONS!

Charlie reaches over and grabs the rifle, quickly bringing it up to his shoulder while placing a finger on the trigger. He pulls it repeatedly, but nothing of note happens. He never reloaded the gun.

Fuck! I took all my shots too early!

Charlie tossed the empty rifle back into the sidecar before hopping off his motorbike and rolling up his sleeves. It looked like The Nickleman was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

The demon that rose from beneath the 2nd cross was the first to fall. The Golgothan atrocity took a swing at The Nickleman, but he ducked the punch, then he fisted the demon in its cunt. The demon from the second cross shrieked in terror before internally combusting. Blood and shit shot out every which way, completely coating The Nickleman’s frontside.

The Nickleman wiped the bloody shit from his eyes just in time to see the demon from the sixth cross charging his way. Charlie lifted up a big boot and the hellish beast ran straight into it, causing the demon to fall straight to the ground. Charlie followed up with a quick elbow drop on the demon’s mushy head.

SPLAT!

The demon’s head exploded from the pressure, coating Charlie’s entire upper body in an additional layer of browned blood and guts. The TV God has no time to celebrate, however, because the Golgothan demon from the 12th cross looks mad as hell! The crazed pile of shit starts swinging furiously at Charlie Nickles, causing the most hated man in the XWF to roll out of the way.

After his tactical retreat, The Nickleman quickly pushes himself up to his feet before adopting an orthodox boxer’s stance.

Come and get it, you bloody piece of shit!

The Nickleman taunts the demon on, causing it to shriek wildly. The shit demon places its poopy paws on its turd face as it howls in psychic pain.

Come on! Fucking fight me!

Charlie stands his ground as he holds his fists at the ready. The poopy head demon, however, spontaneously combusts into 63 pieces of shit. The shattered pieces of the demon all flee from The Nickleman like worms, crawling in the opposite direction as fast as they can.

Well shit, that was easier than it should have been.

Nickles turned his eyes to the last Golgothan demon, which was moving at a slower pace than all the rest. Despite arising from beneath the most recent cross, this demon somehow appeared to be the oldest.

You’re the slowest piece of shit I’ve ever seen!

Charlie laughs as he shakes his head at the aged turd. Meanwhile, the lion whimpers softly as four more crosses suddenly arise from the sands behind the motorbike, unbeknownst to The Nickleman. The first cross holds a crucified corpse, the second cross is mounted by a Golgothan demon, and the third and fourth cross are perplexingly empty. As Charlie moves in on the slow-moving turd, the demon on the second crucifix hops off its cross and moves in on the pet lion.

Nickles charges straight towards the aged demon, spearing it right in half! As Charlie flies through the demon’s body it explodes everywhere, creating yet another diarrhea mess that someone else will have to clean up later. Charlie is completely covered in blood and crusty shit by now, but still, he has a smirk on his face the size of Long Island.

Charlie doesn’t even turn his head as he hears the desperate cries of the lion, not until it is far too late. When Charlie finally turns around he sees that the three crosses behind him, as well as the shit demon literally ripping a lion in half hot-dog style.

THADDEUS!!!!!!! NOOOOOO!

Nickles reaches out in agony as he sees the fear and panic in his pet’s eyes as it is visceral ripped into two new pets. At the same time, the rotting corpse from the 10th original crucifix hops off his cross and into a pile of decayed shit. Charlie turns around at the sound, ready for a fight, but the corpse sprints right past The Nickleman. Charlie’s gaze fixates on the running corpse, following it every step of the way as it CLOTHESLINES THE SHIT DEMON BACK TO HELL! The foul creature falls to the ground in a pile of foul manure, a fitting end as any for the youngest Golgothan.

Nickles raises a curious eyebrow as the corpse continues running all the way to the newest collection of wooden crosses. The rotting body begins climbing the third crucifix. Once it has reached the upper plank, it motions for Charlie to climb up the fourth crucifix.

No thanks, buddy. I've got a princess to save.

Charlie looks around at the carnage and devastation before his gaze settles on the pet lion he abducted from the three ringed circus match in April. He sighs softly before grabbing the beast’s carcass and throwing it out of the sidecar.

At least you died in the sidecar, Thaddeus, like a good little doggo..

Charlie pursed his lips mournfully before he straddled the motorbike and revved it up.

But I won’t let Goldi share your fate.

Just as The Nickleman is set to dart off from the scene, the corpse from the ninth cross hops off its crucifix.

Oh come the fuck on…does anyone know how to do a proper crucifixation anymore?

The other animated corpse hops off its new cross before the pair slowly approach Charlie’s motorbike in tandem. The Nickleman looks between the two corpses, then towards the shared number nine that was beneath their original crosses.

I really ain’t tryna’ waste anymore time with this lot of has-beens, alright? Why don’t you boys just mind your business and we go our separate ways.

Charlie slowly prepares himself for another fight as the two corpses stand just a few feet away from his bike, next to either sidecar.

I’m warning you!

Unperturbed, the two corpses stepped into the sidecars before immediately fastening their seat belts. The slightly smaller of the two corpses grabbed the rifle and held it in their lap, patting it gently in appreciation of a job well done. Charlie looked confused by that, but he looked even more confused when the slightly bigger corpse gave him a thumbs up, then signaled for him to drive.

Well….I guess you boys can hitchhike with me for a while. But be warned: I don’t make any promises about your safety.

The two corpses looked at each other, shrugged, then looked back towards The Nickleman. Charlie looked between the walking dead, shrugged to himself, then turned his focus back on the sandy road in front of him. Charlie drove through the blood and guts he spilled, as the sun behind him finally seemed to set on the scene. Our dark knight in shit-encrusted amor rode off into the distance, hardened by the battles he had won, with two new faces riding beside him.

]]>

Can you believe what you just saw?

Do you remember where we left off?

]]> <![CDATA[The Drinking Time Bomb]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43665 Fri, 27 May 2022 20:23:30 -0700 "Venom" Xavier Lux]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43665 It’s hard to tell how much time has passed since Xavier found himself buried alive in a crystal casket, right next to the remains of his father in a similar casket. He appeared to be at peace with it though, willing to die right there and then knowing that the man that had tortured him most of his life, tried to murder him most of his life, was finally confirmed dead. The regret, even if just a smidge, is that he didn’t do it himself or wasn’t at least there to watch it happen. Don’t get it wrong, Xavier is not a murderer, but he has killed before, in self-defense, this one would have been his first true, premeditated kill. As a kid that man was his hero, and the reason he became a wrestler, as an adult, his nemesis, as he did nothing but try to ruin his life, in and out of the ring. But that is over and done with, and he would be happy to be over and done himself, except, it seems, it is not his time. The dirt all around him is shaking and shifting, he doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel it. Just then something hits the top glass, a shovel, cracking it, and then a voice is heard saying “we found him…” The shovels are multiple now, digging around him, clearing all the dirt. Once enough has been removed, the casket is lifted by many people around it and handed off to other sets of hands. One of the gravediggers asks... “what about the other one?”. Someone answers… “Leave him, he belongs here.”

Moments later…

Xavier sits in the back of an ambulance, breathing out of an oxygen mask and having just had his vitals checked; there are colored lights flashing all around. We are in an old cemetery at an undisclosed location, and it is nighttime. A short, old Hispanic male approaches Xavier and upon seeing him, Xavier smiles then removes the oxygen mask. That old man is Paco “The Drinking Time Bomb” Perez, Xavier’s former manager and ‘real life’ Godfather, he’s been with him through everything.

Hey mi’jo, how you feelin’?

Hey old man, I’ll live I guess?

Of course you will, good call on inserting a tracker on your body, you knew that Marcus couldn’t be trusted… But I never thought he would go this far.

I knew he was pissed, but to bury me alive next to my pops? By the way, did you know he was buried here?

Nah, I didn’t even know this place existed until now. Marcus dug out your father from Enigma’s home cemetery and moved him, we had no idea.

So Marcus didn’t kill Scorpion?

Doesn’t look like it, I mean if you want, we could ask for an autopsy to be done on the remains and-

Nah, it’s done, that’s all that matters. But wait, was Enigma in on this?

Nah mi’jo, Enigma is also dead, died a while ago, on his own, all alone, found out not too long ago.

Shit that’s sad, are any of the original Deadly Sins still alive?

Well, ironically, ‘Suicidal’ Juvenal is still wrestling somewhere in Mexico and ODJ is still in DC, trying to hang on to something he should have let go a long time ago.

Well at least he’s not trying to re-open his old promotion.

Nah, he’s only half crazy. But anyway, enough about the old guys, let’s focus on you, the last one standing for now, what are you going to do about Marcus? What about your match in XWF? We are far from Dubai.

Are we? Well, I will go after Marcus, eventually. I think I may pick up my father’s other hobby after all.

You’re not an assassin.

Maybe I now torture Marcus like my father tortured me. I wonder if his shooting range is still up?

It is.

Let’s go, that will help me let off some steam and I can talk about my opponents at the same time. XWF is the priority, winning this match, earning myself a title shot. After Dubai, the hunt for Marcus begins.

Sounds good mi’jo, let me talk to the medics to make sure you are good to go.

Xavier nods and puts the oxygen mask back on, tilts his head against the door of the ambulance and closes his eyes.

A few days later…

Xavier is at a private shooting range that used to belong to his father but with his passing, who knows who it belongs to now but it is still being taken care of by the same hands that confirmed to Xavier that they have been paid well in advance and since his father stopped visiting a while ago, he is more than welcome to use it whenever. None of them have any idea of the history between his father and him, they just know he’s his son and that’s good enough for them to give him access. We’re in the dessert somewhere, barren lands all around us and hills provide a nice backdrop on a nice sunny day, not a cloud in sight. It looks like Xavier has been at it for a while, as we see different types of guns and rifles scattered around him, he’s sweating profusely, and currently holds in his hands his father’s favorite weapon: Nr.2 Steyr SSG 69, Austrian Sniper rifle. He is in position, just waiting for Paco who has finished setting up a bunch of cans about 100 yards away. He makes his way to the safe zone then Xavier takes aim and adjusting the settings of the rifle and scope.

Bam Miller, unlike you, I’m not leaving you for last, I’m addressing you first because you’re the first one I’m tossing out of the ring on Sunday.

Xavier works on his breathing then shoots, blasting the “Miller Lite” can perfectly.

You talk about Chris Page taking a leap of faith on you, well, he took one on me too but the difference between you and I is that at some point, and very soon, I will pay dividends while you, sooner rather later, will join Elijah Martin at the discarded pile. You want to talk about me not doing anything when all you have done of note in that same time span is winning a 24/7 title that doesn’t take skill but luck to win; and you lost it just as quick as you won it, please man. Take on the current World Champion, live to talk about it and then come at me. Or how about you take on the current King of XWF, push him to the limits of a double count out and then COME AT ME.

Xavier shakes his head, clearly annoyed. A “Miller High Life” can is now blasted away.

Now you want to bring up my past promotion, fine, but regardless of what we all feel about it now, when I was a champion, the promotion, and the title were respected and meant something. Then, like everyone else, want to talk about me riding Peter Vaughn’s coattails. Let me remind you all: Peter Vaughn was one of the seven men I had to beat to become the World Champion… In one night, I defeated many to secure a world title that when I was the champion, was more than respected, it was feared. Sure, I “eventually” lost but not to Peter, and the promotion and its champion went to shit, that’s not on me. But before that, I had defeated Outcast multiple times and Vaughn has yet to beat me in a one-on-one match up. Now that I think about it, the only win he has over me is a 3 way on which the point was to defeat Drew Archyle. It wasn’t my time then it was Peter’s, and he got the pin on him. But since ya’ll seem to think that he’s the better wrestler, maybe when I win the briefcase I will go after the Supercontinental championship, that is, if he manages to win it.

He relaxes, aims, fires, Miller Red Label is no more.

But this is about you, and you couldn’t lace either of our boots, you Velcro wearing mule. Yeah, I’m struggling in XWF, but at least I stay and fight, I OWN IT, I do not run from hard times like you did not too long ago. What, you think I would forget that you picked up your ball and went home because you simply weren’t cutting it ANYWHERE? How can I forget that sad little story you told on twitter? Nah, I remember Bam, and while I was showing respect before this, that has gone out the window and you think that because we are both part of CCPE, that changes anything? You gonna throw me a damn bone? Out of everything you said to me, that was the most insulting.

CCPE is not a stable, BITCH.

Xavier is about to shoot a “Miller Genuine Draft” but asks Paco to bring it over instead, he does, hustling over, handing it to Xavier who looks at it and laughs.

Genuine? Ha… Truth be told, I don’t like most of the guys represented by CCPE and that includes you now, so what I’m going to do is, grab that bone you are tossing me and stick it straight up your unoriginal “Miller Time” ass. How can you leave this business and come back over and over again and never re-invent yourself? Same sad piece of crap, geez look at you Miller, you are a carbon copy of every damn redneck out there trying to be a wrestler, chugging crappy bear, smoking shitty cigarettes, and acting, because make no mistake about it, you are acting like a tough guy, but you are not one and at Leap of Faith, I will prove it.

Xavier crushes the can with his hands and tosses it aside. Paco steps in, taking a shot of Tequila before speaking.

Paco: Oh and by the way, punta means point in Spanish, Xavier is not Latino but I am, you barely speak English, stay in your lane, pendejo.

Paco hands Xavier a real beer, a Guinness Draught, Xavier chugs it, not spilling a single bit. He smirks, and then hands the rifle over to Paco who goes to put it away, not before handing him another beer. Xavier takes it and leans against the countertop, drinking about half of the beer before continuing.

The Wolf of Afghanistan, you are a very interesting character to me… You seem to be the other veteran in this match aside from Oz, but unlike that big idiot, you seem to have a good head on his shoulders and appear to be a respectable opponent. So, I’m going to do what very few do here in XWF and give you, my respect. I gave it to Bam and we all saw how quickly he shat on that, I know that is the norm here in XWF. But Wolf, you don’t seem to be cut from that cloth, so again, my respects to you soldier. Looks like you are a man familiar with not only the battlefield known as the wrestling ring, but the actual war going on in the middle east. Whether present, or past, I couldn’t tell from your promo, but still kudos to you sir and thank you for your service. Having said that, I think you are more consumed with that war than the war that is going on here in XWF. You recently lost your return match at the aptly name Warfare show, and I’m sure that was a letdown, not what you had planned, but at least you don’t seem to be letting that bother you and are looking ahead to our match, ready to give it your all and warning us that you won’t be a walk in the park.

Good.

I wouldn’t have it any other way man, I’m all about earning my wins, which is why I have so much beef with Oz walking out on me at Anarchy. But earning this win will do great things for me, title shot aside, and if you and happen to be the last man against me, then nothing would please me more than to go toe to toe with you because I don’t know if you are or will ever be the standard of XWF, but at least in this match, you are the standard I am measuring up to. How can I want to measure up to a hardcore junkie some may ask? Well, because I am a hardcore junkie myself, so maybe somewhere down the line, you and I can meet in an anything goes match, or any type of hardcore match you want. I would very much like that, taking on the former Extreme Champion. Looking forward to it man, cheers.

Xavier toasts with his Guinness and then finishes it. Paco hands him another and then points to his watch, letting him know it’s time to go. Xavier nods.

Garry with two ‘r’s’, you are something kind of special ain’t ya country boy? I mean do the two ‘r’s’ in Garry stand for “Ray-Ray” or is your name really Gary with two ‘r’s’ “Ray Ray” Nelson? That’s a mouthful, but unique to say the least, bless your Momma… But then again, seeing what she is doing with a pastor no less, I’m not sure she’s getting blessed… At least not by the good Lord in heaven, but by the pastor if ya know what I mean, and it looks like you do. But hey man, at least be glad it’s not your biscuits he’s after, right? I’m sorry, I’ll stop, is not like me to go for the low hanging fruit but it was too good to pass up. In all seriousness though, I do hope you get your passport sorted out, I would hate for you to miss your very first ever pay-per-view match… In Dubai no less, that is a helluva debut for a young man such as yourself.

Especially when you are new to wrestling.

I hope the moment isn’t too big for you.

But I won’t hold any of that against you, you appear to be a big boy who can go, you do have some big ass hands so I am not looking forward to getting hit, or even worst, chopped by those but I am willing to do whatever it takes to win that match in Dubai, so bring it all on.

You seem to want to get in with CCPE too, well, I won’t say if I have any pull or not, but give me everything you got at our match, and if I am impressed, I’ll put in a good word for you, straight up.

Xavier stands up and then begins to head out.

Oswald, I left you for last because I just don’t know if you’re going to show up, but if so, will you stay and fight or are you going to walk out again, saving the five of us the trouble of having to toss your overgrown ass over the top rope? Speaking of overgrown, I can’t believe I sat through that entire promo of yours, I’ve seen all five Jurassic Park movies, I am not going to bother with the sixth one coming out soon, so I didn’t need to see that cheap, crappier D rated version of it. But you and dinosaurs will have one thing in common after Leap of Faith, both of you will be extinct and there is no formula in the world that will bring you back Oz. Your time has indeed past, a lot of these guys are just starting out, me, I’m still trying to find my footing, so is Wolf, but you, you have been here a long time and are still stuck opening pay-per-views with the younger talent. You were at this very event last year and came up short, what do you think will change this time around? Nothing, and this time there will be no consolation prize in the form of the Anarchy championship waiting for you. Want to know why? Because I would love nothing more than to make that title mine… But we’ll see if at the end, that is the title I challenge for once I win the briefcase.

I will say this, you are right about one thing, you cheated me out of a match, cheated me out of the debut win I deserved. But you need to realize that you punished the wrong guy, it wasn’t my fault you lost at the previous match; it wasn’t management’s fault either. All you gotta do is look in the mirror to find the culprit, yeah, this is all on you and it is clear to me that you can have all the money in the world, but it cannot buy you ring smarts or skills, or this win on Sunday.

And you have the nerve to call me a joke? Who’s the one fighting dinosaurs? Who’s the one living in a fantasy world? You want to pretend I was the dinosaur? I don’t need to be 50 feet tall to defeat you, I can do it with my 6-foot frame, and I will prove that to you at the battle royal when I, single handedly, eliminate you from our match.

Xavier exits the shooting range, walking towards the parking lot where Paco is waiting by a black Hummer, the original.

Any word from Jacki?

None, maybe she’s out of season?

Whatcha mean?

Season of the witch?

Huh?

You know, Halloween?

Oh, right, her make-up and stuff. You’re stupid, hahaha.

Feeling better I see?

A little, got a long road ahead of me… Both in and out of the ring.

Paco pats him on his back, Xavier smirks and nods, then they both get in and drive away leaving a cloud of dust behind.

------------------------------------------------Word count: 3000 via wordcounter.net

]]> It’s hard to tell how much time has passed since Xavier found himself buried alive in a crystal casket, right next to the remains of his father in a similar casket. He appeared to be at peace with it though, willing to die right there and then knowing that the man that had tortured him most of his life, tried to murder him most of his life, was finally confirmed dead. The regret, even if just a smidge, is that he didn’t do it himself or wasn’t at least there to watch it happen. Don’t get it wrong, Xavier is not a murderer, but he has killed before, in self-defense, this one would have been his first true, premeditated kill. As a kid that man was his hero, and the reason he became a wrestler, as an adult, his nemesis, as he did nothing but try to ruin his life, in and out of the ring. But that is over and done with, and he would be happy to be over and done himself, except, it seems, it is not his time. The dirt all around him is shaking and shifting, he doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel it. Just then something hits the top glass, a shovel, cracking it, and then a voice is heard saying “we found him…” The shovels are multiple now, digging around him, clearing all the dirt. Once enough has been removed, the casket is lifted by many people around it and handed off to other sets of hands. One of the gravediggers asks... “what about the other one?”. Someone answers… “Leave him, he belongs here.”

Moments later…

Xavier nods and puts the oxygen mask back on, tilts his head against the door of the ambulance and closes his eyes.

A few days later…

Bam Miller, unlike you, I’m not leaving you for last, I’m addressing you first because you’re the first one I’m tossing out of the ring on Sunday.

Xavier works on his breathing then shoots, blasting the “Miller Lite” can perfectly.

Xavier shakes his head, clearly annoyed. A “Miller High Life” can is now blasted away.

He relaxes, aims, fires, Miller Red Label is no more.

Xavier is about to shoot a “Miller Genuine Draft” but asks Paco to bring it over instead, he does, hustling over, handing it to Xavier who looks at it and laughs.

Xavier crushes the can with his hands and tosses it aside. Paco steps in, taking a shot of Tequila before speaking.

Paco: Oh and by the way, punta means point in Spanish, Xavier is not Latino but I am, you barely speak English, stay in your lane, pendejo.

Xavier toasts with his Guinness and then finishes it. Paco hands him another and then points to his watch, letting him know it’s time to go. Xavier nods.

Xavier stands up and then begins to head out.

Xavier exits the shooting range, walking towards the parking lot where Paco is waiting by a black Hummer, the original.

Paco pats him on his back, Xavier smirks and nods, then they both get in and drive away leaving a cloud of dust behind.

------------------------------------------------Word count: 3000 via wordcounter.net

]]> <![CDATA[Wildcard]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43664 Fri, 27 May 2022 19:32:29 -0700 Jacki O'Lantern]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43664 The Queen of Trickery was munching on some trail mix while the crumbs traveled down her gothic skater dress. She looked down and brushed the crumbs away. Meanwhile, her cat licked his fur. He had on a suit with a tie, then next to him was a microphone. The duo looked at the crowd of people in the distance before some kind of voice was heard.

“???: Is this my cue to start, or do you need more time?”

The voice came from Jacki's cat. She put down her trail mix and smiled, then responded.

“Jacki O'Lantern: Let's get this interview underway. You know you possess great interviewing skills, no offense to Marv who does an excellent job as well.”

They both giggle over that. Jacki crosses her legs and gets more comfortable.

“Kitty McPaws: How does it feel knowing you are about to compete for the first XWF pay-per-view?”

“Jacki O'Lantern: Over joyous and nervous. The odds are stacked against me, but there is a title up for grabs too. With every match I walk into, I thrive under pressure. This will be no different. I don't care how difficult the obstacle will be.”

A small child runs up to where they are at and asks Jacki's permission to pet Kitty. Jacki

nods and the child gives the cat a quick pet on the head before running off to go play.

“Kitty McPaws: People are so friendly around here. I wonder if she knew you.”

“Jacki O'Lantern: I'm not sure, bud, but my pumpkin army would surely welcome her in. Anyway, got any more questions?”

The cat licked his fur, then scratched it before continuing with the questions.

“Kitty McPaws: Ah yes, yes, of course. Who would you say is your biggest threat in this match?”

“Jacki O'Lantern: I don't think anyone poses a threat to me, but if I had to pick who I feel is the toughest, it would be Bam Miller. From what I'm told, he is no walk in the park and beating him is no easy task.”

“Kitty McPaws: Neither is beating you. I am rooting for you. You are the wild car in all this, but I've seen the hard work you put in each week. If anyone deserves to win, it's you.”

“Jacki O'Lantern: Aww shucks.. thank you.”

“Kitty McPaws: I am certainly not lying to you. Can we expect more crossovers to other shows?”

Jacki fans herself due to the humility in the air in hope that her face paint does not melt off, she never thought of that question herself.

“Jacki O'Lantern: If I'm allowed, then yes, I'd love to mix it up with the others. There are some dream opponents I would love to face, but let's go through Leap of Faith first. What do you say we end this interview and walk around? There is so much to see.”

She opens up a box of skittles and pours all of it in her mouth before getting up and walking away. The cat quickly followed, leaving their belongings behind.

***

“Taking this new leap of faith on a different show with unfamiliar names feeds my adrenaline, and I'm excited and ready to dive into new waters. Screw just dipping my feet in it. I want the full experience immediately. I know this experience won't be easy, however the talent that I'm up against are probably bigger, stronger and have more experience being here, but I certainly will not allow those reasons to stop me from putting up a fight or giving up. Being on Madness has instilled that attitude in me and will carry that over to Leap of Faith.”

She sighed happily, her own words were empowering.

“For many people on the roster, just my image alone can cause some misconceptions about me. I'm here to clear that right up. I'm not an evil mastermind conspiring to burn down the company along with the talent. I'm simply a kind-hearted, Halloween obsessed, cat loving and most importantly I love this business wholeheartedly, and I make sure to showcase that no matter where I'm wrestling at. What you have seen of me on Madness is just a sample of my finest work. At Leap of Faith, I'm laying the rest on the table.”

“The ring will certainly be crowded with five other hungry competitors attempting to throw one another over the top rope. I can't say I have much experience in these types of matches, but I love the unknown and a good mystery this may bring me. I know it will also test me to the fullest, so I don't care who or what I'm faced up line 'em up, because they will all fall in defeat once I throw them out at once and witness collective bodies collide at ringside. ”]]> The Queen of Trickery was munching on some trail mix while the crumbs traveled down her gothic skater dress. She looked down and brushed the crumbs away. Meanwhile, her cat licked his fur. He had on a suit with a tie, then next to him was a microphone. The duo looked at the crowd of people in the distance before some kind of voice was heard.

“???: Is this my cue to start, or do you need more time?”

The voice came from Jacki's cat. She put down her trail mix and smiled, then responded.

“Jacki O'Lantern: Let's get this interview underway. You know you possess great interviewing skills, no offense to Marv who does an excellent job as well.”

They both giggle over that. Jacki crosses her legs and gets more comfortable.

“Kitty McPaws: How does it feel knowing you are about to compete for the first XWF pay-per-view?”

“Jacki O'Lantern: Over joyous and nervous. The odds are stacked against me, but there is a title up for grabs too. With every match I walk into, I thrive under pressure. This will be no different. I don't care how difficult the obstacle will be.”

A small child runs up to where they are at and asks Jacki's permission to pet Kitty. Jacki

nods and the child gives the cat a quick pet on the head before running off to go play.

“Kitty McPaws: People are so friendly around here. I wonder if she knew you.”

“Jacki O'Lantern: I'm not sure, bud, but my pumpkin army would surely welcome her in. Anyway, got any more questions?”

The cat licked his fur, then scratched it before continuing with the questions.

“Kitty McPaws: Ah yes, yes, of course. Who would you say is your biggest threat in this match?”

“Jacki O'Lantern: I don't think anyone poses a threat to me, but if I had to pick who I feel is the toughest, it would be Bam Miller. From what I'm told, he is no walk in the park and beating him is no easy task.”

“Kitty McPaws: Neither is beating you. I am rooting for you. You are the wild car in all this, but I've seen the hard work you put in each week. If anyone deserves to win, it's you.”

“Jacki O'Lantern: Aww shucks.. thank you.”

“Kitty McPaws: I am certainly not lying to you. Can we expect more crossovers to other shows?”

Jacki fans herself due to the humility in the air in hope that her face paint does not melt off, she never thought of that question herself.

“Jacki O'Lantern: If I'm allowed, then yes, I'd love to mix it up with the others. There are some dream opponents I would love to face, but let's go through Leap of Faith first. What do you say we end this interview and walk around? There is so much to see.”

She opens up a box of skittles and pours all of it in her mouth before getting up and walking away. The cat quickly followed, leaving their belongings behind.

***

“Taking this new leap of faith on a different show with unfamiliar names feeds my adrenaline, and I'm excited and ready to dive into new waters. Screw just dipping my feet in it. I want the full experience immediately. I know this experience won't be easy, however the talent that I'm up against are probably bigger, stronger and have more experience being here, but I certainly will not allow those reasons to stop me from putting up a fight or giving up. Being on Madness has instilled that attitude in me and will carry that over to Leap of Faith.”

She sighed happily, her own words were empowering.

“For many people on the roster, just my image alone can cause some misconceptions about me. I'm here to clear that right up. I'm not an evil mastermind conspiring to burn down the company along with the talent. I'm simply a kind-hearted, Halloween obsessed, cat loving and most importantly I love this business wholeheartedly, and I make sure to showcase that no matter where I'm wrestling at. What you have seen of me on Madness is just a sample of my finest work. At Leap of Faith, I'm laying the rest on the table.”

“The ring will certainly be crowded with five other hungry competitors attempting to throw one another over the top rope. I can't say I have much experience in these types of matches, but I love the unknown and a good mystery this may bring me. I know it will also test me to the fullest, so I don't care who or what I'm faced up line 'em up, because they will all fall in defeat once I throw them out at once and witness collective bodies collide at ringside. ”]]> <![CDATA[The Six Ways of Reincarnation]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43663 Fri, 27 May 2022 18:16:00 -0700 Raion Kido]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43663 In the hundred-fifty-fourth level of the Burj Khalifa is the famous Lounge - a fine eatery with fine wines, and its main feature - the sky-high, panoramic views of the outer terrace, where the Dubai sun is currently going down.

“The realm of the heavens, indeed, right?”

Several tourists are enjoying their exclusive time there, cocktails in their hands, and gourmet finger foods served on their tables.

“It really feels like Heaven on Earth!”

“Wouldn’t want to go down below from this high, though!”

“And yet, there are some that will. But it is one of the dangers of Heaven.”

The voice that utters these words is that of Raion Kido, clad in a fine suit appropriate for the setting, as he looks at the horizon, and the sun going down in the far away skyline.

“Oh, that’s right - you’re coming here in two days!”

“Looking forward to you winning this one, Kido!”

“Maybe not so much a victory, friends, as it is… ascension.”

“Ascension? Don’t you think we’re pretty high up already?”

The sound of the lounge music - Indian-themed for this particular occasion, as is the menu - fills the ambience for a minute, before the Lion turns in the direction of the voice.

“Do you see that over there?”

The Lion points to a framed painting on one of the walls, a traditional Buddhist picture - the wheel of fate in which the six realms of existence are depicted.

“You mean the freaky mandala?”

“It’s called a samsara, but never mind. You see - at the top part of the wheel you see the realm of the Heavens. Paradise itself, where existence is bliss. That is where I aim to be, but first I have to deal with the rest of the other realms.”

The Lion points to the other five portions of the wheel in succession, according to what is depicted in them. Firstly, he points to a picture of a fiery landscape and suffering faces.

“The realm of hell below, where there is nothing but torment…”

He then points to a portion of the wheel depicting humanoid creatures with bloated bellies.

“The realm of endless hunger, where the unfortunate spirits seek only to consume whatever they can…”

He moves on to a landscape of figures locked in battle.

“The realm of the titans, ever at war…”

Next is a picture of animals, an elephant and a tiger among others.

“The realm of the animals…”

After this is a picture of normal people in their daily lives.

“The realm of humans…”

And finally, instead of going back to the picture, the Lion points towards the sky beyond.

“And finally, the realm of the Heavens.”

Raion makes his way across the room, the crowd attentive to his every move, and steps out into the outer terrace below, where he sits in the lotus position, and closes his eyes.

“Each of us participants in this match comes from each realm. But there is only one that shall ascend…”

The Lion takes a deep breath, and when he opens his eyes again, there is a glint in them, and a smile creeping to his face.

“... and it is finally my time.”

Standing up once more, Raion reaches for the heavy box of the Golden Cloth of Leo…

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, at the end of all things. Leap of Faith has finally come, and only one jump remains into uncertainty, for the chance at ascension.

For that is, after all, the essence of the work that has led me here. Night after night, have I been competing and always reached the point to ascend, only to come back to Earth once more, just another creature among all others.

So the Buddha teaches us about reincarnation, but I find this an apt comparison to my path here in the XWF.”

Thus the Lion begins, standing tall at the outer observation deck of the Burj Khalifa, the desert wind sending his wild mane aflutter.

“For here at the top of the world, on May 29th, I finally ascend to the heaven in which I belong, the one to be exalted among the creatures of the other realms.

And that means, ladies and gentlemen, that I shall send everyone else… to reincarnation.”

The Lion points towards the camera, as the Golden Cloth of Leo glints with the rest of the lights in the illuminated Burj Khalifa, and the white cape billows in the desert wind.

In the face of Raion Kido there is serenity, but in his eyes, fixed on the camera lens, there is a light brighter than the gold of his armor, or the white of the lights in the building.

The brightness of the cosmos as it begins to burn.

“Let’s begin with hell itself. On one hand, Bobby Bourbon calls me an idiot who doesn’t learn. On the other hand, he compliments me on social media. Truly, Bourbon? Has your wit fallen so low that you could not bring anything I didn’t already address before!? I am not the one taking the easy way out in my matches, nor am I the one that failed to beat someone against whom I made my very first statement in this company.

It may be those burgers you were publiciting last time you came out on air, but I think that, between that and the abysmal performance you’ve had leading up to here, you might just be losing your mind. Maybe that’s why you’re trying to change the narrative now, because you can’t decide whether I can’t come close to sniffing your laundry, or whether I shall be the next holder of the Television Title!

But see, I’ve beaten both of the people that shall go for that title in this same event, and that is, in the end, the reason I am here. Because whoever saw me up there must have realized that I’m meant for bigger things, and because they knew I wasn’t going to let the March Madness IV thing stand. I’ll be back at the King of the XWF in 2023, and I’ll be sure to win it. Charlie Nickles might have run, and I’ll also be sure to catch up, but before that, I’m going to start with you, and I’m going to be the one to prevent you from grabbing that briefcase for the very first time, the only thing you still haven’t done. Maybe the biggest victory in my career, yes, for the prize, for the satisfaction of being the one to do that to you, and ultimately, for the very reason I fight for, Bourbon: Justice.

Did you not say I did not learn? That was me proving otherwise. That was me showing what I’m capable of doing when I have something to prove, and being a stronger man - stronger than you have been these entire two months. More than you’ve been with those generic, pathetic lines you dropped. So when you fall down into the hell you belong, I guarantee that the last thing you see before you hit the ground shall be the sight of Raion Kido holding that 24/7 briefcase, and these two things are going to burn through your heart more than the strike of the Lightning Plasma: The fact that it was me who prevented you from winning the last prize left for you, and the fact the biggest victory of my career meant beating you.

Don’t worry, though, Bourbon. You’ll always have next year.”

A smirk now crosses the face of the Lion, though the look in his eyes is the gaze of the axeman that lifts his weapon to deal the final blow. But soon the smirk vanishes, to give way to a tranquil fury.

“Next we have the asura, the ever-warring titans. I suppose that should be a compliment, but one that beings like Mark Flynn and the North Korean War Criminal do not deserve. Because I would expect something of that caliber to be fearsome, yet these two are boringly predictable.

I mean, it’s almost like I saw this coming, Flynn. It’s almost like I knew you’d go for the Cho-KING line. It’s almost like it’s the only thing you could say about me because, outside of your tag team, you literally don’t exist, and haven’t for months. Which is why, I suppose, you decided to have your partner come help you, and again, did I not say as much? As a matter of fact, I’m glad the North Korean War Criminal is here. That way I get both to answer his question, and while I’m at it, to put you both out of commission for that earlier insult.

Were you not wondering when I was going to ascend, after all? Not only shall you get an answer to that question, you shall also get to live it, once both of you fall from the tallest building in the entire world. Because the only thing you’ve been doing is sitting in the midcard in apparent contentment, but we’re right before the Main Event. That’s exactly where I want, where I deserve to be, what I’ve been working all my time to go towards. Because I don’t have management looking to throw me the next unfortunate souls that have done nothing to earn a shot at their titles, as they do you.

Instead, they put me against the newer talent to give them the first taste of the level they require to be a part of the XWF. Because, unlike most of the champions in this company, they want them to be like me. They want them to push themselves to the very limit when there’s a fight to be won. Now, I get to do that against four other people, and someone that needed his partner to even have a shot. And once I grab that briefcase off the highest man-made spot in the entire world, among the many realizations that people will have about Raion Kido, there’s going to be one that stands out above everything else: Raion Kido beat not only four people, but a tag team. Not only that - he beat the King of the XWF, and the XWF Tag Team Champions, in the same exact show.

And that’s going to make you, and those belts you have, look very stupid. Just like your idea to sign up in the first place.”

One more time does the Lion smile, though of course, it is the smile of the noble beast that watches over him - the Lion’s grin before he sinks his fangs into its prey.

“But among the many examples of stupidity coming into this match, here comes Vita Valenteen, the denizen of the next realm - the hungry spirit, nothing but withered skin, bare bones, and bloated bellies, trying to sate an endless hunger. Vita Valenteen decided, in her infinite wisdom, to say that I’m too confident. I suppose that getting beat from show to show doesn’t leave a lot of time and brain power to pay attention, but I do recall making an example of someone that said these very exact words just two weeks ago!

Unfortunately you missed last episode of Savage Saturday Night - I imagine washing that stench off your feet, not to mention Tommy Wish’s saliva, was a hard task -, but maybe, had you paid attention, you would have seen the Ringmaster laid out on the mat while I climbed out of the cage. Just for insulting my work ethic, and my confidence - like you have just done now.

A confidence, may I add, that, if being the best of the new people that entered this company in 2022 wasn’t enough to give me, I have also earned after suffering only one defeat this month, in a match in which I was not pinned. A confidence you could not even attempt to match after the disastrous run you’ve had since March Madness.

So tell me, Vita, why are you here anyway? I get that being a vampire has you all kinds of hungry, but so far, the only thing you’ve been able to feed off is carrion. Next time you want to call me desperate, I suggest you look in a mirror, if you can even see your reflection. But confidence, as you call it, is not the only thing I have here, Ms. Valenteen. What I also have, is frustration, for all my efforts being for nothing. What I also have is fury, and the duty to deliver a rightly-deserved retribution. And as I previously said, what I have a search for ascension, once and for all. Neither Bourbon, nor Flynn or his partner, shall be enough to get in my path, let alone you.

You’ll have more blood to drink, I’m sure, maybe you’ll also have a nice dinner - and I’m even willing to believe that you’ll go back to your winning ways, either at Warfare, Savage, or Anarchy, or all three. But at Leap of Faith, the little, foolish, hungry vampire is going to fall from the Burj Khalifa exactly as she came: empty-handed, and empty-bellied.”

The feral grin of the predator now morphs into unbound rage, as Raion Kido gnashes his teeth.

“Speaking of empty, now, we have the representative of the animal realm - none other than Marf Swaysons. I had called him a waste of time in my first message, and it seems that he has decided to prove me right.

But not only that. He has chosen to insult me, and all of you watching, by not deigning to send one simple message about the match to which he signed up.

Because here’s a fundamental point I need to make, ladies and gentlemen - I did not sign up for this match. I specifically said I wanted to earn my place in this event, and this is where the proverbial chips have fallen - just one before the Main Event for a chance at a 24/7 briefcase.

And since that is what I have accomplished, and no less than three people that I’ve beat are going for titles right now, it’s time to finally win something more than a Star of the Month Award. That’s what I’ve been working for all along, and this time, I shall get a prize bigger than everything else that was on the line.

Knowing the nature of that prize, Marf Swaysons has chosen to do nothing, and thus I have no words for him. He is but a rabid beast that needs to be put down, and I shall be the one to do it. It gives me no pleasure, nor pity - it is simply the right service to do to the XWF Universe, and the humane thing to do to end a howling creature’s suffering.”

Pausing for one second, the Lion’s face changes into a serious, grave expression - as grave as the voice that comes from his throat.

“Which, since we talk about humanity, brings me once more to Angie Vaughn. The most admirable one here, but also the most unstable. From losing to Jenny Myst to putting one more loss in Vita’s streak. And yet, the one with the best potential here. It really is a unique opportunity for you, Ms. Angie. But while you claim to have studied tapes and learned from your mistakes, I say that so have I.

I did not know what I was getting into last time when I was facing Bobby Bourbon, but now I know. I didn’t know how empty the road of Mark Flynn and the North Korean War Criminal was until I saw they decided to come together, but now I know, and the last time someone tried to attack my confidence, well - the XWF Universe now knows what comes with that. And while I also know how capable you are and what you can do inside the ring, I also know that your presence in this match changes nothing.

Because all this time have I worked towards this, and you were just unfortunate enough to be in my way. Now you’ve signed up to be here with me once more, but we fight for higher stakes now. Because at Leap of Faith I’m going to finish the fight that started at March Madness once and for all. That briefcase belongs to me, and to me alone, and anyone in my way shall be but the next prey in which the fangs of the Lion shall sink.

You’ve already felt them once, Ms. Angie, and unless you can prove that the potential in you can burst as I try to make mine every single time I am in that ring, then the only destination for you are the Lion’s fangs once more, and a long descent off the tallest tower built by man.

But fear not, Ms. Angie. If a piggyback ride is what you want, I can give you that after the show. And I promise not to drop you once that briefcase is mine.”

A small smile follows that last remark, but it soon goes away, as Raion Kido shuts his eyes and clenches his fist. When he opens them again, there is no rage, but rather clarity.

The clarity of the warrior that knows this is the final battle.

“And finally, there is me, and there is only me - for victory in this match depends on me, and myself alone. It’s time to burn the cosmos beyond the ultimate limits, and to obtain, once and for all, the victory I’ve spent every waking hour trying to obtain, there’s the briefcase up top, and there is the Leap of Faith. The final leap that leads to the briefcase, and beyond it, to the realm of the Heavens…”

Raion points towards the Dubai sky, where the myriad stars twinkle against the darkness of the universe.

“... and, finally, to ascension.”

Fade to black.
3000 words (wordcounter.net)]]> In the hundred-fifty-fourth level of the Burj Khalifa is the famous Lounge - a fine eatery with fine wines, and its main feature - the sky-high, panoramic views of the outer terrace, where the Dubai sun is currently going down.

“The realm of the heavens, indeed, right?”

Several tourists are enjoying their exclusive time there, cocktails in their hands, and gourmet finger foods served on their tables.

“It really feels like Heaven on Earth!”

“Wouldn’t want to go down below from this high, though!”

“And yet, there are some that will. But it is one of the dangers of Heaven.”

The voice that utters these words is that of Raion Kido, clad in a fine suit appropriate for the setting, as he looks at the horizon, and the sun going down in the far away skyline.

“Oh, that’s right - you’re coming here in two days!”

“Looking forward to you winning this one, Kido!”

“Maybe not so much a victory, friends, as it is… ascension.”

“Ascension? Don’t you think we’re pretty high up already?”

The sound of the lounge music - Indian-themed for this particular occasion, as is the menu - fills the ambience for a minute, before the Lion turns in the direction of the voice.

“Do you see that over there?”

The Lion points to a framed painting on one of the walls, a traditional Buddhist picture - the wheel of fate in which the six realms of existence are depicted.

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