<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Relentless Night Three 2023 RP Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Fri, 05 Jun 2026 11:06:33 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[My Heart on Your Doorstep]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46915 Sat, 23 Sep 2023 23:57:08 -0700 Ned Kaye]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46915
Catalyst to Change
Part VI

My Heart on Your Doorstep



4/13 - It’s easy to feel for the specimen. They clearly care deeply, but struggle on how to express it. One can only wonder how easy, however, it is to be harmed by the constantly conflicting feelings at play within them.

9/22 - Addendum: The isolationist tendencies of TC-01 makes him particularly vulnerable. One merely has to wait for the dominoes to fall.

Ned stood proudly in front of a banner featuring various XWF logos and a handful of sponsors. He glanced around, clearly feeling a little less comfortable in the studio proper as his mind seemed to race.

“Growing up Catholic was always bizarre for me. Sunday School was probably the worst part for me particularly. They’d herd you and a dozen other kids your age into a room and proceed to recite depressing, violent stories one after another until tying some barely relevant moral to the fever dream you had experienced. And everyone would just sort of shrug and assume it was normal. Obviously, the faith and I could never stick together. It felt like the world around me was committed to something based on beliefs I had no chance of sharing. I’m sure if my Dad was still around, he’d be pretty concerned about the sacrilegious nature of me wrestling in “Hell,” but I feel like all I’d have to do to ease him is point to our big show on “the moon.” Still, saying that reminds me of a belief that Dad had that I keep with me to this day, in a fashion. He used to say that Hell is when God’s love no longer touches your heart. While I don’t agree with the source, the underlying sentiment has always felt undeniable to me.”

His eyes opened, his glare intense as ever.

“Hell is the absence of love.”

“If you ever wanted an explanation to why Chris Page acts the way he does, I don’t believe it could be put any more eloquently. The pageantry, the self-serving bravado, the repeated cycle of surrounding himself with opportunists only to get turned on or can them before they have the chance? None of this would come from a man who had any legitimate love coming to or from him. He is a bitter, lonely man in a marriage that exists more in the dirtsheets than the bedsheets. And that’s the closest thing he has to happiness. That’s his best approximation. I always knew you were pathetic, Chris, but I think preparing for this match here has helped me truly recognize why.”

A growing contempt begins to dominate his expression as he speaks, his tone more pointed than usual.

“See, when I first walked into this company, we had a champion of substance, a man you are far too familiar with. I could never understand your obsession with trying to maim and kill and destroy Robert Main and his legacy. For a long time, I assumed that’s why you hated me. I was just an extension of what Main represented and that positive effect on the industry. Eventually, however, I got it. It’s the same reason half of your career is spent building another bridge to burn: you couldn’t stand the idea that someone had a better way. It wasn’t just that Robert was a better champion than you ever were, he didn’t rely on the tricks and games and spotlight hogging arrogance you made every cent on. He paved a way forward and he did it all by the book and out in the open. No shady bullshit or strings attached. That must’ve terrified you, Chris. You need everyone to play your game, to be the loveless coward you always have been. You know the supreme irony of it all? For all the pointed words and condescension you throw at one another, you and Corey Smith aren’t too different. And I know everyone will look at me like I’m being rude to Corey, but he and I have had our problems for a long time and I’m not going to pretend like he doesn’t have flaws just because he’s facing an immoral murderer this week. If Corey needs to face child murderers to look decent, maybe there’s your hint that I’m not talking out of my ass. And, frankly, it makes total sense why you two hate each other despite being cut from the same cloth. If you need to be the center of attention, you’ll break every mirror you find. Because if you think someone like Chris Page can share a spotlight with his reflection, you overestimate his ability to share.”

“Corey is the same vain, narcissistic manipulator as Chris, he just gives to charity. And he could never be where he is without Chris. All his arrogant nonsense will be little more than whining on the wind if the stage hadn’t been set, polished, and furnished by Page. You set the template for shitty champions and now we get to see your fingertips all over the Main Event of Relentless as a spineless champion defends against a heartless challenger. If that isn’t the greatest indictment of the way you do things, then I guess we’ll have to wait until the Universal Title gets obsessed with Lycana. Speaking of her, the best thing she’s done in years is lose to Jenny Myst, the last thing Chris did in the XWF.”

He pauses, letting the impact of his previous words fill the silence as his tone softens, his gaze once more drifting from the camera’s lens.

“So much of my life has been spent around people talking about these fantastical myths. Ever since I was young, I’ve watched in awe as everyone would just hear something that sounded absurd to me and be convinced that it must be true because someone else said it to be true. At the end of the day, that’s one Page’s entire career feels like. Everyone keeps repeating that he was some sort of grand innovator and rebel when all he really did was glue a few belts to his waist and disappeared once they got ripped off of him. People like Page and Smith are top athletes who care so much about the business until they lose, then they need six months to fuck off somewhere before they can find their way back. Hell, Chris lost a retirement match to the man whose philosophy he despised most of all and he just couldn’t stay away. The spotlight was just too big for this moth of a human being. All of it is marketing. Folks like Page make up myths like an advertising campaign. Something to control perception. Anything to make the world see a great shadow where a small bug stands. You know what you are, Chris?”

Mark Flynn jumps into frame, holding a strange looking Cabbage Patch Kid-esque doll, dressed and designed to resemble Page.

“STOP RIGHT THERE, NED LETTER MEDIA! I can tell you EXACTLY what Chris Page is with four easy payments of $19.99 and a lifetime of neglecting your mental health!”

He proudly presents the doll as Ned stares on in slight disbelief of the assist.

FEAST YOUR EYES ON THIS QUALITY PRODUCT! My First Chatty Chris! Squeeze his rapidly-growing potbelly to hear ALL SIX of his talking points! Classics like “This place doesn’t deserve me,” and “Multi-time Relentless Main Eventer,” and who could forget his signature catchphrase: “It’s not a stable!””

“It’s the only doll that says nothing AND won’t shut up! My First Chatty Chris: You like baby dolls, America? Try one that's a fifty year old man!”

Ned slowly leans towards Mark, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention away from the previous PERFECT sales pitch.

“Uh, Mark… I appreciate it, but I can handle this myself. The assist is nice, though.”

Mark looks a tad upset to be urged off screen so quickly, but shrugs it off and attempts to plug the number to order a Chatty Chris before Ned finally manages to push him out of the frame.

“Ahem. My point isn’t that you’re a primadona, Chris, although you certainly are. My point is so much more than that. You’re a toy. A product. And by being a product, you get to be remembered long after far better people than you who gave themselves fully to this business have been. They get forgotten, but you linger. How many people have I forgotten just so you could be ubiquitous? One would be too many, but we both know the number isn’t so modest. You wear that as a badge of honor, Chris. As if muscling people out of history makes you a better man. At Relentless, you’ll learn the most important lesson of your life. The people who pave the better road will never let you legacy of lies and myth blot out the truth of it all. You’ve traded everything to be loved- to be immortalized. There are no immortals in a Death Match, Chris. Everything ends. On September 23rd, you will be “Chronic” Chris Page, the myth that stands above the more deserving. The man who plays with lives like pieces on a board. The delusional kingpin of a dying age. And on September 24th…”

“You will be forgotten. Just a man who lost to The Ace. No parades, no big entrances, no next chapter. The final page of a story long overdue for a conclusion.”

“Curtains.”




Ned decompressed somewhat as he stepped off the soundstage, seeing Mark still fiddling with his “prototype sensation,” but aside him, a smiling Darcy Ellis, a little bemused by Ned’s tougher demeanor lightening up. They shared a quick kiss as an unspoken possibility loomed over them, casting its shadow, but refusing yet to storm.

“You’re really out for that guy, huh?” She asked him, her attention being split just due to Mark’s continuous difficulties in getting his doll to stay in one piece following its one appearance on screen.

“He and I view professional wrestling differently. He doesn’t love it like I do,” Ned explained before Darcy interjected.

“Ned, I don’t think anyone loves wrestling like you do,” her tone was mostly comical, with a hint of something else just barely submerged.

“Point taken,” he admitted, “but still. He’s infatuated with himself. Couldn’t care less about the rest.”

She nodded, smiling a tad while she fiddled with her hands silently. They both knew what today was, but they hadn’t spoken about it at length. The thought itself seemed indulgent, given the news they were preparing themselves to receive.

Today, they found out whether or not they were going to have a baby.

“STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!” Mark angrily chucked the bald Cabbage Patch Chris towards Ned, who caught it swiftly. It was technically a baby. Sort of.

Not at all.

“You think this will be good practice to get used to lugging something around?” Ned asked, holding up the mangled Page doll upside down by its ankle.

“Somehow, I think plastering the face of one of the people you despise most isn’t a good idea for caretaking practice,” Darcy replied with a dry smirk. Mark poked his head in, intruding upon their conversation.

“What are you two practicing for?”

The two stammered a bit, unable to formulate a response before Mark came to a conclusion. In their defense, that wasn’t long at all.


“Wait… ARE YOU STEALING MY BILLION DOLLAR STOLEN DOLL DESIGN??? How COULD you?! After all that we’ve been together!”

“Mark,” Darcy explained flatly, “most of that stuff was prompted and accelerated by you. You caused a lot of that.”

“Yes, but we still WENT through it- ostensibly- together, Darzipan!”

“We don’t care about your stupid doll!” She clarified passionately. Mark was visibly hurt by his idea being called stupid, but he just grabbed it out of Ned’s arms and grumbled off to the side, mumbling about how artists are never appreciated in their time.

Ned impatiently tapped his foot against the floor, trying desperately to get the nerves to calm, but knowing they wouldn’t. In the back of his mind, he had been considering baby names and ways to find a place for cheap that they could get together just for stability. But beyond all of it was the lingering memory of his father. His father would never get to see himself become a grandpa. Ned’s foot increased in tempo until he felt something squeeze his hand. Glancing down, he saw Darcy’s fingers intertwined with his own. It was almost time for the blood test.

The moment of truth. They smiled, comforted in knowing that they would face it together.


Doctor’s offices had a stench to them. Not medicinal in the way most people recognized it, but sterile in some sense. As if the air was coated in suspense, breathing in uncertainty with every expansion of your lungs. Ned had been in too many places that smelt like this, but Darcy seemed far more collected about the whole situation. Still, he watched as her fingernails softly prodded her palm as they waited for a doctor to come in and deliver the results. A band-aid adorned her arm, standing out from her pale skin, looking more drained than usual due to the nerves she was swallowing. She always tried to look as composed as possible, even when she was barely held together. It was something Ned admired about her.

“Are… are you excited?” Ned asked, breaking up the silence, mostly just wanting to hear her voice as a slew of emotions whisked past him.

Darcy didn’t answer immediately, but her tone was confident when she finally found her voice.

“Yeah. I am. I’m a little scared, too, to be honest, but I think I can do this.”

Ned placed his hand on hers, looking her in the eyes and amending her statement.

“We can do this.”

She smiled as Ned felt an all too familiar buzz in his pocket. Using his free hand, he checked to once again see Mark Flynn’s number, as usual. He sent the call to voicemail, bringing his attention back to Darcy, noticing that her anxiousness was coming through a bit more pronounced.

“What was that?” She asked.

“It was nothing,” Ned answered, trying to change the subject, “have you thought about any names you might like?”

“Honestly?” She replied, gulping, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Well… because then it’s happening. Then that means we’re here and we’ve locked into this being a reality and I don’t know if I can just make that step and go back mentally. This is a lot. It’s exciting! I’m happy! But I’m stressed the fuck out and I kind of just want to take it as it comes.”

Ned frowned, giving her some space as he sat back in his seat, “I understand that. All of it. I guess… I heard all these stories about my parents making all these plans about Nate and I immediately and there’s this instinct to-”

The buzz returned. His phone vibrated, showing the same number on its screen. He silenced it again, looking a little more frustrated this time around.

“There’s this instinct for me to-”

“Who was that?”

“It was Mark. I’m just- I’m not going to answer-”

“Can you ask him to stop?”

Ned paused, feeling his words stick in his throat. The fact is that he didn’t know if he could.

“Ned. This is really important to me and he always shows up and has a good reason or something going on and I already had to deal with you going to work today. Can you please call him and tell him no?”

Nodding, Ned took a deep breath and called Mark back, preparing himself for a booming voice on the other end.

“Hey… sorry for throwing a babified Page at you earlier.”

“Hey, Mark. It’s… fine. What’s up?”

Ned’s gaze met Darcy as she noticed that hint of compassion in Kaye’s glare. Her stiffened expression softened.

“I’m at Denny’s-”

Ned gulped. It was never good when Mark was at Denny’s. Outside of Ned, he assumed it was the only thing that provided Mark’s life with any structure or support.

“-and I realized “Well, WHOOP-DEE SHIT, I forgot to ask Ned something important and I was hoping we could… talk.”

“Now really isn’t the best time, Ma-”

“Ned,” Darcy interrupted him, getting his full attention. She met his gaze sadly, but forced a smile.

“You just do what you think is right.”

Ned thought about the situation, trying to mull over everything before relenting.

“I’ll be there in a few, Mark.”

“You’re a scholar and a gentleman, Ned! I’ll order an extra Moons over My Hammy for ya! It’ll only be SOMEWHAT COLD by the time you’re here! *click*”

He put his phone away and began to head for the door, trying to add a bit of levity to the situation, “I’m sure it’ll be colder than that, heh.”

Darcy didn’t respond.

“I’ll be back quick. I promise.”

“Yeah,” she answered, avoiding his gaze.


Denny’s was as off-kilter and gross as ever, but it was a place the Mark Flynns of the world called home, especially in times of inconvenience, mild slights, or even turmoil. Ned never could feel comfortable, even with his euphemistically named big breakfast platter sat in front of him. His fingers drummed the table as Mark scarfed down some cheap, soggy pancakes, drenched in syrup. He swallowed the unappetizing bite whole before questioning Ned.

“Nedster Jetster, you’ve hardly touched your Hammy! I paid GOOD money for that!” Mark complained, pointed a syrup coated fork at Ned.

“Look, Mark, I just have a lot going on, so my appetite isn’t all what it should be.”

“The only thing I see you doing is FORWARDING MY CALLS! What kind of friend is that?!”

“A busy one,” Ned responded defensively, causing Mark to back off a bit.

“To be honest, the ol’ Optimal Man isn’t feeling like Thad Duke in Coreytopia himself. Seeing NKWC again…”

Ned tried to empathize, adding, “It must be hard to see your best friend out for your blood like that.”

“DIRTY COMMIES can’t be trusted! You think it upsets me to see him violently opposing everything about me? HAH, I say!”

“...”

“Okay, yeah, it really sucks.”

Mark could spin together a thousand points of data, but he struggled hard to get to the point.

“What is this about, Mark? I’ve got something really important I have to-”

“JESUS NED! I’m pouring my SOUL out to you and you can’t help by blab about you over and over! What about MEEEEE?!”

“Mark, I might be becoming a father.”

“OH! Oh.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How… does that feel?”

“It’s cool…? It’s… really scary. I don’t know if I’m going to be enough for anyone. I keep hoping I’ll figure it out and just be what someone needs, but I figure I’ll screw it up. I’m afraid I won’t be what I need to be until it’s too late.”

“Wow. That’s pretty LAME.”

Ned glared at Mark, making his tactless remark’s intolerance known silently.

“You know what would be brave, Ned? Being ringside for my match with NKWC! That way, you overcome your irrational fear and I have my good old buddy old pal there! Whaddeya say?”

Ned looked up, finally realizing why Mark insisted he come here. Chuckling slightly, he shook his hand in agreement. They both had fears they struggled acknowledging, but they could at least be there for each other in a nice, small way.



On the way back, Ned received a text from Darcy. He had missed the test results. He cursed under his breath, but smiled knowing they were going to meet up at the Notorious Gym, still shut down for renovations. It was a long jog, but he made it. However, he didn’t see Darcy. Just a note left on the ring apron. His fingers unfolded the paper with the most caution he could muster. Quietly, he read over the letter, his hand trembling as the words began to process.

Dear Ned,
This past year or so has been the most exciting in my life and not all in a positive way. I love you, but no matter what you love wrestling more than even yourself. I want to see you succeed, but I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t wait on you forever or let myself just tag along and blend into the background of someone else’s world. The results were negative. I hope you can find what it is you’re looking for because I don’t know what to do. I need time for myself.
Love, Darcy.

He sat down, tears rolling down his cheeks as the truth sank in.

He had a problem.]]>
Catalyst to Change
Part VI

My Heart on Your Doorstep



4/13 - It’s easy to feel for the specimen. They clearly care deeply, but struggle on how to express it. One can only wonder how easy, however, it is to be harmed by the constantly conflicting feelings at play within them.

9/22 - Addendum: The isolationist tendencies of TC-01 makes him particularly vulnerable. One merely has to wait for the dominoes to fall.

Ned stood proudly in front of a banner featuring various XWF logos and a handful of sponsors. He glanced around, clearly feeling a little less comfortable in the studio proper as his mind seemed to race.

“Growing up Catholic was always bizarre for me. Sunday School was probably the worst part for me particularly. They’d herd you and a dozen other kids your age into a room and proceed to recite depressing, violent stories one after another until tying some barely relevant moral to the fever dream you had experienced. And everyone would just sort of shrug and assume it was normal. Obviously, the faith and I could never stick together. It felt like the world around me was committed to something based on beliefs I had no chance of sharing. I’m sure if my Dad was still around, he’d be pretty concerned about the sacrilegious nature of me wrestling in “Hell,” but I feel like all I’d have to do to ease him is point to our big show on “the moon.” Still, saying that reminds me of a belief that Dad had that I keep with me to this day, in a fashion. He used to say that Hell is when God’s love no longer touches your heart. While I don’t agree with the source, the underlying sentiment has always felt undeniable to me.”

His eyes opened, his glare intense as ever.

“Hell is the absence of love.”

“If you ever wanted an explanation to why Chris Page acts the way he does, I don’t believe it could be put any more eloquently. The pageantry, the self-serving bravado, the repeated cycle of surrounding himself with opportunists only to get turned on or can them before they have the chance? None of this would come from a man who had any legitimate love coming to or from him. He is a bitter, lonely man in a marriage that exists more in the dirtsheets than the bedsheets. And that’s the closest thing he has to happiness. That’s his best approximation. I always knew you were pathetic, Chris, but I think preparing for this match here has helped me truly recognize why.”

A growing contempt begins to dominate his expression as he speaks, his tone more pointed than usual.

“See, when I first walked into this company, we had a champion of substance, a man you are far too familiar with. I could never understand your obsession with trying to maim and kill and destroy Robert Main and his legacy. For a long time, I assumed that’s why you hated me. I was just an extension of what Main represented and that positive effect on the industry. Eventually, however, I got it. It’s the same reason half of your career is spent building another bridge to burn: you couldn’t stand the idea that someone had a better way. It wasn’t just that Robert was a better champion than you ever were, he didn’t rely on the tricks and games and spotlight hogging arrogance you made every cent on. He paved a way forward and he did it all by the book and out in the open. No shady bullshit or strings attached. That must’ve terrified you, Chris. You need everyone to play your game, to be the loveless coward you always have been. You know the supreme irony of it all? For all the pointed words and condescension you throw at one another, you and Corey Smith aren’t too different. And I know everyone will look at me like I’m being rude to Corey, but he and I have had our problems for a long time and I’m not going to pretend like he doesn’t have flaws just because he’s facing an immoral murderer this week. If Corey needs to face child murderers to look decent, maybe there’s your hint that I’m not talking out of my ass. And, frankly, it makes total sense why you two hate each other despite being cut from the same cloth. If you need to be the center of attention, you’ll break every mirror you find. Because if you think someone like Chris Page can share a spotlight with his reflection, you overestimate his ability to share.”

“Corey is the same vain, narcissistic manipulator as Chris, he just gives to charity. And he could never be where he is without Chris. All his arrogant nonsense will be little more than whining on the wind if the stage hadn’t been set, polished, and furnished by Page. You set the template for shitty champions and now we get to see your fingertips all over the Main Event of Relentless as a spineless champion defends against a heartless challenger. If that isn’t the greatest indictment of the way you do things, then I guess we’ll have to wait until the Universal Title gets obsessed with Lycana. Speaking of her, the best thing she’s done in years is lose to Jenny Myst, the last thing Chris did in the XWF.”

He pauses, letting the impact of his previous words fill the silence as his tone softens, his gaze once more drifting from the camera’s lens.

“So much of my life has been spent around people talking about these fantastical myths. Ever since I was young, I’ve watched in awe as everyone would just hear something that sounded absurd to me and be convinced that it must be true because someone else said it to be true. At the end of the day, that’s one Page’s entire career feels like. Everyone keeps repeating that he was some sort of grand innovator and rebel when all he really did was glue a few belts to his waist and disappeared once they got ripped off of him. People like Page and Smith are top athletes who care so much about the business until they lose, then they need six months to fuck off somewhere before they can find their way back. Hell, Chris lost a retirement match to the man whose philosophy he despised most of all and he just couldn’t stay away. The spotlight was just too big for this moth of a human being. All of it is marketing. Folks like Page make up myths like an advertising campaign. Something to control perception. Anything to make the world see a great shadow where a small bug stands. You know what you are, Chris?”

Mark Flynn jumps into frame, holding a strange looking Cabbage Patch Kid-esque doll, dressed and designed to resemble Page.

“STOP RIGHT THERE, NED LETTER MEDIA! I can tell you EXACTLY what Chris Page is with four easy payments of $19.99 and a lifetime of neglecting your mental health!”

He proudly presents the doll as Ned stares on in slight disbelief of the assist.

FEAST YOUR EYES ON THIS QUALITY PRODUCT! My First Chatty Chris! Squeeze his rapidly-growing potbelly to hear ALL SIX of his talking points! Classics like “This place doesn’t deserve me,” and “Multi-time Relentless Main Eventer,” and who could forget his signature catchphrase: “It’s not a stable!””

“It’s the only doll that says nothing AND won’t shut up! My First Chatty Chris: You like baby dolls, America? Try one that's a fifty year old man!”

Ned slowly leans towards Mark, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention away from the previous PERFECT sales pitch.

“Uh, Mark… I appreciate it, but I can handle this myself. The assist is nice, though.”

Mark looks a tad upset to be urged off screen so quickly, but shrugs it off and attempts to plug the number to order a Chatty Chris before Ned finally manages to push him out of the frame.

“Ahem. My point isn’t that you’re a primadona, Chris, although you certainly are. My point is so much more than that. You’re a toy. A product. And by being a product, you get to be remembered long after far better people than you who gave themselves fully to this business have been. They get forgotten, but you linger. How many people have I forgotten just so you could be ubiquitous? One would be too many, but we both know the number isn’t so modest. You wear that as a badge of honor, Chris. As if muscling people out of history makes you a better man. At Relentless, you’ll learn the most important lesson of your life. The people who pave the better road will never let you legacy of lies and myth blot out the truth of it all. You’ve traded everything to be loved- to be immortalized. There are no immortals in a Death Match, Chris. Everything ends. On September 23rd, you will be “Chronic” Chris Page, the myth that stands above the more deserving. The man who plays with lives like pieces on a board. The delusional kingpin of a dying age. And on September 24th…”

“You will be forgotten. Just a man who lost to The Ace. No parades, no big entrances, no next chapter. The final page of a story long overdue for a conclusion.”

“Curtains.”




Ned decompressed somewhat as he stepped off the soundstage, seeing Mark still fiddling with his “prototype sensation,” but aside him, a smiling Darcy Ellis, a little bemused by Ned’s tougher demeanor lightening up. They shared a quick kiss as an unspoken possibility loomed over them, casting its shadow, but refusing yet to storm.

“You’re really out for that guy, huh?” She asked him, her attention being split just due to Mark’s continuous difficulties in getting his doll to stay in one piece following its one appearance on screen.

“He and I view professional wrestling differently. He doesn’t love it like I do,” Ned explained before Darcy interjected.

“Ned, I don’t think anyone loves wrestling like you do,” her tone was mostly comical, with a hint of something else just barely submerged.

“Point taken,” he admitted, “but still. He’s infatuated with himself. Couldn’t care less about the rest.”

She nodded, smiling a tad while she fiddled with her hands silently. They both knew what today was, but they hadn’t spoken about it at length. The thought itself seemed indulgent, given the news they were preparing themselves to receive.

Today, they found out whether or not they were going to have a baby.

“STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!” Mark angrily chucked the bald Cabbage Patch Chris towards Ned, who caught it swiftly. It was technically a baby. Sort of.

Not at all.

“You think this will be good practice to get used to lugging something around?” Ned asked, holding up the mangled Page doll upside down by its ankle.

“Somehow, I think plastering the face of one of the people you despise most isn’t a good idea for caretaking practice,” Darcy replied with a dry smirk. Mark poked his head in, intruding upon their conversation.

“What are you two practicing for?”

The two stammered a bit, unable to formulate a response before Mark came to a conclusion. In their defense, that wasn’t long at all.


“Wait… ARE YOU STEALING MY BILLION DOLLAR STOLEN DOLL DESIGN??? How COULD you?! After all that we’ve been together!”

“Mark,” Darcy explained flatly, “most of that stuff was prompted and accelerated by you. You caused a lot of that.”

“Yes, but we still WENT through it- ostensibly- together, Darzipan!”

“We don’t care about your stupid doll!” She clarified passionately. Mark was visibly hurt by his idea being called stupid, but he just grabbed it out of Ned’s arms and grumbled off to the side, mumbling about how artists are never appreciated in their time.

Ned impatiently tapped his foot against the floor, trying desperately to get the nerves to calm, but knowing they wouldn’t. In the back of his mind, he had been considering baby names and ways to find a place for cheap that they could get together just for stability. But beyond all of it was the lingering memory of his father. His father would never get to see himself become a grandpa. Ned’s foot increased in tempo until he felt something squeeze his hand. Glancing down, he saw Darcy’s fingers intertwined with his own. It was almost time for the blood test.

The moment of truth. They smiled, comforted in knowing that they would face it together.


Doctor’s offices had a stench to them. Not medicinal in the way most people recognized it, but sterile in some sense. As if the air was coated in suspense, breathing in uncertainty with every expansion of your lungs. Ned had been in too many places that smelt like this, but Darcy seemed far more collected about the whole situation. Still, he watched as her fingernails softly prodded her palm as they waited for a doctor to come in and deliver the results. A band-aid adorned her arm, standing out from her pale skin, looking more drained than usual due to the nerves she was swallowing. She always tried to look as composed as possible, even when she was barely held together. It was something Ned admired about her.

“Are… are you excited?” Ned asked, breaking up the silence, mostly just wanting to hear her voice as a slew of emotions whisked past him.

Darcy didn’t answer immediately, but her tone was confident when she finally found her voice.

“Yeah. I am. I’m a little scared, too, to be honest, but I think I can do this.”

Ned placed his hand on hers, looking her in the eyes and amending her statement.

“We can do this.”

She smiled as Ned felt an all too familiar buzz in his pocket. Using his free hand, he checked to once again see Mark Flynn’s number, as usual. He sent the call to voicemail, bringing his attention back to Darcy, noticing that her anxiousness was coming through a bit more pronounced.

“What was that?” She asked.

“It was nothing,” Ned answered, trying to change the subject, “have you thought about any names you might like?”

“Honestly?” She replied, gulping, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Well… because then it’s happening. Then that means we’re here and we’ve locked into this being a reality and I don’t know if I can just make that step and go back mentally. This is a lot. It’s exciting! I’m happy! But I’m stressed the fuck out and I kind of just want to take it as it comes.”

Ned frowned, giving her some space as he sat back in his seat, “I understand that. All of it. I guess… I heard all these stories about my parents making all these plans about Nate and I immediately and there’s this instinct to-”

The buzz returned. His phone vibrated, showing the same number on its screen. He silenced it again, looking a little more frustrated this time around.

“There’s this instinct for me to-”

“Who was that?”

“It was Mark. I’m just- I’m not going to answer-”

“Can you ask him to stop?”

Ned paused, feeling his words stick in his throat. The fact is that he didn’t know if he could.

“Ned. This is really important to me and he always shows up and has a good reason or something going on and I already had to deal with you going to work today. Can you please call him and tell him no?”

Nodding, Ned took a deep breath and called Mark back, preparing himself for a booming voice on the other end.

“Hey… sorry for throwing a babified Page at you earlier.”

“Hey, Mark. It’s… fine. What’s up?”

Ned’s gaze met Darcy as she noticed that hint of compassion in Kaye’s glare. Her stiffened expression softened.

“I’m at Denny’s-”

Ned gulped. It was never good when Mark was at Denny’s. Outside of Ned, he assumed it was the only thing that provided Mark’s life with any structure or support.

“-and I realized “Well, WHOOP-DEE SHIT, I forgot to ask Ned something important and I was hoping we could… talk.”

“Now really isn’t the best time, Ma-”

“Ned,” Darcy interrupted him, getting his full attention. She met his gaze sadly, but forced a smile.

“You just do what you think is right.”

Ned thought about the situation, trying to mull over everything before relenting.

“I’ll be there in a few, Mark.”

“You’re a scholar and a gentleman, Ned! I’ll order an extra Moons over My Hammy for ya! It’ll only be SOMEWHAT COLD by the time you’re here! *click*”

He put his phone away and began to head for the door, trying to add a bit of levity to the situation, “I’m sure it’ll be colder than that, heh.”

Darcy didn’t respond.

“I’ll be back quick. I promise.”

“Yeah,” she answered, avoiding his gaze.


Denny’s was as off-kilter and gross as ever, but it was a place the Mark Flynns of the world called home, especially in times of inconvenience, mild slights, or even turmoil. Ned never could feel comfortable, even with his euphemistically named big breakfast platter sat in front of him. His fingers drummed the table as Mark scarfed down some cheap, soggy pancakes, drenched in syrup. He swallowed the unappetizing bite whole before questioning Ned.

“Nedster Jetster, you’ve hardly touched your Hammy! I paid GOOD money for that!” Mark complained, pointed a syrup coated fork at Ned.

“Look, Mark, I just have a lot going on, so my appetite isn’t all what it should be.”

“The only thing I see you doing is FORWARDING MY CALLS! What kind of friend is that?!”

“A busy one,” Ned responded defensively, causing Mark to back off a bit.

“To be honest, the ol’ Optimal Man isn’t feeling like Thad Duke in Coreytopia himself. Seeing NKWC again…”

Ned tried to empathize, adding, “It must be hard to see your best friend out for your blood like that.”

“DIRTY COMMIES can’t be trusted! You think it upsets me to see him violently opposing everything about me? HAH, I say!”

“...”

“Okay, yeah, it really sucks.”

Mark could spin together a thousand points of data, but he struggled hard to get to the point.

“What is this about, Mark? I’ve got something really important I have to-”

“JESUS NED! I’m pouring my SOUL out to you and you can’t help by blab about you over and over! What about MEEEEE?!”

“Mark, I might be becoming a father.”

“OH! Oh.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How… does that feel?”

“It’s cool…? It’s… really scary. I don’t know if I’m going to be enough for anyone. I keep hoping I’ll figure it out and just be what someone needs, but I figure I’ll screw it up. I’m afraid I won’t be what I need to be until it’s too late.”

“Wow. That’s pretty LAME.”

Ned glared at Mark, making his tactless remark’s intolerance known silently.

“You know what would be brave, Ned? Being ringside for my match with NKWC! That way, you overcome your irrational fear and I have my good old buddy old pal there! Whaddeya say?”

Ned looked up, finally realizing why Mark insisted he come here. Chuckling slightly, he shook his hand in agreement. They both had fears they struggled acknowledging, but they could at least be there for each other in a nice, small way.



On the way back, Ned received a text from Darcy. He had missed the test results. He cursed under his breath, but smiled knowing they were going to meet up at the Notorious Gym, still shut down for renovations. It was a long jog, but he made it. However, he didn’t see Darcy. Just a note left on the ring apron. His fingers unfolded the paper with the most caution he could muster. Quietly, he read over the letter, his hand trembling as the words began to process.

Dear Ned,
This past year or so has been the most exciting in my life and not all in a positive way. I love you, but no matter what you love wrestling more than even yourself. I want to see you succeed, but I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t wait on you forever or let myself just tag along and blend into the background of someone else’s world. The results were negative. I hope you can find what it is you’re looking for because I don’t know what to do. I need time for myself.
Love, Darcy.

He sat down, tears rolling down his cheeks as the truth sank in.

He had a problem.]]> <![CDATA[A Deal is a Deal]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46917 Sat, 23 Sep 2023 23:54:30 -0700 Doctor Louis D'Ville]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46917


A Deal is a Deal

"No genius ever existed without a touch of madness."
- Aristotle

The rotten taste and warm heaviness in the air reminded the good doctor of his own office.  The four walls and decor he would conjure up with each session, however, was nothing like this grand place.  The black marble floor showed a crystal clear reflection, making it appear like you were walking on water.  Every step echoed over and over as if you were standing in a dome, but there were no walls or ceiling.  Just darkness as the office floated within the void.

Doc sat in a large, leather chair from the other side of a desk than he would be normally.  He was alone, summoned what seemed like days ago, but time did not tick here so it didn't matter.

He was patient.

A dark wind blew past him and swirled across the desk and over the chair behind it.  It whirled in place and gained momentum until it started taking the shape of a man.  Beginning as a shadowy silhouette, it began to gain color and features.

Soon enough, a man with a devilish grin stretching ear to ear sat before him.

"Well, well, well!"  He began.  "Fancy meeting you here again, old chap."

Hello, my friend, Doc said modestly, returning a D'Ville'ish grin.  Long time no see?

"Most certainly!  How long has it been?  Not long enough, right?  Hahahaw!"


[Image: FIrtKr6.jpg]


Never is, Mister C.  Funny, I thought I'd be meeting with your brother.  Doc pauses.  Where is He?

Mister C snickered and bobbed his head around like a muppet.

"Oh, come now, you know how it is.  Busy, busy, all the time, and unfortunately, something has come up and He's unable to be here.  I am here in His stead."

Doc's smile melted away from his face.

Too busy for his own appointments?

"You understand.  Shall we get down to business?"

Mister C remained smiling and enthralled with the doctor.  He snapped his fingers and a white door appeared beside them and opened.  Another goblin, like the ones in the lobby, walked through pushing a cart holding an overhead projector.  The door then shut behind him and disappeared.

What is this, exactly?  Doc crossed a leg over the other and slid back in the chair.  I was summoned here assuming that I would be meeting with Him.

"No worries!  Please!  I swear I've been prepared to cover everything.  Trust me!"  He looked at the creature pushing the projector and pointed.  "Set it up right over there, Ernesto."

"Yes, Master."

The goblin pushed the projector into place and clicked it on.  Below, it opened a drawer and pulled out a folder filled with papers.  It took the first one from the top and placed it on the projector showing a line graph dating back from the last decade.  It was down, then went up a lot, then went down a little, then up a lot, and now it's back down again.

"You know that we appreciate everything you do."

You're assuming an awful lot.

"If you would, direct your attention to the display."  He looked at the goblin.  "Ernesto!  The laser pointer please."

The goblin patted around its tattered robe then looked around the cart for his Master's request.  He looked back to Mister C and held up his arms, unable to produce what he asked.

"Pickles…"

Mister C clapped one time and a door appeared exactly where the last one was.  Another goblin stepped through and stood in front of the desk.

"Jeffrey!  Act as my pointer!"

"Right away, Master."

It hobbled over and stood by the display.

"Very good.  Now, if you would direct your attention to the left at the start of the diagram.  You can see that numbers were running around average, slightly low."

The goblin pointed up to the left side of the display.  It was far too short and didn't even reach the display, which made Mister C scoff.

"Jeffrey!  I can't even tell what you're pointing at!  Ernesto!  Lower the display, please!"

"Yes, Master."

The goblin adjusted the lens down to the other goblin's level.  He lowered it too far at first, then when he tried to correct it went too high, then after three more tries got it right where he needed it.  Mister C was directing him the entire time.

"No, up a little.  Nope, down.  Almost got it.  There you go.  Nope.  For ff–  Thank you, Ernesto.  Moving along, our numbers began to increase a year later right around the time you reached out to us and we came to an agreement.  You recall our agreement."

Of course.

"Let's go over it anyway, shall we?  Ernesto?"

The goblin swapped out the paper with the graph for another one.  It was a contract.

"It was many years since you renewed.  I mean…  Many…  MANY years.  You were content just wasting away down here…"

Doc remained sunk in the chair, looking bored through the presentation.

"You were given access to the Universe again with the power that could crush an entire nation if used that way.  You chose to wear a disguise, which I absolutely love by the way, and use that innocent face of yours to suck the life straight out of people.  In return, we needed the numbers!  We considered this a ten year trial, because we know how you can be, and we're winding to the end of that journey here very soon, doctor.  Haha."

What's this about then?  An extension?

"An extension?!  BAHA!  Let me be straight with you, you've not been holding up to your side of the bargain as of late.  With the power you were given and the knowledge you possessed…  Let's not forget a certain skill in your craft…  The negative energy that you projected was unprecedented.  We see numbers like that during pandemics and world wars, which this last one saved your little behind because otherwise we would've likely had this meeting sooner.  You've fallen off, old man.  When you're not out there doing your job, there's no reason for you to be out there is there?"

What are you saying?

Doc recalled the encounter he had with Mister B on the train, who said he was sent to "test" him…

"Ernesto!"

The goblin quickly, yet clumsily, swapped the paper back out for the line graph again.

Wouldn't it have been simpler to just give me the papers?

"Absolutely, but we found this in one of the old closets downstairs and I wanted to see if it still worked.  They don't build them like that anymore, ya know?"

Doc remained with a blank stare as his lecture continued.

So, again, what is this?  A warning?  Are you cutting me now?  Should I clean out my desk?

"You're very funny, wizard," Mister C said without laughing.  "Consider this a warning, yes.  You have under a year to prove that you were the investment that you said you were."

Mister C leaned in on his desk and that wicked smile still stretched across his face.

"We all know you have it in you…  I heard about the train ride…  Hehehehe…  You, obviously, still have the will to fight and the fire burning inside that you've always had.  It's time to throw some gas on it."

Doc sat up a bit in the chair and actually soaked in a bit of what Mister C was saying.  After realizing that he wasn't brought in to just get thrown into the abyss, he comes to find out that maybe they're still rooting for him a bit.  How intriguing.

"Tell me…  Tell me, tell me…  That fire still burns…"

Doc looked up from the marble floor and right into the dark eyes of the creature before him, his master, and saw the fire burning in his own eyes reflecting back at him.  They both shared a smile and the doctor took a deep breath.

The fire…  Of course it's still there.  Did it die down?  Did I not tend to it properly at times?  Hm, I suppose not.  I didn't feed everyone else's need for me to thrive in this place and it seemed to hurt a lot of feelings.  Perhaps knowing what I was capable of and not acting on it displeased them because it did seem that I was surrounded by many who are gluttons for punishment.

"How will you rise again?  What's your outlook on your future now?"

I know it's everyone's go-to to just play on whoever's downfalls.  Mine apparently ALIAS and Mark Flynn.  Two fellows that anyone and everyone struggles to get by.  l call it a losing streak.  A streak is two, right?  I know what I have and haven't done in the last few years, I have beaten Charlie, Bobby Bourbon is right about that, and I always will.  Don't assume that's me reaching out and chasing an easy win, either.  Just like Bobby Bourbon, Charlie gimped over and humped my leg, insisting on a match each and every time.  If we didn't miss a year in the middle we could call it an XWFmas Tradition because he keeps on coming back.  He truly believes in that poor decayed pea-sized brain of his that there's actually a chance of him getting that elusive "W".  Charlie Nickles would, without a doubt, throw himself into the Lake of Fire if it meant a victory over me.

Mister C sat back and listened closely to Doc's glorious spiel.

I am and have always been a Bourbon Man, but apparently, not a very good one.  I've not been a Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, or a Copperhead.  I was never the comic relief henchman in the background that would subtly bounce out a one-liner to embellish something Bobby Bourbon would say and keep all parties engaged in his pointless, confusing, fan-fic dragon porn blabbering.  I'm not there like Miss Tote helping him shape his image because he doesn't know his shapes.  I was never the tag team partner that happened to have the brains to take something hated and considered a joke by all and turn it into the revolutionary team, the phenomenon known as Them No Good Bastards.

The way Bobby Bourbon comes off, it always seems like he ends up with the shit end of the stick.  A little bad luck and poor decision-making and you'll have that.  That was a mixture of whining and moaning that I've never heard and never thought would come from the Big Bad Most Bourbon'est Man, himself.  This was supposed to be our MAGNUM OPUS, but it's turning into some kind of pity party.  Bobby Bourbon is acting like the horse that's too old or stupid to work that you're leading out to pasture with a shotgun on your shoulder.  Am I putting him out of some kind of misery?

Is he in some kind of pain?

Tell me where it hurts.

Just kidding, you know I'm not that kind of doctor. 

Bobby Bourbon had me all lined up in the batter's box waiting for me to come up with a thousand excuses as to why I didn't grovel or throw a parade when he did something good.  That I never had his back.  That I never did anything for him.  Well?  Aren't you going to swing?  Does anyone know what I have done for Bobby Bourbon?  The same as I've done for everyone else, just especially him.  The same as the likes of Theo Pryce, Vinnie Lane, Gator have done…  You know, those few household names then, that still hold up to this day.  I stepped aside to make room in the front.  I allowed myself to stray from the mountain top.  I fell from the ladder and never bothered to climb back up again.  The Universe becomes boring when it runs out of tricks and games and you could simply crush it in one hand.  It was someone else's turn, because…  believe it or not! – I am not greedy.  And look what followed my reign as Universal Champion…  Vinnie Lane and Trax swapped it back and forth, then….  Scully, Gilly, Chaos, Reno, Caedus, Blingsteen, Raven, THEN Bobby Bourbon; only to get stripped of it two months later.  Are those the guys that were kicking him off the ladder for so long and keeping him from making a mark?  So while I was on vacation Bobby Bourbon was doing what?  Heh, certainly not thriving, but he was walking.  He was conquering.  He was proving.  Oh, mercy…

I never needed the extra ten pounds on my shoulder to keep my footing.  I've always been recognized for who I am not for what I have or do not have.  Only until recently, people like Bobby Bourbon haven't located a decent scab on me to prick at in hopes they could make it bleed.  There was always that delicious low hanging fruit, but everyone helps themselves to a couple of those…  These days, my few downfalls completely overshadow the fact that I can rule this fine federation.  Now, since everyone's obsessed with old Doc's resume, we only look at recent events because that's the juiciest content, right?  We hardly mention my two reigns as King of the XWF.  No one recalls my consecutive reigns as a Tag Team Champion lasting a long fifteen months.  Does anyone remember what became of all that?  I relinquished the titles; handing them over to the two survivors of my most glorious Shove-It Where the Sun Don't Shine Rumble.  I am not greedy and, once again, I stepped aside.  The division was a mess until we went full circle and I had my hands on them again with Baby Duke…  but we all know how that ended up.  You know what they say?  One bad apple can ruin the whole bunch and one spoiled brat basically gift wrapped my titles for Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles while I was winning March Madness and being crowned KING for a second time.

That's a scab that's scarred over.  If Corey Smith remains Universal Champion after I get my hands on this 24/7 Briefcase, then maybe I'll take the opportunity handed to me to crash his party, too, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.  Back to March Madness!  I am KING, BoB and Them No Good Bastards had JUST taken the title belts from Corytinuum; yet, as KING I held no grudge against them and I opened my arms to the unwanted, rebellious outcasts in the Brotherhood of Baddies.  They embraced my reign as I did them, took their knee before my throne, and kissed the Glorious Gauntlet.  When a side was to be chosen, they chose mine while my former team turned their backs, and I never forgot that.  Loyalty runs for miles and miles, am I right?  The following year when Bobby Bourbon was victorious and became my predecessor, where was the good doctor?  Was I there to celebrate and take a knee before the Grand Poo Poo?  Was I there to kiss the royal sandwich and hail his name?  No.  No, I was not.  I've ALWAYS been a Bourbon Man, so….  What did I do?  I stepped aside.  It's odd, but what Bobby Bourbon fails to realize is had I been there, he would not have been crowned KING.  I would have marched through that tournament as I do, found my mountain top, slayed my foes, and reigned victorious a third time.  I would've done him another favor and spared him the energy of picking himself up uh-gain and he could've stayed down on that knee continuing to worship the ground I triumph on.

Bobby Bourbon has claimed that there has never been one time that I have been better than him.  That's funny, pretty sure in 2015 when he couldn't touch me I was.  I remember when Unknown Soldier and I defeated Bobby Bourbon and Scully for the Tag Team Titles, there was that.  Also, Little Duke and I defended our Tag Team Titles against the Bastardly Duo and some cannon fodder, where the cannon fodder, of course, took most of the beating and the loss.  So, lucky ducky's there, I suppose, but… chalk it up, that's two for the good doctor.  Heh, not to sound crude, but….  I, honestly, can't remember a time that I haven't been better than Bobby Bourbon.  Since Mark Flynn has one on me, maybe it was when Bobby Bourbon beat him once out of the countless times that he didn't.

BAH.

I'm not here with a measuring stick.  The ladder, the blood and guts, and the fire and destruction at Relentless will tell this story.  We're going to battle through all the circles of Hell and when I'm through, I will bring you exactly what you want.  I was given a golden ticket because Bobby Bourbon has something to prove, which the only thing that this is going to do is prove the inevitable.  Alias and Mark Flynn beat him to the punch?  Considering he'll never get there, they never beat him to anything.  He's conquered many things, but in order to get the Platinum Trophy, cross something off that bucket list, and die a happy man, he's going to have to beat Doc D'Ville.  Which, unfortunately for him, has and will never happen.     

Mister C wiped a fake tear from his eye and stood up clapping his hands.  He waved for the two goblins to join in, which they did.

"Bravo!  BRAVO, good sir!  Now THAT is the fire that we've been looking for...  Oh, will my brother be pleased to hear this!"

I will not let Him down.  It's been a long time since I've even felt the passion to do this, but perhaps Bobby Bourbon's ignorance and willingness to throw it all away has...  inspired me.

With a devilish (D'Ville'ish) grin between them, the two met in the middle with a shake of hands that trembled the very foundation of the Universe.


]]>


A Deal is a Deal

"No genius ever existed without a touch of madness."
- Aristotle

The rotten taste and warm heaviness in the air reminded the good doctor of his own office.  The four walls and decor he would conjure up with each session, however, was nothing like this grand place.  The black marble floor showed a crystal clear reflection, making it appear like you were walking on water.  Every step echoed over and over as if you were standing in a dome, but there were no walls or ceiling.  Just darkness as the office floated within the void.

Doc sat in a large, leather chair from the other side of a desk than he would be normally.  He was alone, summoned what seemed like days ago, but time did not tick here so it didn't matter.

He was patient.

A dark wind blew past him and swirled across the desk and over the chair behind it.  It whirled in place and gained momentum until it started taking the shape of a man.  Beginning as a shadowy silhouette, it began to gain color and features.

Soon enough, a man with a devilish grin stretching ear to ear sat before him.

"Well, well, well!"  He began.  "Fancy meeting you here again, old chap."

Hello, my friend, Doc said modestly, returning a D'Ville'ish grin.  Long time no see?

"Most certainly!  How long has it been?  Not long enough, right?  Hahahaw!"


[Image: FIrtKr6.jpg]


Never is, Mister C.  Funny, I thought I'd be meeting with your brother.  Doc pauses.  Where is He?

Mister C snickered and bobbed his head around like a muppet.

"Oh, come now, you know how it is.  Busy, busy, all the time, and unfortunately, something has come up and He's unable to be here.  I am here in His stead."

Doc's smile melted away from his face.

Too busy for his own appointments?

"You understand.  Shall we get down to business?"

Mister C remained smiling and enthralled with the doctor.  He snapped his fingers and a white door appeared beside them and opened.  Another goblin, like the ones in the lobby, walked through pushing a cart holding an overhead projector.  The door then shut behind him and disappeared.

What is this, exactly?  Doc crossed a leg over the other and slid back in the chair.  I was summoned here assuming that I would be meeting with Him.

"No worries!  Please!  I swear I've been prepared to cover everything.  Trust me!"  He looked at the creature pushing the projector and pointed.  "Set it up right over there, Ernesto."

"Yes, Master."

The goblin pushed the projector into place and clicked it on.  Below, it opened a drawer and pulled out a folder filled with papers.  It took the first one from the top and placed it on the projector showing a line graph dating back from the last decade.  It was down, then went up a lot, then went down a little, then up a lot, and now it's back down again.

"You know that we appreciate everything you do."

You're assuming an awful lot.

"If you would, direct your attention to the display."  He looked at the goblin.  "Ernesto!  The laser pointer please."

The goblin patted around its tattered robe then looked around the cart for his Master's request.  He looked back to Mister C and held up his arms, unable to produce what he asked.

"Pickles…"

Mister C clapped one time and a door appeared exactly where the last one was.  Another goblin stepped through and stood in front of the desk.

"Jeffrey!  Act as my pointer!"

"Right away, Master."

It hobbled over and stood by the display.

"Very good.  Now, if you would direct your attention to the left at the start of the diagram.  You can see that numbers were running around average, slightly low."

The goblin pointed up to the left side of the display.  It was far too short and didn't even reach the display, which made Mister C scoff.

"Jeffrey!  I can't even tell what you're pointing at!  Ernesto!  Lower the display, please!"

"Yes, Master."

The goblin adjusted the lens down to the other goblin's level.  He lowered it too far at first, then when he tried to correct it went too high, then after three more tries got it right where he needed it.  Mister C was directing him the entire time.

"No, up a little.  Nope, down.  Almost got it.  There you go.  Nope.  For ff–  Thank you, Ernesto.  Moving along, our numbers began to increase a year later right around the time you reached out to us and we came to an agreement.  You recall our agreement."

Of course.

"Let's go over it anyway, shall we?  Ernesto?"

The goblin swapped out the paper with the graph for another one.  It was a contract.

"It was many years since you renewed.  I mean…  Many…  MANY years.  You were content just wasting away down here…"

Doc remained sunk in the chair, looking bored through the presentation.

"You were given access to the Universe again with the power that could crush an entire nation if used that way.  You chose to wear a disguise, which I absolutely love by the way, and use that innocent face of yours to suck the life straight out of people.  In return, we needed the numbers!  We considered this a ten year trial, because we know how you can be, and we're winding to the end of that journey here very soon, doctor.  Haha."

What's this about then?  An extension?

"An extension?!  BAHA!  Let me be straight with you, you've not been holding up to your side of the bargain as of late.  With the power you were given and the knowledge you possessed…  Let's not forget a certain skill in your craft…  The negative energy that you projected was unprecedented.  We see numbers like that during pandemics and world wars, which this last one saved your little behind because otherwise we would've likely had this meeting sooner.  You've fallen off, old man.  When you're not out there doing your job, there's no reason for you to be out there is there?"

What are you saying?

Doc recalled the encounter he had with Mister B on the train, who said he was sent to "test" him…

"Ernesto!"

The goblin quickly, yet clumsily, swapped the paper back out for the line graph again.

Wouldn't it have been simpler to just give me the papers?

"Absolutely, but we found this in one of the old closets downstairs and I wanted to see if it still worked.  They don't build them like that anymore, ya know?"

Doc remained with a blank stare as his lecture continued.

So, again, what is this?  A warning?  Are you cutting me now?  Should I clean out my desk?

"You're very funny, wizard," Mister C said without laughing.  "Consider this a warning, yes.  You have under a year to prove that you were the investment that you said you were."

Mister C leaned in on his desk and that wicked smile still stretched across his face.

"We all know you have it in you…  I heard about the train ride…  Hehehehe…  You, obviously, still have the will to fight and the fire burning inside that you've always had.  It's time to throw some gas on it."

Doc sat up a bit in the chair and actually soaked in a bit of what Mister C was saying.  After realizing that he wasn't brought in to just get thrown into the abyss, he comes to find out that maybe they're still rooting for him a bit.  How intriguing.

"Tell me…  Tell me, tell me…  That fire still burns…"

Doc looked up from the marble floor and right into the dark eyes of the creature before him, his master, and saw the fire burning in his own eyes reflecting back at him.  They both shared a smile and the doctor took a deep breath.

The fire…  Of course it's still there.  Did it die down?  Did I not tend to it properly at times?  Hm, I suppose not.  I didn't feed everyone else's need for me to thrive in this place and it seemed to hurt a lot of feelings.  Perhaps knowing what I was capable of and not acting on it displeased them because it did seem that I was surrounded by many who are gluttons for punishment.

"How will you rise again?  What's your outlook on your future now?"

I know it's everyone's go-to to just play on whoever's downfalls.  Mine apparently ALIAS and Mark Flynn.  Two fellows that anyone and everyone struggles to get by.  l call it a losing streak.  A streak is two, right?  I know what I have and haven't done in the last few years, I have beaten Charlie, Bobby Bourbon is right about that, and I always will.  Don't assume that's me reaching out and chasing an easy win, either.  Just like Bobby Bourbon, Charlie gimped over and humped my leg, insisting on a match each and every time.  If we didn't miss a year in the middle we could call it an XWFmas Tradition because he keeps on coming back.  He truly believes in that poor decayed pea-sized brain of his that there's actually a chance of him getting that elusive "W".  Charlie Nickles would, without a doubt, throw himself into the Lake of Fire if it meant a victory over me.

Mister C sat back and listened closely to Doc's glorious spiel.

I am and have always been a Bourbon Man, but apparently, not a very good one.  I've not been a Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, or a Copperhead.  I was never the comic relief henchman in the background that would subtly bounce out a one-liner to embellish something Bobby Bourbon would say and keep all parties engaged in his pointless, confusing, fan-fic dragon porn blabbering.  I'm not there like Miss Tote helping him shape his image because he doesn't know his shapes.  I was never the tag team partner that happened to have the brains to take something hated and considered a joke by all and turn it into the revolutionary team, the phenomenon known as Them No Good Bastards.

The way Bobby Bourbon comes off, it always seems like he ends up with the shit end of the stick.  A little bad luck and poor decision-making and you'll have that.  That was a mixture of whining and moaning that I've never heard and never thought would come from the Big Bad Most Bourbon'est Man, himself.  This was supposed to be our MAGNUM OPUS, but it's turning into some kind of pity party.  Bobby Bourbon is acting like the horse that's too old or stupid to work that you're leading out to pasture with a shotgun on your shoulder.  Am I putting him out of some kind of misery?

Is he in some kind of pain?

Tell me where it hurts.

Just kidding, you know I'm not that kind of doctor. 

Bobby Bourbon had me all lined up in the batter's box waiting for me to come up with a thousand excuses as to why I didn't grovel or throw a parade when he did something good.  That I never had his back.  That I never did anything for him.  Well?  Aren't you going to swing?  Does anyone know what I have done for Bobby Bourbon?  The same as I've done for everyone else, just especially him.  The same as the likes of Theo Pryce, Vinnie Lane, Gator have done…  You know, those few household names then, that still hold up to this day.  I stepped aside to make room in the front.  I allowed myself to stray from the mountain top.  I fell from the ladder and never bothered to climb back up again.  The Universe becomes boring when it runs out of tricks and games and you could simply crush it in one hand.  It was someone else's turn, because…  believe it or not! – I am not greedy.  And look what followed my reign as Universal Champion…  Vinnie Lane and Trax swapped it back and forth, then….  Scully, Gilly, Chaos, Reno, Caedus, Blingsteen, Raven, THEN Bobby Bourbon; only to get stripped of it two months later.  Are those the guys that were kicking him off the ladder for so long and keeping him from making a mark?  So while I was on vacation Bobby Bourbon was doing what?  Heh, certainly not thriving, but he was walking.  He was conquering.  He was proving.  Oh, mercy…

I never needed the extra ten pounds on my shoulder to keep my footing.  I've always been recognized for who I am not for what I have or do not have.  Only until recently, people like Bobby Bourbon haven't located a decent scab on me to prick at in hopes they could make it bleed.  There was always that delicious low hanging fruit, but everyone helps themselves to a couple of those…  These days, my few downfalls completely overshadow the fact that I can rule this fine federation.  Now, since everyone's obsessed with old Doc's resume, we only look at recent events because that's the juiciest content, right?  We hardly mention my two reigns as King of the XWF.  No one recalls my consecutive reigns as a Tag Team Champion lasting a long fifteen months.  Does anyone remember what became of all that?  I relinquished the titles; handing them over to the two survivors of my most glorious Shove-It Where the Sun Don't Shine Rumble.  I am not greedy and, once again, I stepped aside.  The division was a mess until we went full circle and I had my hands on them again with Baby Duke…  but we all know how that ended up.  You know what they say?  One bad apple can ruin the whole bunch and one spoiled brat basically gift wrapped my titles for Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles while I was winning March Madness and being crowned KING for a second time.

That's a scab that's scarred over.  If Corey Smith remains Universal Champion after I get my hands on this 24/7 Briefcase, then maybe I'll take the opportunity handed to me to crash his party, too, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.  Back to March Madness!  I am KING, BoB and Them No Good Bastards had JUST taken the title belts from Corytinuum; yet, as KING I held no grudge against them and I opened my arms to the unwanted, rebellious outcasts in the Brotherhood of Baddies.  They embraced my reign as I did them, took their knee before my throne, and kissed the Glorious Gauntlet.  When a side was to be chosen, they chose mine while my former team turned their backs, and I never forgot that.  Loyalty runs for miles and miles, am I right?  The following year when Bobby Bourbon was victorious and became my predecessor, where was the good doctor?  Was I there to celebrate and take a knee before the Grand Poo Poo?  Was I there to kiss the royal sandwich and hail his name?  No.  No, I was not.  I've ALWAYS been a Bourbon Man, so….  What did I do?  I stepped aside.  It's odd, but what Bobby Bourbon fails to realize is had I been there, he would not have been crowned KING.  I would have marched through that tournament as I do, found my mountain top, slayed my foes, and reigned victorious a third time.  I would've done him another favor and spared him the energy of picking himself up uh-gain and he could've stayed down on that knee continuing to worship the ground I triumph on.

Bobby Bourbon has claimed that there has never been one time that I have been better than him.  That's funny, pretty sure in 2015 when he couldn't touch me I was.  I remember when Unknown Soldier and I defeated Bobby Bourbon and Scully for the Tag Team Titles, there was that.  Also, Little Duke and I defended our Tag Team Titles against the Bastardly Duo and some cannon fodder, where the cannon fodder, of course, took most of the beating and the loss.  So, lucky ducky's there, I suppose, but… chalk it up, that's two for the good doctor.  Heh, not to sound crude, but….  I, honestly, can't remember a time that I haven't been better than Bobby Bourbon.  Since Mark Flynn has one on me, maybe it was when Bobby Bourbon beat him once out of the countless times that he didn't.

BAH.

I'm not here with a measuring stick.  The ladder, the blood and guts, and the fire and destruction at Relentless will tell this story.  We're going to battle through all the circles of Hell and when I'm through, I will bring you exactly what you want.  I was given a golden ticket because Bobby Bourbon has something to prove, which the only thing that this is going to do is prove the inevitable.  Alias and Mark Flynn beat him to the punch?  Considering he'll never get there, they never beat him to anything.  He's conquered many things, but in order to get the Platinum Trophy, cross something off that bucket list, and die a happy man, he's going to have to beat Doc D'Ville.  Which, unfortunately for him, has and will never happen.     

Mister C wiped a fake tear from his eye and stood up clapping his hands.  He waved for the two goblins to join in, which they did.

"Bravo!  BRAVO, good sir!  Now THAT is the fire that we've been looking for...  Oh, will my brother be pleased to hear this!"

I will not let Him down.  It's been a long time since I've even felt the passion to do this, but perhaps Bobby Bourbon's ignorance and willingness to throw it all away has...  inspired me.

With a devilish (D'Ville'ish) grin between them, the two met in the middle with a shake of hands that trembled the very foundation of the Universe.


]]> <![CDATA[Thanks Jason Cashe......... Could've Bought Me Dinner First]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46913 Sat, 23 Sep 2023 19:26:16 -0700 Big D]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46913 duh nuh nuh nuh

What

duh nuh nuh nuh nuh

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duh nuh nuh nuh, duh nuh nuh nuh, nuh, nuh nuh

Nightmare!





Turns out, hell isn't all it's cracked up to be. The food's burnt BEYOND a crisp, there's no air conditioning, and unless you're into shoving pineapples up Hilter's butt, or swimming in the Lake of Fire, there wasn't much to do. Needless to say, the number of amenities Satan had to offer were, honestly, quite limited (talk about punishment!) Unfortunately for me, after what I'd been through the past couple days, I found myself envying the bored.

It all started when Jason Cashe touched my penis (sounds like the start of a therapy session). Sure, it wasn't an actual touch. At least I don't think it was. Maybe it was. I could feel the warmth of his arm on it. I don't know. I could be gay. He could be gay. Having bein' beaten up(not off) just moments before, I wasn't quite sure what had happened. It was like paying a visit to Bill Cosby's house, except I actually gave a tiny bit of consent by being Xtreme Champion. Part of me almost WISHES he knocked my ass out completely, but then I wouldn't still be walking around with the Title. However, at the same time, that almost would've been a blessing............


"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEE!!!!"

Cashe's pin attempt set off a chain reaction, showing the residents of hell just how easy it was to get an Xtreme Title shot; afterall, becoming #1 Contender was as simple as pinning my shoulders to the ground. You didn't have to be good, you just had to be lucky. You also didn't necessarily have to be a wrestler, a fact EVERYONE around the started taking advantage of.

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MEEEEEE!!!!"

I went and hid behind some tipped over trash cans, just a few feet away from a burning car. Through the flames I saw my pursuer emerge, jumping on top of the hood and sniffing the air like some sort of predator.

[Image: ffd6948a47cc156a893b181111eeecf2.jpg]

Hee HEE!" He screamed with a Jason Cashe-like crotch grab. "Pleeeeeeease, Daniel, I want to be a starrrrrrr again!" Luckily for me, he didn't seem to know where I was................. but Hitler did!

[Image: yk-PP4-Sn-Pg-UHi-KBTSu-Hhf-FB.jpg]

"There he is!" the fuhrer called out, in German, from the top of a run-down building behind me. His pants were down to his ankles, a fresh pineapple hanging halfway out of his asshole.

"Yaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!" Micheal Jackson cried out with delight. "He's miiiiiiiiiine!"

"Nein!" an aggressive Hitler shouted, before cocking the fruit in his butt like a gun. "The Reich shall reign, once more!"

And, just like that, Adolf jumped 5 stories in my direction, ass first. I didn't know what do to but, in a much more real sense, I knew EXACTLY what to do; sidestepping the former German leader, causing him to crash onto his deriar. The impact of the landing ensured no more pineapple hung out at all. This distraction allowed MJ to hop onto my shoulders in Hurricanranna position, where he proceeded to thrust right in my face(causing me to immediately forgive Cashe for whatever he did to me). I ran around for a minute like a chicken with its head chopped off, as MJ swung his arm around as if he were riding a bull.

"Weeeeeeeeeee!" he cheered. "I'm Peter Pan, I'm flyingggggg!"
I managed to see enough underneath him to maneuver us next to the car, where I proceeded to Powerbomb him, neck first, against the side of it.

"Just call Captain Hook, mother fucker!" I taunted, hitting my chest and barking. "Woof! Woof!" Upon realizing the absurdity of my actions, I took a step back and reflected on them. "Oh God, I'm becoming John Black!"

Before everybody started chasing me, I planned on parodying JB and his buddies by dressing up like a thug, dealin' drugs, and maybe even doing a drive-by; but that wouldn't have been very PC. I could also hear my wife, in my head, telling me that things NEVER go well when I dress up like other people. Which wasn't a lie, afterall, people still haven't forgotten that time I wore a thong in order to beat Lux; and, if they have, they certainly remember NOW.

"Yo, John Black's my homie!"

[Image: cd90a27d2b829545b04ee7428a95a191.jpg]

"Tupac Shakur?!" I shrieked with surprise. "Why are you here?!"

"Jada Pinkett Smith." he shrugged as if it were common knowledge.

"Makes sense," I nodded, leading to a looooong, uncomfortable silence. "You're gonna ice me now, aren't you?"

The rapper pulled out a gun, cocked it like Hitler's pineapple ass, and aimed it at me. "Yup!" He squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet barreling towards my chest. By some hellish miracle, the round ended up bouncing off the Xtreme Title hanging over my shoulder and back at Shakur, nailing him right between the eyes. Upon realizing he'd been shot(again), Tupac uttered his last, last words before collapsing to the ground.

"That's just the way it is..............."

After witnessing Tupac essentially off himself I, ironically enough, ran into Kurt Cobain. He didn't want anything to do with my belt, however, his smoking buddy, Bob Ross, DID.

"Just a happy little pin!" he said with a smile, rolling me up for a Schoolboy.

[Image: channels4-profile.jpg]

Being the veteran I was, I managed to follow through the roll, landing on my feet, much to Bob's chargin.

"More like a happy little accident!" I corrected, kneeing him so hard in the head, his face looked like Kurt's AFTER the shotgun. Speaking of which, I was startled by a loud BANG, causing me to turn towards the former Nirvana singer with concern.

"Not again!"

"It wasn't me!"

I heard the bang again, and again, eventjally realizing it was coming from behind me. I turned around and saw someone who'd been one of my heroes growing up.....................

[Image: ap-obit-earnhardt-16-9.jpg]

"Not the Intimidator!" I cried out with legitimate sadness as Dale revved his engine, giving me a cold, hard stare that had him living up to his nickname. "I blame Kerry Earnhardt for your being here!"

He tipped his helmet at me, as if to confirm my theory, before driving full force in my direction. I tried to flee, but there was no outrunning an old school, restrictorplate-less stock car. Seeing no other choice, I jumped up onto the hood and held on for dear life. Dale drove all over hell. trying his best to shake me, but I would NOT be intimidated!  Sadam Hussein joined Osama and Fidel Castro hurling shell after shell in our direction, all to jo avail. It didn't matter what ANYONE did to me, I would refused to lose my Championship. Seeing this, Earnhardt slammed on the brake, sending me flying past the likes of Ronald Reagan and your mom, onto a pile of boxes next to what looked like a rundown basketball court in a neighborhood you might find John Black hanging out.

"You okay, big man?" a familiar voice asked, holding out a gigantic hand to help me up. As I got to a vertical base, my blurry vision cleared revealing the identity of the good Samaritan.

[Image: 3187400-6913624954-5ea88.png]

"SHAQ?! But.......... you aren't even dead!"

"Neither are you!" he pointed out before turning and missing a shot. "But the endorsement was too good to pass up!" Shaq, once again, missed a shot. "So, how 'bout a Title Match?"

"Tell you what," I began, collecting myself and walking in the opposite direction of the b-baller. "I'll give you a shot, when you make a free throw."

"That's cold, dawg."

I found myself wandering into what looked to be an abandoned television studio, with broken cameras and sound equipment scattered throughout the inside. As I rummaged through the mess, I could hear voices whispering in the dark abyss beyond. The voices grew louder with my every step, until a light switched on, revealing some sort of jumbled deformity of a game show stage. It was as if Satan himself fused The Price is Right with Family Feud, and sprinkled a little bit of Jeopardy over top for flavor. Along with the demonic concoction of a stage came three separate hosts.................

[Image: bobbarker.jpg]
Bob Barker!

[Image: alex-trebek-attends-a-press-conference-t...ion-at.jpg]
Alex Trebek!

[Image: richard-dawson-getty-300x300.jpg]
That guy who kisses the contestants!

"I don't believe it!" I exclaimed, awestruck by 2 of my favorite game show hosts of all-time. "I mean, Dawson I get, but Barker........... TREBEK?! How in the world did you guys wind up here??"

"Let's just say, the price was wrong for me!" Bob explained, but not really.

"Classic Sandler!" I chuckled, before turning to Alex. "What about you?"

"Cheated on my wife."

"I thought that was Letterman?"

"Letterman got caught."

Almost as if it were planned, Richard Dawson tried to sneak up on me and steal a pin, as well as a kiss. I, fortunately, denied him both, ducking underneath and connecting with a German Suplex that would ensure he NEVER kissed someone, consent or not, EVER again!

"It didn't work!" a worried Barker bellowed as I charged in his direction.

"Spay and neuter THIS!" I declared with a Clothesline SO hard, it sent him to heaven. This allowed Trebek to get the drop on me, smashing a microphone in the back of my head.
"Answer: something I want reallllllll bad," he stood over me as if he'd won. He leaned down, waiting for an answer, despite not actually expecting one. With that, he put one of his palms on my chest and counted the fall with his other hand.


"One......................."





"Two......................"








I reached forward and wrapped my hand around the wrist that was pinning me down, also getting a shoulder up in the process.

"What is: an ass kicking?"

His eyes grew wide as I lifted him up high above my head and delivered a Dan Slam worthy of a Jeopardy Championship. And while I may never get to hold that particular Title, I still had my Xtreme one. Considering all I'd been through since pinning Flynn for the belt, from the scrutiny of how I obtained my Title, 'til now, I'd certainly just how extreme I could be.
I took a minute to gather my thoughts, before scanning over the shenanigans that had just taken place. Upon coming to terms with the weight of the entire ordeal, I put my hand to my forehead and shook it in disbelief.

"I'm going to hell for this....................... oh wait, I'm already there!"







"John Black says he won't sell his soul to win the Xtreme Championship, and I can respect that. As a somewhat religious man, myself, I wouldn't sell my soul, either. I'd have been Universal Champion by now if I was willing to. That being said, JB's gonna REALLY wish he had 'cause he's NEVER going to take this belt without it, especially with that piss poor attitude of his. 'I expected a short reign;' man, do you know how pathetic you sound?! My first reign sucked, too, but I DAMN SURE didn't expect it! If that's how you really felt, you should've just laid down for the first chump who tried to pin you; they certainly deserved it more!"

"YOU want to beat the hell out of me?! For what, to prove a point? People who say it's not about the belt only say that for brownie points; and I say that as the guy who claimed he wanted a shot at Thad Duke, not the TV Title. It was about the Title, John. Beating Duke back then didn't mean anything, not without a belt involved. I've beaten names, and it just doesn't hit quite as hard as it does when you take a Title from 'em. And, considering I'm not even a name in your eyes (afterall, you called me a bitch), then this match REALLY doesn't mean shit to you, does it?"

"Well, why don't I tell you what this match means to me? This is an initiation for me, John, an initiation no different than one a thug might go through to prove to his gang that he is for real. I'm in no danger of being tossed out of B.O.B., contrary to whatever you may think, but at the same time, I still got alot to prove. Am I No Good Bastard material, holding Titles for months on end in domination fashion; or am I spineless John Black, winning Championships just to turn around and hand 'em over to better, more confident, men? Let me tell you: I ain't no bitch. Nobody asked me to change my name, I did it on my own! If buying in makes me a bitch, what does that say about YOU?! You claim to be B.O.B. while, in the same breath, beesmirching it's very name. Talk about sellin' out!"

"And, while we're talkin', how 'bout we address just how Xtreme I am. I've been to hell and back, LITERALLY; running around, avoiding pins from some of history's most notorious villains. But do you know who ended up being the BIGGEST, the baddest antagonist of them all? B.O.B. D. I don't need this belt to prove I'm extreme, my actions have already spoken for themselves. If you can get over Jason Cashe nestling your penis like a Christmas present, you can handle ANYTHING! I've stared death in the fucking face and sent him packing! What are you gonna do that's worse than what I've already been through?! I've been hit with chairs, thrown through tables, and scarred by wire. Watch the fuckin' tape! If you need a VCR, I'll buy you one with my future purse winnings so you can look back and regret EVER calling me a bitch!"

"Relentless Night 3. Co-Main Event. Sunday's the day B.O.B. D gets on that God damn Top 50! I've beaten Mastermind, Barney, Miss Fury, took a Title from Mark Flynn, am better than Atara, and soon to be John Black. Bobby's there. TK's there. B.O.B. D's next. I'm gonna embarass one of XWF's favorite pity stories and have no problem doing so. Because I'm bad, I'm B.O.B., I'm D............."]]> duh nuh nuh nuh

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duh nuh nuh nuh, duh nuh nuh nuh, nuh, nuh nuh

Nightmare!





Turns out, hell isn't all it's cracked up to be. The food's burnt BEYOND a crisp, there's no air conditioning, and unless you're into shoving pineapples up Hilter's butt, or swimming in the Lake of Fire, there wasn't much to do. Needless to say, the number of amenities Satan had to offer were, honestly, quite limited (talk about punishment!) Unfortunately for me, after what I'd been through the past couple days, I found myself envying the bored.

It all started when Jason Cashe touched my penis (sounds like the start of a therapy session). Sure, it wasn't an actual touch. At least I don't think it was. Maybe it was. I could feel the warmth of his arm on it. I don't know. I could be gay. He could be gay. Having bein' beaten up(not off) just moments before, I wasn't quite sure what had happened. It was like paying a visit to Bill Cosby's house, except I actually gave a tiny bit of consent by being Xtreme Champion. Part of me almost WISHES he knocked my ass out completely, but then I wouldn't still be walking around with the Title. However, at the same time, that almost would've been a blessing............


"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEE!!!!"

Cashe's pin attempt set off a chain reaction, showing the residents of hell just how easy it was to get an Xtreme Title shot; afterall, becoming #1 Contender was as simple as pinning my shoulders to the ground. You didn't have to be good, you just had to be lucky. You also didn't necessarily have to be a wrestler, a fact EVERYONE around the started taking advantage of.

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MEEEEEE!!!!"

I went and hid behind some tipped over trash cans, just a few feet away from a burning car. Through the flames I saw my pursuer emerge, jumping on top of the hood and sniffing the air like some sort of predator.

[Image: ffd6948a47cc156a893b181111eeecf2.jpg]

Hee HEE!" He screamed with a Jason Cashe-like crotch grab. "Pleeeeeeease, Daniel, I want to be a starrrrrrr again!" Luckily for me, he didn't seem to know where I was................. but Hitler did!

[Image: yk-PP4-Sn-Pg-UHi-KBTSu-Hhf-FB.jpg]

"There he is!" the fuhrer called out, in German, from the top of a run-down building behind me. His pants were down to his ankles, a fresh pineapple hanging halfway out of his asshole.

"Yaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!" Micheal Jackson cried out with delight. "He's miiiiiiiiiine!"

"Nein!" an aggressive Hitler shouted, before cocking the fruit in his butt like a gun. "The Reich shall reign, once more!"

And, just like that, Adolf jumped 5 stories in my direction, ass first. I didn't know what do to but, in a much more real sense, I knew EXACTLY what to do; sidestepping the former German leader, causing him to crash onto his deriar. The impact of the landing ensured no more pineapple hung out at all. This distraction allowed MJ to hop onto my shoulders in Hurricanranna position, where he proceeded to thrust right in my face(causing me to immediately forgive Cashe for whatever he did to me). I ran around for a minute like a chicken with its head chopped off, as MJ swung his arm around as if he were riding a bull.

"Weeeeeeeeeee!" he cheered. "I'm Peter Pan, I'm flyingggggg!"
I managed to see enough underneath him to maneuver us next to the car, where I proceeded to Powerbomb him, neck first, against the side of it.

"Just call Captain Hook, mother fucker!" I taunted, hitting my chest and barking. "Woof! Woof!" Upon realizing the absurdity of my actions, I took a step back and reflected on them. "Oh God, I'm becoming John Black!"

Before everybody started chasing me, I planned on parodying JB and his buddies by dressing up like a thug, dealin' drugs, and maybe even doing a drive-by; but that wouldn't have been very PC. I could also hear my wife, in my head, telling me that things NEVER go well when I dress up like other people. Which wasn't a lie, afterall, people still haven't forgotten that time I wore a thong in order to beat Lux; and, if they have, they certainly remember NOW.

"Yo, John Black's my homie!"

[Image: cd90a27d2b829545b04ee7428a95a191.jpg]

"Tupac Shakur?!" I shrieked with surprise. "Why are you here?!"

"Jada Pinkett Smith." he shrugged as if it were common knowledge.

"Makes sense," I nodded, leading to a looooong, uncomfortable silence. "You're gonna ice me now, aren't you?"

The rapper pulled out a gun, cocked it like Hitler's pineapple ass, and aimed it at me. "Yup!" He squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet barreling towards my chest. By some hellish miracle, the round ended up bouncing off the Xtreme Title hanging over my shoulder and back at Shakur, nailing him right between the eyes. Upon realizing he'd been shot(again), Tupac uttered his last, last words before collapsing to the ground.

"That's just the way it is..............."

After witnessing Tupac essentially off himself I, ironically enough, ran into Kurt Cobain. He didn't want anything to do with my belt, however, his smoking buddy, Bob Ross, DID.

"Just a happy little pin!" he said with a smile, rolling me up for a Schoolboy.

[Image: channels4-profile.jpg]

Being the veteran I was, I managed to follow through the roll, landing on my feet, much to Bob's chargin.

"More like a happy little accident!" I corrected, kneeing him so hard in the head, his face looked like Kurt's AFTER the shotgun. Speaking of which, I was startled by a loud BANG, causing me to turn towards the former Nirvana singer with concern.

"Not again!"

"It wasn't me!"

I heard the bang again, and again, eventjally realizing it was coming from behind me. I turned around and saw someone who'd been one of my heroes growing up.....................

[Image: ap-obit-earnhardt-16-9.jpg]

"Not the Intimidator!" I cried out with legitimate sadness as Dale revved his engine, giving me a cold, hard stare that had him living up to his nickname. "I blame Kerry Earnhardt for your being here!"

He tipped his helmet at me, as if to confirm my theory, before driving full force in my direction. I tried to flee, but there was no outrunning an old school, restrictorplate-less stock car. Seeing no other choice, I jumped up onto the hood and held on for dear life. Dale drove all over hell. trying his best to shake me, but I would NOT be intimidated!  Sadam Hussein joined Osama and Fidel Castro hurling shell after shell in our direction, all to jo avail. It didn't matter what ANYONE did to me, I would refused to lose my Championship. Seeing this, Earnhardt slammed on the brake, sending me flying past the likes of Ronald Reagan and your mom, onto a pile of boxes next to what looked like a rundown basketball court in a neighborhood you might find John Black hanging out.

"You okay, big man?" a familiar voice asked, holding out a gigantic hand to help me up. As I got to a vertical base, my blurry vision cleared revealing the identity of the good Samaritan.

[Image: 3187400-6913624954-5ea88.png]

"SHAQ?! But.......... you aren't even dead!"

"Neither are you!" he pointed out before turning and missing a shot. "But the endorsement was too good to pass up!" Shaq, once again, missed a shot. "So, how 'bout a Title Match?"

"Tell you what," I began, collecting myself and walking in the opposite direction of the b-baller. "I'll give you a shot, when you make a free throw."

"That's cold, dawg."

I found myself wandering into what looked to be an abandoned television studio, with broken cameras and sound equipment scattered throughout the inside. As I rummaged through the mess, I could hear voices whispering in the dark abyss beyond. The voices grew louder with my every step, until a light switched on, revealing some sort of jumbled deformity of a game show stage. It was as if Satan himself fused The Price is Right with Family Feud, and sprinkled a little bit of Jeopardy over top for flavor. Along with the demonic concoction of a stage came three separate hosts.................

[Image: bobbarker.jpg]
Bob Barker!

[Image: alex-trebek-attends-a-press-conference-t...ion-at.jpg]
Alex Trebek!

[Image: richard-dawson-getty-300x300.jpg]
That guy who kisses the contestants!

"I don't believe it!" I exclaimed, awestruck by 2 of my favorite game show hosts of all-time. "I mean, Dawson I get, but Barker........... TREBEK?! How in the world did you guys wind up here??"

"Let's just say, the price was wrong for me!" Bob explained, but not really.

"Classic Sandler!" I chuckled, before turning to Alex. "What about you?"

"Cheated on my wife."

"I thought that was Letterman?"

"Letterman got caught."

Almost as if it were planned, Richard Dawson tried to sneak up on me and steal a pin, as well as a kiss. I, fortunately, denied him both, ducking underneath and connecting with a German Suplex that would ensure he NEVER kissed someone, consent or not, EVER again!

"It didn't work!" a worried Barker bellowed as I charged in his direction.

"Spay and neuter THIS!" I declared with a Clothesline SO hard, it sent him to heaven. This allowed Trebek to get the drop on me, smashing a microphone in the back of my head.
"Answer: something I want reallllllll bad," he stood over me as if he'd won. He leaned down, waiting for an answer, despite not actually expecting one. With that, he put one of his palms on my chest and counted the fall with his other hand.


"One......................."





"Two......................"








I reached forward and wrapped my hand around the wrist that was pinning me down, also getting a shoulder up in the process.

"What is: an ass kicking?"

His eyes grew wide as I lifted him up high above my head and delivered a Dan Slam worthy of a Jeopardy Championship. And while I may never get to hold that particular Title, I still had my Xtreme one. Considering all I'd been through since pinning Flynn for the belt, from the scrutiny of how I obtained my Title, 'til now, I'd certainly just how extreme I could be.
I took a minute to gather my thoughts, before scanning over the shenanigans that had just taken place. Upon coming to terms with the weight of the entire ordeal, I put my hand to my forehead and shook it in disbelief.

"I'm going to hell for this....................... oh wait, I'm already there!"







"John Black says he won't sell his soul to win the Xtreme Championship, and I can respect that. As a somewhat religious man, myself, I wouldn't sell my soul, either. I'd have been Universal Champion by now if I was willing to. That being said, JB's gonna REALLY wish he had 'cause he's NEVER going to take this belt without it, especially with that piss poor attitude of his. 'I expected a short reign;' man, do you know how pathetic you sound?! My first reign sucked, too, but I DAMN SURE didn't expect it! If that's how you really felt, you should've just laid down for the first chump who tried to pin you; they certainly deserved it more!"

"YOU want to beat the hell out of me?! For what, to prove a point? People who say it's not about the belt only say that for brownie points; and I say that as the guy who claimed he wanted a shot at Thad Duke, not the TV Title. It was about the Title, John. Beating Duke back then didn't mean anything, not without a belt involved. I've beaten names, and it just doesn't hit quite as hard as it does when you take a Title from 'em. And, considering I'm not even a name in your eyes (afterall, you called me a bitch), then this match REALLY doesn't mean shit to you, does it?"

"Well, why don't I tell you what this match means to me? This is an initiation for me, John, an initiation no different than one a thug might go through to prove to his gang that he is for real. I'm in no danger of being tossed out of B.O.B., contrary to whatever you may think, but at the same time, I still got alot to prove. Am I No Good Bastard material, holding Titles for months on end in domination fashion; or am I spineless John Black, winning Championships just to turn around and hand 'em over to better, more confident, men? Let me tell you: I ain't no bitch. Nobody asked me to change my name, I did it on my own! If buying in makes me a bitch, what does that say about YOU?! You claim to be B.O.B. while, in the same breath, beesmirching it's very name. Talk about sellin' out!"

"And, while we're talkin', how 'bout we address just how Xtreme I am. I've been to hell and back, LITERALLY; running around, avoiding pins from some of history's most notorious villains. But do you know who ended up being the BIGGEST, the baddest antagonist of them all? B.O.B. D. I don't need this belt to prove I'm extreme, my actions have already spoken for themselves. If you can get over Jason Cashe nestling your penis like a Christmas present, you can handle ANYTHING! I've stared death in the fucking face and sent him packing! What are you gonna do that's worse than what I've already been through?! I've been hit with chairs, thrown through tables, and scarred by wire. Watch the fuckin' tape! If you need a VCR, I'll buy you one with my future purse winnings so you can look back and regret EVER calling me a bitch!"

"Relentless Night 3. Co-Main Event. Sunday's the day B.O.B. D gets on that God damn Top 50! I've beaten Mastermind, Barney, Miss Fury, took a Title from Mark Flynn, am better than Atara, and soon to be John Black. Bobby's there. TK's there. B.O.B. D's next. I'm gonna embarass one of XWF's favorite pity stories and have no problem doing so. Because I'm bad, I'm B.O.B., I'm D............."]]> <![CDATA[Silent No More: Conclusion]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46912 Sat, 23 Sep 2023 17:33:01 -0700 Thunder Knuckles™]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46912



Rodney and TK have left the building containing the most cutthroat of humankind, whose embodied souls remain locked in cages. Salt pillared and charred corpses lie scattered across the hot, boiling, ashen landscape as they march up the mountain. TK is determined to escape and return to his body, even if it means facing Satan. He has no choice. He's the Main Event of Relentless. Lesser demons surround the two but none of them make a move. Every once in a while TK flinches at them making them fall back. This time period helps with TK’s recovery, he's not feeling as beat down.


[Image: doom2.gif]



Sorry about Miss Fury, there, Thunder Knuckles.

Having been ignoring Rodney for quite some time, TK responds automatically on autopilot.

Yep.

I’ll never figure out women, ya know? Putting on all that make-up, wearing stuff that makes them look small in parts of their bodies, and bigger in others. I mean, come on, then they say they wanna meet a man and want the truth from us. Geesh, give me a break, ya know? Anyway, anyway, It doesn’t look like we have further to go.

Great.

You know this reminds me of the time, that for two hours, some guy followed me around with a pooper scooper. Speaking of shit, you need to start watching out, ya know?

Looking highly annoyed that he’s even listening to Rodney at this point, let alone poorly about BOB, TK replies.

What are you fucking talking about?

You know, you have to start being careful. I mean, you can’t trust anyone anymore. For crying out loud, kid. You have to be pretty gullible to think that you buddy Bobby. I know, I know, your buddies, but he might just screw you, ya know?

Oh, fuck off with that shit, Rodney. Bobby’s no Benedict Cumberbatch.

Yeah, okay, alright, I mean, anything can happen. I get it. I get it, ya know? Despite that, you do have a lot of doubters, is all I'm sayin'.

TK looks at the walls hearing his Hell continue.

Trust me, mother fucker. I know. The thing is, when you doubt a real Bastard that's music to his mother fucking ears. Some people have dreams of being rich as fuck like me, having better relationships, or just winning a goddamn fight. Whatever that dream is, that goal. Once you see it, get a smell of it, have a feel, a damn taste of it. That makes a dangerous Bastard. The man standing in front of Corey Smith is one who refuses to dwell on records. When we don't have to put our fucking bodies, minds, our fighting spirit on the line. When records start fighting in the ring. I'll give a shit.

Continuing to press forward on their trek Rodney and TK walk. However, this is the perfect opportunity for TK to get some stuff off his chest.

I refuse to remain in XWF obscurity. Winning the Universal Championship means something. It's not to boost a record. Nah, it says you've overcome the odds, goddamn it. You beat THE GUY!  I won't lie, battling through Hell just to end up fighting Corey, man. I'm fucking tired.

TK takes a deep breath and as he exhales, he looks ready.

I'm tired but when you meet the end of your-goddamn-self. Your End Of Ages, like I have. Something inside of you will snap.

TK snaps his fingers, creating a dramatic effect.

No shit, I'm telling you. It happened to me during this process, that's for damn sure. I'm tired of allowing fuckboys to advance. Even though I know it's my moment to grab the top stop. I'm tired of being coined as someone who doesn't have what it takes, not being good enough. Being overlooked for the next drop in a bucket that comes in, and then out, of this company. Being undervalued despite making improvements both in and outside of the ring. Don't get me wrong. When you get tired that's when you know you've given it your fucking all, and you're going to win. So, I'm talking to the people who don't have a mom, or a dad, real Bastards.

Rolling his eyes, TK presses on.

Not some orphans used as puppets to prop up my self-fucking-worth. The ones that scratch and claw cause they don't have anything or anyone but themselves to pull them up. Does that make me a good guy? Fuck no! I'm a goddamn realist and the fact of the matter is Corey Smith doesn't have the fight in him that I do! He'd rather open that cum trap he calls a mouth and let me lead the dance. More proof that my opponents need me or than I ever need them. Go! Go watch the tape if you don't fucking believe me.

As TK's frustration grows, he starts yelling out.

I've had to suffer through this shit for months. MONTHS!

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, slowly exhaling.

That's okay,-

As he opened his eyes, he allowed his stress to melt away.

-it's okay because on September twenty fourth it all comes to a damn head. The epic conclusion, when the weakest version of Corey Smith that ever graced this company takes on the absolute best version of 'Ol Thunder Knuckles, is on full display.

He nodded his head in agreement, acknowledging the truth of that statement.

I mean, it's pretty sad when Page comes back for "one night only", and his senile old ass can see this match was picked so Corey doesn't get pinned clean. Hasn't that been this shit stains argument though?

TK stops and gazes at the wall, observing Corey as he speaks.

Corey, I don't have to fucking pin you clean. You made sure of that.

Looking back in front of him as he walks.

Yes, I'll beat you from one side of the damn burning cage to the other. That's just for fun though because I will climb the ladder, the flaming cage, whatever I have to do to grab those briefcases. I'll do whatever it takes to take away the only thing you hold dear. Your bullshit record, the belt is bonus points. I'll be the man who whipped the shit out of Corey Smith for the Universal Championship on his terms. Pinned clean?

Immediately stopping for a moment, TK chortles.

Idiot.

He regained his composure and moved forward, not only walking but talking.

I'm fucking tired. Now that I mentioned it. Corey's probably going to be tired too, and that's okay. Yep, because whether he's actually tired or not I'm going to send him on vacation. Don't worry, he'll be back, he'll be back. This is his home. This is the place that cheers his vile behavior and he's treated as the conquering hero. The place that puts up with his incessant balless whining. The fans might not know what he's saying, but goddamn it, he's saying it. They will cheer because they're puppets and they will boo me. Which is fine, Hell, I wouldn't have it any other damn way. My road to this moment has been paved with people who have doubted me. It's time for ME to shut them the fuck up.

Resting on their laurels Rodney and TK are taken by surprise. Four Hellknights come barreling in from behind them. They're trying to stop TK and Rodney from reaching the top of the mountain. Hearing the commotion of footsteps rapidly approaching, TK turns around. It's too late! The lead Hellknight catches him off guard and knocks him to the ground. the other three approaching slow down think the lead Hellknight is in total control. The lead Hellknight looks back at the other three and celebrates. Big mistake, while on the ground TK grabs the leg of the Hellknight. He bites down into the Hellknight's Achilles tendon, rupturing it. It's sent falling over almost immediately. The other three who were celebrating along with the lead, gave out vicious bloodcuddling roars that send shivers up your spine.


[Image: doom3.gif]



TK responds in kind, yelling out as he gets back on his feet.

Hope you guys don't breed off horn size, pussies! Grrrraaaahhhhh!

TK signals for the other three to approach, and swiftly stomps on the leading Hellknight's skull, crushing it. The remaining three Hellknights split up, two going in opposite directions around TK, while one charges straight at him. TK focuses his attention on the approaching monster, narrowly dodging its heavy two-handed axe swing. Meanwhile, TK loses sight of the other two Hellknights. This particular Hellknight proves to be a formidable opponent, despite momentarily losing control of its axe during a powerful swing. Disappointingly, the beast quickly recovers and retaliates with a forceful left backhand to TK's face, causing him to be thrown backward and leaving him in bad shape. However, driven by his determination to return to his body, TK forces himself to stand up after crashing hard onto the ground. The Hellknight he was battling charges towards him, prompting TK to gather all his strength and sprint towards his enemy. As the Hellknight attempts to strike with a punch, TK delivers one of his signature Flying Knee strikes, resulting in the Hellknight's head exploding upon impact. Its lifeless body collapses to the ground in a heavy heap. In the distance, TK hears Rodney in distress.


[Image: doom5.gif]



Woah, where are you taking me? This better not be some kink; I'm not into that kind of stuff, ya know?

The remaining two Hellknights had no interest in pursuing TK. Instead, they were focused on capturing Rodney, and they have successfully accomplished their mission. TK shouts out, grabbing the attention of the two Hellknights.

Hey, cunt lips!

The two Hellknights exchange glances before redirecting their attention towards TK.

Yeah, you! Oversized testicle tumor-looking fucks!

One of the Hellknights must know English because it roars and starts charging while the other escapes with Rodney as his prisoner. TK wastes no time with this Hellknight and Drops Kicks it to the knee. Setting it up for an Extra Face Pain De-Lux! Rodney has shown TK all how easy that move is to perform, literally, a child could do it. The Hellknight's head explodes. With a sense of urgency, TK runs in the direction of the escaped Hellknight. However, to no avail, they had gotten away.

FUCK!

Kicking the ash on the ground and sending embers into the air, TK looks pissed.

Horse dick! Goddamn!

TK closes his eyes, trying to regain some form of composure. He takes a deep breath, holding it for a second, then exhaling.

Alright, all I have to do is climb to the top of this fucking mountain. It's not like Rodney was doing me any goddamn good anyway! I guess, I'm doing this shit alone.

TK's journey isn't as paralyzing as it had been previously with Rodney in tow. Along the way, he effortlessly confronts and defeats some lesser demons. Maybe Rodney's talking was bringing in stronger demons. Whatever the case, TK is thankful, he looks a bit worse for wear. He decides to take a breather and maybe feel a little bit better. This has been the toughest situation TK has ever faced, yet, he's meeting it head-on. He mutters to himself.

Taking a rest isn't giving up. You got this.

Thinking about all the things he misses from Earth, life even. TK can't help verbalizing the one thing he misses most.

Goddamn, an ice-cold beer would be nice right now.

Wiping his brow, the mixture of sweat and blood doesn't even faze him. He stares blankly at the wall. Seeing Corey's smug face makes him snarl.

Heh, Corey thought fighting me was good for fucking business, good for his brand. He's about to find out that fighting me was bad for his goddamn legacy.

With a careful eye, scanning the area for danger, TK sits down and relaxes. He begins to think of all the matches that he's had. How he was able to overcome the obstacles in his way. He's even thinking of how to fix the obstacles he wasn't able to overcome, just so they won't happen again. As he rests he takes time to watch Corey's promotional material, seeing as it's still playing on the walls. TK sighs as Corey tries to play big time while having a shit record.

I wonder if his ass ever gets jealous of the amount of shit that just came out of his mouth? Bastard Above, he’s just a box full of emotions. First, he's all TK.

TK makes a gurgling sound effect with his spit and throat.

Then he's all like blah, you suck, blah, facts, blah I'm a pussy.

Blankly staring at the wall watching Corey respond to everything TK says.

I really am tired, ya know?

Shaking his head in discontent.

Christ on a cracker, now I'm talking like Rodney. Fuck!

TK looks up the mountain seeing that he isn't too far to the top now. He gazes off trying to soak up some more rest. Looking out he sees the peaks of other mountains; these towering behemoths are not majestic but rather resemble sharp and jagged teeth, ready to devour any hapless soul that dares to come too close. The sky, if it can even be called that, is an eternal abyss of swirling darkness. There are no stars to be seen, only the occasional flicker of distant flames dancing on the horizon. After taking his well-deserved break, TK feels an improvement in his energy levels. He may not be at his best yet, but he's undoubtedly fueled enough to conquer this mountain.


[Image: doom3.gif]



It doesn't even look as though there are many demons. At least ones that would feel ballsy enough to fight him. He climbs some pretty tough ledges until he gets to a path that spirals like a walkway to the top.

Thank fuck.

TK's breathing is heavy.

Almost done.

As he gradually walks towards the peak, the dark and ominous rear view of Hell's Throne comes into sight.

There you are, you little shit. Who puts shit on top of a mountain anyway.

TK slowly approaches the Throne of Hell, his eyes fixated on the figure seated upon it. The camera teasingly conceals the ruler's identity, heightening the suspense. However, TK's expression is a mix of shock and pissed.





The camera captures the face of Satan as his voice echoes through the air.


What a crowd! What a crowd! I'm old enough to remember when emojis were called hieroglyphics, ya know?

What, dude!? You said you didn't enter Hell! You're fucking Satan!

Woah, there, killer. I didn't say I didn't enter Hell. I said, I did, I came down here because Heaven wasn't as fun. So what? I'm the Devil, what can ya do? Ya know? Looks like you learned a valuable lesson, yeah? Heh, It's better to let someone think you are not the Devil than to open your mouth and prove it. I told you that you couldn't trust your friends. Now, you're here. Go ahead, ask me. I know you want to.

Fuck you, you know what I want.

Well, ask me for it. Who knows? Maybe we can make-

Rodney, a.k.a. Satan, rubs his hands together.

-a deal.

TK is fuming, having already sealed the deal earlier.

You know the deal, goddamn it! I made it with you when we first met.

Yeah, I show you around Hell, and you put respect on my name.

You know I'm trying to get back to my body. Don't fucking play with me!

Ah, yes, heh, that's never going to happen. You're mine now TK and if you thought your personal hell was bad as of now. Just wait until after Relentless. No more Corey promos. This was meant to give you hope, ya know? Keep you moving until I can take it away.

HA! What? Are you trying to give me a vacation or something?

Satan smirks at TK, knowing that what it will be placed with is that much worse and will devour TK’s soul.

No. They will be replaced with Centurion's back catalog.

Satan, chuckles gleefully, fully aware that he has created chaos for Relentless. TK appears bewildered, unable to comprehend the fact that he will no longer be a part of Relentless. Despite facing numerous challenges, TK places his trust in the one constant that has never let him down. He lowers his head, signaling all the dedicated Bastards across the globe to do the same. As they join TK in prayer, he absorbs the energy of all those living a wicked lifestyle, willingly surrendering their energy to him.

Oh, Bastardly One, I thank You for surrounding me with demons to kill and that YOU are THE mighty prick protecting me from low-hanging attacks. YOU are a strong Bastard that can do the impossible.

Firey embers are spinning around TK as the clouds in heaven did but at a faster pace.

I declare on my soul that Corey Smith cannot win. Because my Bastardly Father is for me, so who could possibly win against me? So, I will stand firm in the promise that the Bastard Above will keep me in perfect cold hatred as I fight my battle.

The ground beneath TK begins to fracture, and fragments of the earth start hovering in the air.

Bastardly Father, I ask you to remove doubt, fear, and worry from my mind. Make me the perfect instrument for the job.

Crimson lightning streaks across the sky of Hell, illuminating the descent of souls cast out from the very heights of Heaven.

I ask YOU to give me the strength to focus on the task at hand in this fiery trial. I submit completely to YOUR relentless leadership, YOUR dastardly plan, YOUR unbendable will, YOUR unyielding way, and YOUR powerful word. I will remain as obedient, as Thad to Corey, to YOU. I will surrender to no man, despite the ups and downs in this or any situation. YOU are my Bastard. YOU are my rock and solid foundation. Without YOU, Oh Bastardly One, my house would surely be built on sinking sand. With YOU, I am confident and planted firmly in ruthlessness. Building my home on the strong foundation of the tears and ashes of Coreytopia. I thank YOU for being my anchor through Hell. In the Bastards' name, I prey,

As he lifts his head, the fragments of the ground gradually fall. That's when TK opens his eyes, glowing with a fierce yellow hue, his body completely healed, and a wicked grin of sadistic delight spreads across his face.

A-fucking-men.

Strength and power, unlike anything seen before, radiates from TK. He appears prepared for any challenge that may come his way.


[Image: DoomGM.gif]



Casting a determined look towards Rodney, he extends his finger, causing a rift to tear open in the depths of hell. As the rift widens, he catches a glimpse of his own funeral, overshadowed by the attention-grabbing presence of Bobby Bourbon. This only serves to further stir TK's annoyance, as it proves Rodney's predictions to be true. Amidst the chaos, TK realizes that the only person he can truly rely on is himself. With determination and hatred coursing through his veins, TK clenches his hand, sealing the rift shut.

Why didn't you take it? You wanted back to you're body, ya know? Geesh, reminds me of the time-

Sprinting at Rodney and connecting with a Pimp Slap, so hard that Rodney's nose starts to bleed.

That's for sending your son Harmon to the XWF. I'll take care of that shit pot soon enough.

Rodney touches the wound and checks his hand. Noticing that he in fact bleeding.

I tell ya what, my son is an idiot. That's one I should have shot on the belly, for sure, ya know?

TK then Open Hand Slaps the taste out of Rodney again, sending Rodney two steps backward.

That's for wasting my time when you knew Miss Fury wasn't here!

Rodney grunts, he's had enough of TK's insolence. He's Satan and TK is a mortal man. This cannot stand!

Heh, you said I needed some wrestling moves. It's time to show you why not even GOD'S RECORD HAS EVER BEATEN ME CLEAN, YA KNOW!?

Cracking his knuckles, with his eyes gleaming yellow, TK leaps forward into the fray Rodney follows suit, and as they collide at the center, they continue relentlessly delivering Forearm Shivers to each other's skulls. Neither of them shows any signs of giving up. Finally, a powerful Forearm Shiver forces Rodney to stagger back, leaving him disoriented momentarily. Out of nowhere, Rodney retaliates with a tremendous Super Kick that sends TK reeling. Without wasting a moment, Rodney swiftly transitions into a Wrist Lock, but he doesn't stop there. Rodney seamlessly transitions from the Wrist Lock into a devastating Knee to the Face. TK hits the ground hard, but he quickly regains his footing. Nonchalantly brushing away fiery embers from his armor, TK then to crack his neck.

Is that the best you got, bitch?

Walking up to TK, Rodney’s temper is getting the best of him, with various chops from Rodney. TK isn’t budging. Even more annoyed now that TK isn’t falling Rodney turns around and runs in the opposite direction. No, he’s making a circle closing the distance between the two men again. Sliding drop kick! This takes TK to the ground!  Without wasting time, or momentum, Rodney goes for a Standing Moonsault. NO! Alabama Slam by TK. He stood up right up and snatched Rodney out of the air! TK drags Rodney toward the edge of the ledge, he picks up Rodney, Scoop Slam off the side of the ledge!

Demons begin to surround TK as they get closer he flinches at them, backing them up. TK jumps down to where Rodney is. Rodney tries to play possum but it does him no good. Rodney tries to Surprise Throat Punch TK, but TK knows all about Corey Smith’s tricks and forces Rodney into a Test of Strength. Back and forth the two mean duel in the Test of Strength. Until TK gets the upper hand by kicking Rodney in the gut. Rodney falls to the ground in pain and TK stands over him. Looking down on Rodney, like Corey Smith looks down on everyone he faces, TK grabs his ankle, and Rodney kicks out of the danger he finds himself in. TK gets back to his feet, and turns around as Rodney goes for a Spinning Back Kick to the head! TK dodges the kick by slightly moving his head backward two inches. Rodney looks in shock as TK grins and grumbles one word.

Telegraphed.

Sweeping the legs out from underneath Rodney, like in Mortal Kombat, Rodney falls to the ground. Realizing he's in danger again, Rodney rolls over on his belly. He doesn't realize the mistake he's made. In doing so, Rodney allows TK to perform his signature Ankle Lock! Rodney is writhing in pain. Wait! TK turns it over quickly and THUNDER STRIKE! Rodney's out cold. TK breathing heavily as he stands over Rodney's body. TK smirks and leaves Rodney lying on the ground. He climbs back to the top of the mountain, standing next to the Throne of Hell. After knowing that the job is done. TK explains why he didn't go back to his body.

The Slanderer. The Deceiver. The Tempter. The Father of Lies. The Enemy. No matter what moniker you wanna give me. My name is Thunder Knuckles.

TK casually sits on the Throne of Hell.

I'll go back to my body on the twenty fifth. For now, I'll wait for Corey to show up.

A cage encapsulates around the Throne of Hell as TK snaps his fingers. From the ceiling, an array of hooks hang, appearing to dangle from thin air. The chains sway and ignite the cage in flames. The final glimpse of this promotional material shows TK seated on the Throne of Hell, encircled by the Tenth Circle.
]]>



Rodney and TK have left the building containing the most cutthroat of humankind, whose embodied souls remain locked in cages. Salt pillared and charred corpses lie scattered across the hot, boiling, ashen landscape as they march up the mountain. TK is determined to escape and return to his body, even if it means facing Satan. He has no choice. He's the Main Event of Relentless. Lesser demons surround the two but none of them make a move. Every once in a while TK flinches at them making them fall back. This time period helps with TK’s recovery, he's not feeling as beat down.


[Image: doom2.gif]



Sorry about Miss Fury, there, Thunder Knuckles.

Having been ignoring Rodney for quite some time, TK responds automatically on autopilot.

Yep.

I’ll never figure out women, ya know? Putting on all that make-up, wearing stuff that makes them look small in parts of their bodies, and bigger in others. I mean, come on, then they say they wanna meet a man and want the truth from us. Geesh, give me a break, ya know? Anyway, anyway, It doesn’t look like we have further to go.

Great.

You know this reminds me of the time, that for two hours, some guy followed me around with a pooper scooper. Speaking of shit, you need to start watching out, ya know?

Looking highly annoyed that he’s even listening to Rodney at this point, let alone poorly about BOB, TK replies.

What are you fucking talking about?

You know, you have to start being careful. I mean, you can’t trust anyone anymore. For crying out loud, kid. You have to be pretty gullible to think that you buddy Bobby. I know, I know, your buddies, but he might just screw you, ya know?

Oh, fuck off with that shit, Rodney. Bobby’s no Benedict Cumberbatch.

Yeah, okay, alright, I mean, anything can happen. I get it. I get it, ya know? Despite that, you do have a lot of doubters, is all I'm sayin'.

TK looks at the walls hearing his Hell continue.

Trust me, mother fucker. I know. The thing is, when you doubt a real Bastard that's music to his mother fucking ears. Some people have dreams of being rich as fuck like me, having better relationships, or just winning a goddamn fight. Whatever that dream is, that goal. Once you see it, get a smell of it, have a feel, a damn taste of it. That makes a dangerous Bastard. The man standing in front of Corey Smith is one who refuses to dwell on records. When we don't have to put our fucking bodies, minds, our fighting spirit on the line. When records start fighting in the ring. I'll give a shit.

Continuing to press forward on their trek Rodney and TK walk. However, this is the perfect opportunity for TK to get some stuff off his chest.

I refuse to remain in XWF obscurity. Winning the Universal Championship means something. It's not to boost a record. Nah, it says you've overcome the odds, goddamn it. You beat THE GUY!  I won't lie, battling through Hell just to end up fighting Corey, man. I'm fucking tired.

TK takes a deep breath and as he exhales, he looks ready.

I'm tired but when you meet the end of your-goddamn-self. Your End Of Ages, like I have. Something inside of you will snap.

TK snaps his fingers, creating a dramatic effect.

No shit, I'm telling you. It happened to me during this process, that's for damn sure. I'm tired of allowing fuckboys to advance. Even though I know it's my moment to grab the top stop. I'm tired of being coined as someone who doesn't have what it takes, not being good enough. Being overlooked for the next drop in a bucket that comes in, and then out, of this company. Being undervalued despite making improvements both in and outside of the ring. Don't get me wrong. When you get tired that's when you know you've given it your fucking all, and you're going to win. So, I'm talking to the people who don't have a mom, or a dad, real Bastards.

Rolling his eyes, TK presses on.

Not some orphans used as puppets to prop up my self-fucking-worth. The ones that scratch and claw cause they don't have anything or anyone but themselves to pull them up. Does that make me a good guy? Fuck no! I'm a goddamn realist and the fact of the matter is Corey Smith doesn't have the fight in him that I do! He'd rather open that cum trap he calls a mouth and let me lead the dance. More proof that my opponents need me or than I ever need them. Go! Go watch the tape if you don't fucking believe me.

As TK's frustration grows, he starts yelling out.

I've had to suffer through this shit for months. MONTHS!

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, slowly exhaling.

That's okay,-

As he opened his eyes, he allowed his stress to melt away.

-it's okay because on September twenty fourth it all comes to a damn head. The epic conclusion, when the weakest version of Corey Smith that ever graced this company takes on the absolute best version of 'Ol Thunder Knuckles, is on full display.

He nodded his head in agreement, acknowledging the truth of that statement.

I mean, it's pretty sad when Page comes back for "one night only", and his senile old ass can see this match was picked so Corey doesn't get pinned clean. Hasn't that been this shit stains argument though?

TK stops and gazes at the wall, observing Corey as he speaks.

Corey, I don't have to fucking pin you clean. You made sure of that.

Looking back in front of him as he walks.

Yes, I'll beat you from one side of the damn burning cage to the other. That's just for fun though because I will climb the ladder, the flaming cage, whatever I have to do to grab those briefcases. I'll do whatever it takes to take away the only thing you hold dear. Your bullshit record, the belt is bonus points. I'll be the man who whipped the shit out of Corey Smith for the Universal Championship on his terms. Pinned clean?

Immediately stopping for a moment, TK chortles.

Idiot.

He regained his composure and moved forward, not only walking but talking.

I'm fucking tired. Now that I mentioned it. Corey's probably going to be tired too, and that's okay. Yep, because whether he's actually tired or not I'm going to send him on vacation. Don't worry, he'll be back, he'll be back. This is his home. This is the place that cheers his vile behavior and he's treated as the conquering hero. The place that puts up with his incessant balless whining. The fans might not know what he's saying, but goddamn it, he's saying it. They will cheer because they're puppets and they will boo me. Which is fine, Hell, I wouldn't have it any other damn way. My road to this moment has been paved with people who have doubted me. It's time for ME to shut them the fuck up.

Resting on their laurels Rodney and TK are taken by surprise. Four Hellknights come barreling in from behind them. They're trying to stop TK and Rodney from reaching the top of the mountain. Hearing the commotion of footsteps rapidly approaching, TK turns around. It's too late! The lead Hellknight catches him off guard and knocks him to the ground. the other three approaching slow down think the lead Hellknight is in total control. The lead Hellknight looks back at the other three and celebrates. Big mistake, while on the ground TK grabs the leg of the Hellknight. He bites down into the Hellknight's Achilles tendon, rupturing it. It's sent falling over almost immediately. The other three who were celebrating along with the lead, gave out vicious bloodcuddling roars that send shivers up your spine.


[Image: doom3.gif]



TK responds in kind, yelling out as he gets back on his feet.

Hope you guys don't breed off horn size, pussies! Grrrraaaahhhhh!

TK signals for the other three to approach, and swiftly stomps on the leading Hellknight's skull, crushing it. The remaining three Hellknights split up, two going in opposite directions around TK, while one charges straight at him. TK focuses his attention on the approaching monster, narrowly dodging its heavy two-handed axe swing. Meanwhile, TK loses sight of the other two Hellknights. This particular Hellknight proves to be a formidable opponent, despite momentarily losing control of its axe during a powerful swing. Disappointingly, the beast quickly recovers and retaliates with a forceful left backhand to TK's face, causing him to be thrown backward and leaving him in bad shape. However, driven by his determination to return to his body, TK forces himself to stand up after crashing hard onto the ground. The Hellknight he was battling charges towards him, prompting TK to gather all his strength and sprint towards his enemy. As the Hellknight attempts to strike with a punch, TK delivers one of his signature Flying Knee strikes, resulting in the Hellknight's head exploding upon impact. Its lifeless body collapses to the ground in a heavy heap. In the distance, TK hears Rodney in distress.


[Image: doom5.gif]



Woah, where are you taking me? This better not be some kink; I'm not into that kind of stuff, ya know?

The remaining two Hellknights had no interest in pursuing TK. Instead, they were focused on capturing Rodney, and they have successfully accomplished their mission. TK shouts out, grabbing the attention of the two Hellknights.

Hey, cunt lips!

The two Hellknights exchange glances before redirecting their attention towards TK.

Yeah, you! Oversized testicle tumor-looking fucks!

One of the Hellknights must know English because it roars and starts charging while the other escapes with Rodney as his prisoner. TK wastes no time with this Hellknight and Drops Kicks it to the knee. Setting it up for an Extra Face Pain De-Lux! Rodney has shown TK all how easy that move is to perform, literally, a child could do it. The Hellknight's head explodes. With a sense of urgency, TK runs in the direction of the escaped Hellknight. However, to no avail, they had gotten away.

FUCK!

Kicking the ash on the ground and sending embers into the air, TK looks pissed.

Horse dick! Goddamn!

TK closes his eyes, trying to regain some form of composure. He takes a deep breath, holding it for a second, then exhaling.

Alright, all I have to do is climb to the top of this fucking mountain. It's not like Rodney was doing me any goddamn good anyway! I guess, I'm doing this shit alone.

TK's journey isn't as paralyzing as it had been previously with Rodney in tow. Along the way, he effortlessly confronts and defeats some lesser demons. Maybe Rodney's talking was bringing in stronger demons. Whatever the case, TK is thankful, he looks a bit worse for wear. He decides to take a breather and maybe feel a little bit better. This has been the toughest situation TK has ever faced, yet, he's meeting it head-on. He mutters to himself.

Taking a rest isn't giving up. You got this.

Thinking about all the things he misses from Earth, life even. TK can't help verbalizing the one thing he misses most.

Goddamn, an ice-cold beer would be nice right now.

Wiping his brow, the mixture of sweat and blood doesn't even faze him. He stares blankly at the wall. Seeing Corey's smug face makes him snarl.

Heh, Corey thought fighting me was good for fucking business, good for his brand. He's about to find out that fighting me was bad for his goddamn legacy.

With a careful eye, scanning the area for danger, TK sits down and relaxes. He begins to think of all the matches that he's had. How he was able to overcome the obstacles in his way. He's even thinking of how to fix the obstacles he wasn't able to overcome, just so they won't happen again. As he rests he takes time to watch Corey's promotional material, seeing as it's still playing on the walls. TK sighs as Corey tries to play big time while having a shit record.

I wonder if his ass ever gets jealous of the amount of shit that just came out of his mouth? Bastard Above, he’s just a box full of emotions. First, he's all TK.

TK makes a gurgling sound effect with his spit and throat.

Then he's all like blah, you suck, blah, facts, blah I'm a pussy.

Blankly staring at the wall watching Corey respond to everything TK says.

I really am tired, ya know?

Shaking his head in discontent.

Christ on a cracker, now I'm talking like Rodney. Fuck!

TK looks up the mountain seeing that he isn't too far to the top now. He gazes off trying to soak up some more rest. Looking out he sees the peaks of other mountains; these towering behemoths are not majestic but rather resemble sharp and jagged teeth, ready to devour any hapless soul that dares to come too close. The sky, if it can even be called that, is an eternal abyss of swirling darkness. There are no stars to be seen, only the occasional flicker of distant flames dancing on the horizon. After taking his well-deserved break, TK feels an improvement in his energy levels. He may not be at his best yet, but he's undoubtedly fueled enough to conquer this mountain.


[Image: doom3.gif]



It doesn't even look as though there are many demons. At least ones that would feel ballsy enough to fight him. He climbs some pretty tough ledges until he gets to a path that spirals like a walkway to the top.

Thank fuck.

TK's breathing is heavy.

Almost done.

As he gradually walks towards the peak, the dark and ominous rear view of Hell's Throne comes into sight.

There you are, you little shit. Who puts shit on top of a mountain anyway.

TK slowly approaches the Throne of Hell, his eyes fixated on the figure seated upon it. The camera teasingly conceals the ruler's identity, heightening the suspense. However, TK's expression is a mix of shock and pissed.





The camera captures the face of Satan as his voice echoes through the air.


What a crowd! What a crowd! I'm old enough to remember when emojis were called hieroglyphics, ya know?

What, dude!? You said you didn't enter Hell! You're fucking Satan!

Woah, there, killer. I didn't say I didn't enter Hell. I said, I did, I came down here because Heaven wasn't as fun. So what? I'm the Devil, what can ya do? Ya know? Looks like you learned a valuable lesson, yeah? Heh, It's better to let someone think you are not the Devil than to open your mouth and prove it. I told you that you couldn't trust your friends. Now, you're here. Go ahead, ask me. I know you want to.

Fuck you, you know what I want.

Well, ask me for it. Who knows? Maybe we can make-

Rodney, a.k.a. Satan, rubs his hands together.

-a deal.

TK is fuming, having already sealed the deal earlier.

You know the deal, goddamn it! I made it with you when we first met.

Yeah, I show you around Hell, and you put respect on my name.

You know I'm trying to get back to my body. Don't fucking play with me!

Ah, yes, heh, that's never going to happen. You're mine now TK and if you thought your personal hell was bad as of now. Just wait until after Relentless. No more Corey promos. This was meant to give you hope, ya know? Keep you moving until I can take it away.

HA! What? Are you trying to give me a vacation or something?

Satan smirks at TK, knowing that what it will be placed with is that much worse and will devour TK’s soul.

No. They will be replaced with Centurion's back catalog.

Satan, chuckles gleefully, fully aware that he has created chaos for Relentless. TK appears bewildered, unable to comprehend the fact that he will no longer be a part of Relentless. Despite facing numerous challenges, TK places his trust in the one constant that has never let him down. He lowers his head, signaling all the dedicated Bastards across the globe to do the same. As they join TK in prayer, he absorbs the energy of all those living a wicked lifestyle, willingly surrendering their energy to him.

Oh, Bastardly One, I thank You for surrounding me with demons to kill and that YOU are THE mighty prick protecting me from low-hanging attacks. YOU are a strong Bastard that can do the impossible.

Firey embers are spinning around TK as the clouds in heaven did but at a faster pace.

I declare on my soul that Corey Smith cannot win. Because my Bastardly Father is for me, so who could possibly win against me? So, I will stand firm in the promise that the Bastard Above will keep me in perfect cold hatred as I fight my battle.

The ground beneath TK begins to fracture, and fragments of the earth start hovering in the air.

Bastardly Father, I ask you to remove doubt, fear, and worry from my mind. Make me the perfect instrument for the job.

Crimson lightning streaks across the sky of Hell, illuminating the descent of souls cast out from the very heights of Heaven.

I ask YOU to give me the strength to focus on the task at hand in this fiery trial. I submit completely to YOUR relentless leadership, YOUR dastardly plan, YOUR unbendable will, YOUR unyielding way, and YOUR powerful word. I will remain as obedient, as Thad to Corey, to YOU. I will surrender to no man, despite the ups and downs in this or any situation. YOU are my Bastard. YOU are my rock and solid foundation. Without YOU, Oh Bastardly One, my house would surely be built on sinking sand. With YOU, I am confident and planted firmly in ruthlessness. Building my home on the strong foundation of the tears and ashes of Coreytopia. I thank YOU for being my anchor through Hell. In the Bastards' name, I prey,

As he lifts his head, the fragments of the ground gradually fall. That's when TK opens his eyes, glowing with a fierce yellow hue, his body completely healed, and a wicked grin of sadistic delight spreads across his face.

A-fucking-men.

Strength and power, unlike anything seen before, radiates from TK. He appears prepared for any challenge that may come his way.


[Image: DoomGM.gif]



Casting a determined look towards Rodney, he extends his finger, causing a rift to tear open in the depths of hell. As the rift widens, he catches a glimpse of his own funeral, overshadowed by the attention-grabbing presence of Bobby Bourbon. This only serves to further stir TK's annoyance, as it proves Rodney's predictions to be true. Amidst the chaos, TK realizes that the only person he can truly rely on is himself. With determination and hatred coursing through his veins, TK clenches his hand, sealing the rift shut.

Why didn't you take it? You wanted back to you're body, ya know? Geesh, reminds me of the time-

Sprinting at Rodney and connecting with a Pimp Slap, so hard that Rodney's nose starts to bleed.

That's for sending your son Harmon to the XWF. I'll take care of that shit pot soon enough.

Rodney touches the wound and checks his hand. Noticing that he in fact bleeding.

I tell ya what, my son is an idiot. That's one I should have shot on the belly, for sure, ya know?

TK then Open Hand Slaps the taste out of Rodney again, sending Rodney two steps backward.

That's for wasting my time when you knew Miss Fury wasn't here!

Rodney grunts, he's had enough of TK's insolence. He's Satan and TK is a mortal man. This cannot stand!

Heh, you said I needed some wrestling moves. It's time to show you why not even GOD'S RECORD HAS EVER BEATEN ME CLEAN, YA KNOW!?

Cracking his knuckles, with his eyes gleaming yellow, TK leaps forward into the fray Rodney follows suit, and as they collide at the center, they continue relentlessly delivering Forearm Shivers to each other's skulls. Neither of them shows any signs of giving up. Finally, a powerful Forearm Shiver forces Rodney to stagger back, leaving him disoriented momentarily. Out of nowhere, Rodney retaliates with a tremendous Super Kick that sends TK reeling. Without wasting a moment, Rodney swiftly transitions into a Wrist Lock, but he doesn't stop there. Rodney seamlessly transitions from the Wrist Lock into a devastating Knee to the Face. TK hits the ground hard, but he quickly regains his footing. Nonchalantly brushing away fiery embers from his armor, TK then to crack his neck.

Is that the best you got, bitch?

Walking up to TK, Rodney’s temper is getting the best of him, with various chops from Rodney. TK isn’t budging. Even more annoyed now that TK isn’t falling Rodney turns around and runs in the opposite direction. No, he’s making a circle closing the distance between the two men again. Sliding drop kick! This takes TK to the ground!  Without wasting time, or momentum, Rodney goes for a Standing Moonsault. NO! Alabama Slam by TK. He stood up right up and snatched Rodney out of the air! TK drags Rodney toward the edge of the ledge, he picks up Rodney, Scoop Slam off the side of the ledge!

Demons begin to surround TK as they get closer he flinches at them, backing them up. TK jumps down to where Rodney is. Rodney tries to play possum but it does him no good. Rodney tries to Surprise Throat Punch TK, but TK knows all about Corey Smith’s tricks and forces Rodney into a Test of Strength. Back and forth the two mean duel in the Test of Strength. Until TK gets the upper hand by kicking Rodney in the gut. Rodney falls to the ground in pain and TK stands over him. Looking down on Rodney, like Corey Smith looks down on everyone he faces, TK grabs his ankle, and Rodney kicks out of the danger he finds himself in. TK gets back to his feet, and turns around as Rodney goes for a Spinning Back Kick to the head! TK dodges the kick by slightly moving his head backward two inches. Rodney looks in shock as TK grins and grumbles one word.

Telegraphed.

Sweeping the legs out from underneath Rodney, like in Mortal Kombat, Rodney falls to the ground. Realizing he's in danger again, Rodney rolls over on his belly. He doesn't realize the mistake he's made. In doing so, Rodney allows TK to perform his signature Ankle Lock! Rodney is writhing in pain. Wait! TK turns it over quickly and THUNDER STRIKE! Rodney's out cold. TK breathing heavily as he stands over Rodney's body. TK smirks and leaves Rodney lying on the ground. He climbs back to the top of the mountain, standing next to the Throne of Hell. After knowing that the job is done. TK explains why he didn't go back to his body.

The Slanderer. The Deceiver. The Tempter. The Father of Lies. The Enemy. No matter what moniker you wanna give me. My name is Thunder Knuckles.

TK casually sits on the Throne of Hell.

I'll go back to my body on the twenty fifth. For now, I'll wait for Corey to show up.

A cage encapsulates around the Throne of Hell as TK snaps his fingers. From the ceiling, an array of hooks hang, appearing to dangle from thin air. The chains sway and ignite the cage in flames. The final glimpse of this promotional material shows TK seated on the Throne of Hell, encircled by the Tenth Circle.
]]> <![CDATA[Thanatopsis Redux, part 3]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46911 Sat, 23 Sep 2023 17:28:01 -0700 Corey Smith]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46911 September 16
The Wainscott Compound

White hot pain fanned out the back of Corey’s skull as he came to. His eyes irised open and immediately shut again, because the presence of bright lights only served to intensify his headache tenfold. But, as sense started to trickle back in and his nerves got back to work, Corey became acutely aware of a disturbing fact.

His feet were not on the ground.

Corey grimaced and forced his eyes open, sucking down the pain of the throb in the back of his head, and barely resisted the urge to panic. Corey was held above a massive cage, almost like a bird cage, with an opening at the top. He was restrained into a harness attached to a thick metal chain on the ceiling. And though his hands were bound Corey was still able to sense that the ring Pan had given him, the one that accidentally took him to the In-Between, was gone. Of course, it wasn’t as if he’d be able to use it in his current state anyway.

fOooooOOOOD!

A voice called out from below, and Corey’s gaze penetrated the painful aural miasma of the lighting long enough to see that there were six figures in the cage below. Each one looked like Dexter Bright, but they were covered in filth. One of them was even wearing a Sesame street shirt that looked to be hosed in vomit. And, when one started talking, they all started pointing up at Corey and cheering.

FooooOOOOOOOddddd!

They’re calling me food. Oh Jesus, where the fuck am I? What is going on?

Hello Corey! A choked voice called out from down below. Corey grimaced again, fighting back the pain in his head, as he scanned the outside of the cage and saw the human nightmare that was Ambrose Wainscott. He was flanked by two security guards, while a third man, closer to the cage, had his eyes trained on the Dexter’s.

Bring him in closer. I want to get face to face with the little cocksucker.

Corey felt a jolt behind him, and he started to move. Slowly, up and over the cage and then lowered down to Wainscott’s level. Corey could hear the Dexter’s anticipatory snarling behind him.

Do you remember me, Corey?

Yes.

Wainscott actually looked a little surprised. Or as much evidence of surprise as that melted face could provide. Oh. I actually wasn’t expecting that. So you’re well aware of what Lux did to me.

Yes. Corey admitted, knowing full well where this was going. Corey had practically begged Lux to put Ambrose out of his misery back then, rather than leave him with a broken neck to burn to death. But Corey wasn’t about to offer up that information in a paltry attempt to bargain. He knew there would be no bargaining here, so it was pointless to try.

Wainscott moved his wheelchair in with the toggle next to his only remaining movable limb, getting as face to face with Corey as he could. Corey stared back into those blackened washed out pools that Ambrose called eyes and he could almost have been sick. So you know Lux left my crippled ass to burn.

I do.

And how do you feel about that Corey? Hmmmm?

I have faith she did what she needed to do.

Ambrose barked out a throaty laugh. “Did what she had to do.” You realize what she did to me was some war crimes shit, right?

It sounds like you made plenty of people suffer. It sounds like you deserved it.

Nobody deserves this! Ambrose hissed, spittle flicking from his hole of a mouth into Corey’s face. Nobody deserves the daily pain and agony. Nobody deserves to piss through a tube their whole life. Nobody deserves to go their entire existence without so much as being able to jerk off for lack of a steady hand and a burnt up dick! WHO DESERVES THAT COREY?!

Corey was almost tempted to feel sorry for the man. Almost. If Lux hadn’t told him of the horrors Ambrose Wainscott had meted out on others on a regular basis.

It’s my unfortunate duty to inform you that you will not be making it to Relentless. An event which, ironically enough, is “Hell” themed. No, Corey, no,no,no….you’ll be too busy wrapped up in your own personal hell RIGHT HERE. Wainscott pointed at the Dexter’s in the cage. You see those animalstic imbeciles? I taught those living brain stems to eat human flesh Corey. And guess who’s on the menu?

Jesus. Corey tried not to let his fear show. But he was damn near boiling over. Was this how it ended? Being eaten alive in this hell?!

Take his shoes off. I want them to tear into his feet first. The grunts moved over to Corey, untying his shoes. Corey was too bound to do anything but watch them do it as they pulled off his footwear and socks.

Oh look at those little piggies. Too bad none are going to market today. Hoist him up!

No, no, no! Oh God! Corey wailed inawardly, struggling against his bindings. But they held fast. The hoist lifted Corey back over the top of the cage. I have one chance to save myself. Corey thought, and he started to push his body in a rocking motion, swaying back and forth above the top entrance to the cage, hoping to avoid the plunge into it.

God damn it! Can’t you see what he’s doing?! Hoist him up again.

Corey felt himself violently jerked back up again, and again he tried to sway away from the opening, but this time they dropped him too fast for him to succeed. Now, all that was left were the brainless ravenous Dexter’s not even 20 feet below him. They started to leap and grab at him in their perverse excitement. Tears pushed out of Corey’s eyes. He didn’t want them to see it, but all he was inside was anger, terror and desperation.

Please God not like this….not like this!

But then from the depths of despair, a miracle transpired.

Not too far in the distance, Corey could hear the distinctive sound of gunfire. His plummet into the maws of those frenzied Dexter’s mercifully ceased.

What the fuck is going on?! Wainscott coughed out in a fit of rage.

Just then, another Dexter exploded into the room, armed with a rifle. He raised it at the first of Ambrose’s guards and fired before he could even retrieve his sidearm. The other goon was a bit faster on the draw, but still got plugged square in the chest. The Dexter’s handler, who had been operating the hoist, threw his hands in the air and yelled something in Spanish Corey couldn’t descern. He got shot anyway.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

HORSE PENIS! Dexter shouted back at Ambrose. He grabbed hold of Ambrose’s motorized chair and tossed him out of it to the floor. YOU MADE ME SUCK HORSE PENIS! Dexter marched over to the Dexter’s handler and grabbed a key ring off of him. Then, going to the cage door, he started trying the keys in the lock one by one.

NO! Don’t open that you fool! They’ll eat us alive!

By now, the Dexter’s attention had been drawn away from Corey and to the door, which they were now eying expectantly. Finally, with a *clink* sound the lock gave way.

Sayonara suckwad!

He opened the door. The Dexter’s lunged forth and Corey fully expected his rescuer to be immediately dragged to the ground and devoured…but they just ran right past him…and straight to Ambrose. They crowded around Ambrose’s downed form and in an instant the perverse billionaire couldn’t even be seen through the feeding frenzy that commenced. His screams cut off after about five seconds. Corey shied away from the gruesome scene and chanced calling out to his rescuer.

Hey! Can you get me down?!

The Dexter looked up. Oh shit, how did you get up there?!

It…it doesn’t matter! Do you see that button to the hoist over there? Just push it.

The Dexter did as he was told and soon Corey was back on terra firma.

Cool! Now help me unlatch this harness please! The Dexter did that as well, helping Corey to free himself. Thank God you came when you did. Thank you so much!

No problem man.

I’m glad you’re not one of those…uh….other Dexter’s.

I know what you mean. I can be kind of an asshole sometimes. Dexter looks back at the others still eating Ambrose. We should probably get the fuck outta here before they start lookin’ at us the same way they look at old Ambrose there.

I agree. Where do we go?

Follow me!

Wait! Corey stopped short. The Engineer? Where is he?

Huh? Oh I don’t know where that guy goes.

Are you sure? He looks different now. Corey proceeded to describe Pan but the Dexter just looked at him blankly at first before the lightbulb came on.

Oh shiiiiit. That guy bailed like a few hours ago in a helicopter.

Fuck! Corey eyed the ravenous Dexters nervously. Alright, lets move.

September 18
Neverland

So you just LEFT?! The hatchet faced boy on the prosecution side inquired.

Corey, who was now sitting in defense of himself in a folding chair next to Judge Kevin’s ramshackle podium, replied. I didn’t have much of a choice. There were rabid cannibals and whatever was left of Wainscott’s goons on the property. Plus Dexter said he was already gone.

JUDGE KEVIN I OBJECT! Pedro interjected.

Judge Kevin eyed him up with disdain. You’re objecting to a statement from your own client? What are you, a moron?

No, I’m objecting to how mean the prosecution is being to Corey!

You can’t object to meanness!

Can to!

Can NOT! Final word! Kevin banged his gavel.

Fine, then can I say something?

I guess.

Pedro came out from behind his table and took center stage. Look guys, I know we all miss Pan. I do too. But I think we’re also being real tough on Corey. Pan demanded to go with Corey, he didn’t give Corey much of a choice. And how were they supposed to know they would end up going face to face with that many Dexter’s at once! That’s a lotta Dexter’s and I think any one of us would have gotten our asses kicked!

Not me! Sounded off the boy from the prosecution.

Yes you would have, Ralph, shaddap! Pedro adjusted his vest smartly. As I was saying, Corey wasn’t given a choice. Pan took away that choice, and things went south. We cant blame Corey for that. And furthermore, I think it’s clear that Corey still loves Pan very much.

I do. Corey replied solemnly.

And I believe Corey when he says he’ll move Heaven and Earth to find Pan again. I really do. And with Corey on the case, I gotta say I like Pan’s odds.

Pedro shot Corey a thumbs up and Corey returned it.

I think I’ve heard enough to render my verdict.

Corey took a deep breath, preparing for the worst.

Corey, I’ve never liked you.

Well this is starting out fantastic.

But for some reason our good friend Pan sees something in you. He sees something worth loving. And that’s a pretty big deal. I also don’t think you meant to get Pan hurt. So, because I’m a fair guy, I’m NOT going to banish you…

Corey let out a whoosh of relief. Pedro clapped his hands together and did a little jump in the air.

….YET.

Pedro cut short his celebration and Corey looked to the judge.

Corey, I am putting you in charge of a mission to find Pan and bring him back to us. And Pedro? You’re going too!

Me?! Pedro squeaked. But I don’t know how to fight!

Well, you better learn. And Corey, you have three Earth months from today to find Pan and bring him back unharmed. If you don’t, consider yourself banished! That’s my ruling and I’m sticking to it! He banged his gavel one final time. Pedro ran right up to Corey.

Ah geeze Corey I don't know what to do. I'm pretty useless at adventuring. I'm not like you.

Corey patted Pedro on the shoulder. Don’t worry man, after that stellar defense of me there’s no way I’d let you die.

Pedro smiled warmly, still clearly existing in the afterglow of his favorite XWF superstar. Corey just wished he could share in those optimistic feelings. Losing Pan had left him feeling like anything but a “superstar”.

NOW

The shot panned over the length of Corey’s home. The construction was clearly getting further along, with more parts of the damaged property mended than not. Corey stood in one of the main living areas, admiring the very expensive handiwork of his contractors. But it was worth it. In fact, it had even given him the chance to enact some much needed upgrades. Every cloud, a silver lining, and all that. Corey spun about back towards the camera.

And here we are at the beginning again. He gestured back at the house. But I actually don’t want to talk about that. Thunder Knuckles craven strike at the heart of Coreytopia has been discussed to death.

No, instead, I want to talk about TK’s promotional masterstroke. His piece de resistance! Yes folks I’m talking about TK’s admission that he’s too dumb to understand what I’m saying. And what’s more, he assumes you’re all too dumb to understand what I’m saying too.

Corey wipes his hand down his face in consternation.

TK, your admission doesn’t make you some folksy antihero, man of the people. It makes you a fucking idiot. It makes you the kind of fucking idiot that pisses a man off to the point he crafts a SAW flavored death match just for you. It makes you the kind of fucking idiot who describes your fight strategy to me so I know precisely what moves to avoid. And most of all…

…it makes you the kind of fucking idiot who’s happily willing to grab each and every single one of those briefcases to get what you want. You see TK, I don’t think the nature of this match has sunk through that sodden moron swamp you call an intellect. In fact, I KNOW it hasn’t because you had the dumbass audacity to call me a COWARD for creating it.

Thunder Knuckles, does a man who is a coward fill a ring with 19 different tortures to potentially wade through on the way to becoming a Universal Champion? No, TK. The cowardly thing to do would have been to keep this easy. To create a match that truly would have benefitted me and my superior speed and cardio. But I didn’t do that. I crafted an experience designed to make us BOTH suffer, bleed and sacrifice for that Universal Championship. Now does that sound like the work of a coward to you? A masochist, sure. A lunatic, most definitely! But a coward? Just more bullshit from Them No Good Bastard’s lesser half. 

Shit, you don’t even understand the rules of this match, do you? You asked what happens if you inflict a chosen torture on your opponent rather than yourself? By God you make stupid seem like genius by comparison. Let me tell you what happens, gifted one: YOU LOSE THE MATCH BECAUSE YOU REFUSED TO DO THE CHALLENGE. So yeah, ply that one out and see how it works for you. 

You’re just doing what you always do, TK. Plunging ahead with the same kind of willy nilly blase ignorance. You’re the kind of man who addresses every problem by flailing your arms wildly and hoping the problem runs into you. You know, like a CHILD. Completely unwilling to accept that you’re already in the thick of the problem as it buries you alive.

Oh, and big GRATZ for being the one millionth depthless void of creativity to call me the bad guy and accuse me of using my friends. That is the calling card of everyone who has run out of things to say about me but wants to crank out a couple more minutes of content to appeal to whatever slavering masochists watch your bullshit parade.

TK, I haven’t lost my fire because I paid you some due deference. In fact, the fact that you perceive it that way tells us a hell of a lot about your childlike vision of what dominance looks like. You think it's all blustering bravado and tired trash talk and maybe that's because that's what you're used to.

But that's not what I am. Not anymore at least.

I have honed my rage like a craft. Turned it from a clumsy maul into a lithe stiletto aimed at your heart. You spent a couple minutes thinking about turning some flippy shit into a powerbomb? Goody goody. Because you know what I've been doing? Watching every single one of your matches for the last two years. Channeling that anger into a cold, dispassionate quest to undermine everything you do in the ring. TK I know what fist you lead with. I know which way you tend to dodge. I know what chances you are and aren't willing to take in the ring.

Bitch, I KNOW YOU. And I GOT YOU.

But I’ll join you for a moment in fantasy land. Yeah, let’s share a moment in consideration of Thunder Knuckles as Universal Champion. I’m sure you’d like to think you’re on the precipice of something legendary. Maybe even outlasting Alias, or Robert Main, or even the original Engineer. Too bad all signs point to “no”.

So, TK, are you aware there are, like, TWO 24/7 briefcases in circulation? Both of which held by former Universal Champions? One of which held by your BFF forever in the whole wide world, Bobby Bourbon? Speaking of which, have you two had a discussion about that? Figure it might be relevant given the implications and all.

Oh, you haven’t?

Ruh roh.

What’s more, how much gas do you think you’re going to have in the tank after this match? And let’s just blitz past all that ignorant bravado and stick with reality this time. The answer is NONE. No gas in the tank. Not after you’ve taken tweezers to your gonads or stapled your ears to the sides of your head or whatever other sick shit I came up with.

So, TK, are you aware that this is, like, RELENTLESS? The grandpappy of them all? The biggest show in the entire XWF pantheon? Boy it sure would be neat to cash in a 24/7 briefcase on that show…uh oh…

Are you picking up what I’m putting down? I mean, I know you’re mighty slow on the uptake by your own admission, but are you really getting it?

Just how long do you think this reign of yours is gonna last?

And I’m not gonna lie. A small part of me, very, very small mind you, is kinda slavering to see the angst and heartbreak that gets written on your face if Bobby Bourbon cashes in on your bloodied carcass at the end of Relentless. Have you even considered that? I’m guessing not seeing as how you’ve tap danced around the spectre of that scenario the entire time.

So it’s summary time kids. What we have is a severely overconfident nimrod who scarcely understands the English language, who doesn’t understand the rules of the match he’s entering, who thinks that I’m just going to walk right into his counter moves after he spelled out what they are (and which he didn’t think all that hard about anyway), who, even if he wins, stands a very high chance of getting cashed in on (maybe by his best friend), and becoming the biggest Universal flop since Bobby Bourbon himself.

Ooof, that’s a mouthful. But unlike pretty much anything Thunder Knuckles has said, actually holds a candle to objective truth.

And hey, I’m well aware that the doomsday scenario could happen to me too. I’m well aware I could just as easily get cashed in on at the end of all this, and that by creating this match I just might have signed the death certificate of my own Universal Championship reign.

But ya know what?

WORTH IT.

Abso-fucking-lutely 100% WORTH IT. Just to see you suffer. Just to see you agonize over whether or not 1 more torture is worth the gold. Just to see you looking up at me with those pleading eyes as it all comes crashing down on you that maybe, just maybe, you SHOULD NOT HAVE FUCKED WITH COREY SMITH.

Was it worth it for you, TK? Boy I sure hope so. Because at Relentless, you’re gonna hurt. You’re gonna bleed. And you’re gonna beg the bastardly father in the sky to make it all end. But it won’t. Because there will still be 10 odd more briefcases to go through. And a million miles to go before you can rest.

Joachim Bright peeks his head around the corner. Hey, Corey? That sounded like denoument to me. Are you done?

Yes I am done. And incidentally thanks for dropping another word that’s going to confuse Thunder Knuckles. What’s up?

Come on out front and see. Joachim ducked back out of the shot as Corey looks at the camera, mystified. But head to the front he does, and as he steps through his home and past the threshold of the front door, he’s greeted by a sight that gives him pause.

All of the residents of Coreytopia have amassed on his front lawn. Joachim stands on the front steps, smiling wide as he looks up at Corey.

Listen man, we all talked it over, and, well, we don’t want you to close the commune.

Corey looks moved, but still apprehensive. But Jo, we talked about this…

Yeah, and so did we. We understand the dangers. We understand your concerns. And we want you to know that we stand with you. All the way. Because we all think this community is worth it. We think YOU are worth it. And that no matter how many times people have tried to drag you through the mud because of Coreytopia, we know you’re a good, honest person who just wants to make people feel safe and hopeful. And that means the world to us. So, will you please keep the commune open? Please?

Corey looks deeply torn as he looks out at the people. HIS people. HIS friends. And as he considers each of their faces in turn, he doesn’t see fear or regret. He sees happiness. He sees hope. And he sees a faith in him that he hasn’t felt in quite some time. Corey takes a moment to brush away an errant tear before it can crest onto his cheek.

I don’t know what to say…

You can start by saying “yes”.

Corey is still for a moment before finally nodding his head. Okay…yes. My answer is yes. We can stay open.

His people erupt into cheers. But Corey holds a hand up to quiet them.

But there’s something I need to do. Pan is still missing. And I need to find him. So I’m afraid I won’t be around much. I’ll need a stand in. Someone I can trust. I have somebody in mind, but I need to talk it over with him first. Corey shoots a furtive glance at Joachim. Joachim parts his lips a bit in surprise but doesn’t let on any further hints that he understands.

But yes, as long as I’m still breathing, this community has a place. And we won’t let hate tear it down. Thank you all for believing in me.

With that, Corey steps out amongst his people, finally feeling home.]]> September 16
The Wainscott Compound

White hot pain fanned out the back of Corey’s skull as he came to. His eyes irised open and immediately shut again, because the presence of bright lights only served to intensify his headache tenfold. But, as sense started to trickle back in and his nerves got back to work, Corey became acutely aware of a disturbing fact.

His feet were not on the ground.

Corey grimaced and forced his eyes open, sucking down the pain of the throb in the back of his head, and barely resisted the urge to panic. Corey was held above a massive cage, almost like a bird cage, with an opening at the top. He was restrained into a harness attached to a thick metal chain on the ceiling. And though his hands were bound Corey was still able to sense that the ring Pan had given him, the one that accidentally took him to the In-Between, was gone. Of course, it wasn’t as if he’d be able to use it in his current state anyway.

fOooooOOOOD!

A voice called out from below, and Corey’s gaze penetrated the painful aural miasma of the lighting long enough to see that there were six figures in the cage below. Each one looked like Dexter Bright, but they were covered in filth. One of them was even wearing a Sesame street shirt that looked to be hosed in vomit. And, when one started talking, they all started pointing up at Corey and cheering.

FooooOOOOOOOddddd!

They’re calling me food. Oh Jesus, where the fuck am I? What is going on?

Hello Corey! A choked voice called out from down below. Corey grimaced again, fighting back the pain in his head, as he scanned the outside of the cage and saw the human nightmare that was Ambrose Wainscott. He was flanked by two security guards, while a third man, closer to the cage, had his eyes trained on the Dexter’s.

Bring him in closer. I want to get face to face with the little cocksucker.

Corey felt a jolt behind him, and he started to move. Slowly, up and over the cage and then lowered down to Wainscott’s level. Corey could hear the Dexter’s anticipatory snarling behind him.

Do you remember me, Corey?

Yes.

Wainscott actually looked a little surprised. Or as much evidence of surprise as that melted face could provide. Oh. I actually wasn’t expecting that. So you’re well aware of what Lux did to me.

Yes. Corey admitted, knowing full well where this was going. Corey had practically begged Lux to put Ambrose out of his misery back then, rather than leave him with a broken neck to burn to death. But Corey wasn’t about to offer up that information in a paltry attempt to bargain. He knew there would be no bargaining here, so it was pointless to try.

Wainscott moved his wheelchair in with the toggle next to his only remaining movable limb, getting as face to face with Corey as he could. Corey stared back into those blackened washed out pools that Ambrose called eyes and he could almost have been sick. So you know Lux left my crippled ass to burn.

I do.

And how do you feel about that Corey? Hmmmm?

I have faith she did what she needed to do.

Ambrose barked out a throaty laugh. “Did what she had to do.” You realize what she did to me was some war crimes shit, right?

It sounds like you made plenty of people suffer. It sounds like you deserved it.

Nobody deserves this! Ambrose hissed, spittle flicking from his hole of a mouth into Corey’s face. Nobody deserves the daily pain and agony. Nobody deserves to piss through a tube their whole life. Nobody deserves to go their entire existence without so much as being able to jerk off for lack of a steady hand and a burnt up dick! WHO DESERVES THAT COREY?!

Corey was almost tempted to feel sorry for the man. Almost. If Lux hadn’t told him of the horrors Ambrose Wainscott had meted out on others on a regular basis.

It’s my unfortunate duty to inform you that you will not be making it to Relentless. An event which, ironically enough, is “Hell” themed. No, Corey, no,no,no….you’ll be too busy wrapped up in your own personal hell RIGHT HERE. Wainscott pointed at the Dexter’s in the cage. You see those animalstic imbeciles? I taught those living brain stems to eat human flesh Corey. And guess who’s on the menu?

Jesus. Corey tried not to let his fear show. But he was damn near boiling over. Was this how it ended? Being eaten alive in this hell?!

Take his shoes off. I want them to tear into his feet first. The grunts moved over to Corey, untying his shoes. Corey was too bound to do anything but watch them do it as they pulled off his footwear and socks.

Oh look at those little piggies. Too bad none are going to market today. Hoist him up!

No, no, no! Oh God! Corey wailed inawardly, struggling against his bindings. But they held fast. The hoist lifted Corey back over the top of the cage. I have one chance to save myself. Corey thought, and he started to push his body in a rocking motion, swaying back and forth above the top entrance to the cage, hoping to avoid the plunge into it.

God damn it! Can’t you see what he’s doing?! Hoist him up again.

Corey felt himself violently jerked back up again, and again he tried to sway away from the opening, but this time they dropped him too fast for him to succeed. Now, all that was left were the brainless ravenous Dexter’s not even 20 feet below him. They started to leap and grab at him in their perverse excitement. Tears pushed out of Corey’s eyes. He didn’t want them to see it, but all he was inside was anger, terror and desperation.

Please God not like this….not like this!

But then from the depths of despair, a miracle transpired.

Not too far in the distance, Corey could hear the distinctive sound of gunfire. His plummet into the maws of those frenzied Dexter’s mercifully ceased.

What the fuck is going on?! Wainscott coughed out in a fit of rage.

Just then, another Dexter exploded into the room, armed with a rifle. He raised it at the first of Ambrose’s guards and fired before he could even retrieve his sidearm. The other goon was a bit faster on the draw, but still got plugged square in the chest. The Dexter’s handler, who had been operating the hoist, threw his hands in the air and yelled something in Spanish Corey couldn’t descern. He got shot anyway.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

HORSE PENIS! Dexter shouted back at Ambrose. He grabbed hold of Ambrose’s motorized chair and tossed him out of it to the floor. YOU MADE ME SUCK HORSE PENIS! Dexter marched over to the Dexter’s handler and grabbed a key ring off of him. Then, going to the cage door, he started trying the keys in the lock one by one.

NO! Don’t open that you fool! They’ll eat us alive!

By now, the Dexter’s attention had been drawn away from Corey and to the door, which they were now eying expectantly. Finally, with a *clink* sound the lock gave way.

Sayonara suckwad!

He opened the door. The Dexter’s lunged forth and Corey fully expected his rescuer to be immediately dragged to the ground and devoured…but they just ran right past him…and straight to Ambrose. They crowded around Ambrose’s downed form and in an instant the perverse billionaire couldn’t even be seen through the feeding frenzy that commenced. His screams cut off after about five seconds. Corey shied away from the gruesome scene and chanced calling out to his rescuer.

Hey! Can you get me down?!

The Dexter looked up. Oh shit, how did you get up there?!

It…it doesn’t matter! Do you see that button to the hoist over there? Just push it.

The Dexter did as he was told and soon Corey was back on terra firma.

Cool! Now help me unlatch this harness please! The Dexter did that as well, helping Corey to free himself. Thank God you came when you did. Thank you so much!

No problem man.

I’m glad you’re not one of those…uh….other Dexter’s.

I know what you mean. I can be kind of an asshole sometimes. Dexter looks back at the others still eating Ambrose. We should probably get the fuck outta here before they start lookin’ at us the same way they look at old Ambrose there.

I agree. Where do we go?

Follow me!

Wait! Corey stopped short. The Engineer? Where is he?

Huh? Oh I don’t know where that guy goes.

Are you sure? He looks different now. Corey proceeded to describe Pan but the Dexter just looked at him blankly at first before the lightbulb came on.

Oh shiiiiit. That guy bailed like a few hours ago in a helicopter.

Fuck! Corey eyed the ravenous Dexters nervously. Alright, lets move.

September 18
Neverland

So you just LEFT?! The hatchet faced boy on the prosecution side inquired.

Corey, who was now sitting in defense of himself in a folding chair next to Judge Kevin’s ramshackle podium, replied. I didn’t have much of a choice. There were rabid cannibals and whatever was left of Wainscott’s goons on the property. Plus Dexter said he was already gone.

JUDGE KEVIN I OBJECT! Pedro interjected.

Judge Kevin eyed him up with disdain. You’re objecting to a statement from your own client? What are you, a moron?

No, I’m objecting to how mean the prosecution is being to Corey!

You can’t object to meanness!

Can to!

Can NOT! Final word! Kevin banged his gavel.

Fine, then can I say something?

I guess.

Pedro came out from behind his table and took center stage. Look guys, I know we all miss Pan. I do too. But I think we’re also being real tough on Corey. Pan demanded to go with Corey, he didn’t give Corey much of a choice. And how were they supposed to know they would end up going face to face with that many Dexter’s at once! That’s a lotta Dexter’s and I think any one of us would have gotten our asses kicked!

Not me! Sounded off the boy from the prosecution.

Yes you would have, Ralph, shaddap! Pedro adjusted his vest smartly. As I was saying, Corey wasn’t given a choice. Pan took away that choice, and things went south. We cant blame Corey for that. And furthermore, I think it’s clear that Corey still loves Pan very much.

I do. Corey replied solemnly.

And I believe Corey when he says he’ll move Heaven and Earth to find Pan again. I really do. And with Corey on the case, I gotta say I like Pan’s odds.

Pedro shot Corey a thumbs up and Corey returned it.

I think I’ve heard enough to render my verdict.

Corey took a deep breath, preparing for the worst.

Corey, I’ve never liked you.

Well this is starting out fantastic.

But for some reason our good friend Pan sees something in you. He sees something worth loving. And that’s a pretty big deal. I also don’t think you meant to get Pan hurt. So, because I’m a fair guy, I’m NOT going to banish you…

Corey let out a whoosh of relief. Pedro clapped his hands together and did a little jump in the air.

….YET.

Pedro cut short his celebration and Corey looked to the judge.

Corey, I am putting you in charge of a mission to find Pan and bring him back to us. And Pedro? You’re going too!

Me?! Pedro squeaked. But I don’t know how to fight!

Well, you better learn. And Corey, you have three Earth months from today to find Pan and bring him back unharmed. If you don’t, consider yourself banished! That’s my ruling and I’m sticking to it! He banged his gavel one final time. Pedro ran right up to Corey.

Ah geeze Corey I don't know what to do. I'm pretty useless at adventuring. I'm not like you.

Corey patted Pedro on the shoulder. Don’t worry man, after that stellar defense of me there’s no way I’d let you die.

Pedro smiled warmly, still clearly existing in the afterglow of his favorite XWF superstar. Corey just wished he could share in those optimistic feelings. Losing Pan had left him feeling like anything but a “superstar”.

NOW

The shot panned over the length of Corey’s home. The construction was clearly getting further along, with more parts of the damaged property mended than not. Corey stood in one of the main living areas, admiring the very expensive handiwork of his contractors. But it was worth it. In fact, it had even given him the chance to enact some much needed upgrades. Every cloud, a silver lining, and all that. Corey spun about back towards the camera.

And here we are at the beginning again. He gestured back at the house. But I actually don’t want to talk about that. Thunder Knuckles craven strike at the heart of Coreytopia has been discussed to death.

No, instead, I want to talk about TK’s promotional masterstroke. His piece de resistance! Yes folks I’m talking about TK’s admission that he’s too dumb to understand what I’m saying. And what’s more, he assumes you’re all too dumb to understand what I’m saying too.

Corey wipes his hand down his face in consternation.

TK, your admission doesn’t make you some folksy antihero, man of the people. It makes you a fucking idiot. It makes you the kind of fucking idiot that pisses a man off to the point he crafts a SAW flavored death match just for you. It makes you the kind of fucking idiot who describes your fight strategy to me so I know precisely what moves to avoid. And most of all…

…it makes you the kind of fucking idiot who’s happily willing to grab each and every single one of those briefcases to get what you want. You see TK, I don’t think the nature of this match has sunk through that sodden moron swamp you call an intellect. In fact, I KNOW it hasn’t because you had the dumbass audacity to call me a COWARD for creating it.

Thunder Knuckles, does a man who is a coward fill a ring with 19 different tortures to potentially wade through on the way to becoming a Universal Champion? No, TK. The cowardly thing to do would have been to keep this easy. To create a match that truly would have benefitted me and my superior speed and cardio. But I didn’t do that. I crafted an experience designed to make us BOTH suffer, bleed and sacrifice for that Universal Championship. Now does that sound like the work of a coward to you? A masochist, sure. A lunatic, most definitely! But a coward? Just more bullshit from Them No Good Bastard’s lesser half. 

Shit, you don’t even understand the rules of this match, do you? You asked what happens if you inflict a chosen torture on your opponent rather than yourself? By God you make stupid seem like genius by comparison. Let me tell you what happens, gifted one: YOU LOSE THE MATCH BECAUSE YOU REFUSED TO DO THE CHALLENGE. So yeah, ply that one out and see how it works for you. 

You’re just doing what you always do, TK. Plunging ahead with the same kind of willy nilly blase ignorance. You’re the kind of man who addresses every problem by flailing your arms wildly and hoping the problem runs into you. You know, like a CHILD. Completely unwilling to accept that you’re already in the thick of the problem as it buries you alive.

Oh, and big GRATZ for being the one millionth depthless void of creativity to call me the bad guy and accuse me of using my friends. That is the calling card of everyone who has run out of things to say about me but wants to crank out a couple more minutes of content to appeal to whatever slavering masochists watch your bullshit parade.

TK, I haven’t lost my fire because I paid you some due deference. In fact, the fact that you perceive it that way tells us a hell of a lot about your childlike vision of what dominance looks like. You think it's all blustering bravado and tired trash talk and maybe that's because that's what you're used to.

But that's not what I am. Not anymore at least.

I have honed my rage like a craft. Turned it from a clumsy maul into a lithe stiletto aimed at your heart. You spent a couple minutes thinking about turning some flippy shit into a powerbomb? Goody goody. Because you know what I've been doing? Watching every single one of your matches for the last two years. Channeling that anger into a cold, dispassionate quest to undermine everything you do in the ring. TK I know what fist you lead with. I know which way you tend to dodge. I know what chances you are and aren't willing to take in the ring.

Bitch, I KNOW YOU. And I GOT YOU.

But I’ll join you for a moment in fantasy land. Yeah, let’s share a moment in consideration of Thunder Knuckles as Universal Champion. I’m sure you’d like to think you’re on the precipice of something legendary. Maybe even outlasting Alias, or Robert Main, or even the original Engineer. Too bad all signs point to “no”.

So, TK, are you aware there are, like, TWO 24/7 briefcases in circulation? Both of which held by former Universal Champions? One of which held by your BFF forever in the whole wide world, Bobby Bourbon? Speaking of which, have you two had a discussion about that? Figure it might be relevant given the implications and all.

Oh, you haven’t?

Ruh roh.

What’s more, how much gas do you think you’re going to have in the tank after this match? And let’s just blitz past all that ignorant bravado and stick with reality this time. The answer is NONE. No gas in the tank. Not after you’ve taken tweezers to your gonads or stapled your ears to the sides of your head or whatever other sick shit I came up with.

So, TK, are you aware that this is, like, RELENTLESS? The grandpappy of them all? The biggest show in the entire XWF pantheon? Boy it sure would be neat to cash in a 24/7 briefcase on that show…uh oh…

Are you picking up what I’m putting down? I mean, I know you’re mighty slow on the uptake by your own admission, but are you really getting it?

Just how long do you think this reign of yours is gonna last?

And I’m not gonna lie. A small part of me, very, very small mind you, is kinda slavering to see the angst and heartbreak that gets written on your face if Bobby Bourbon cashes in on your bloodied carcass at the end of Relentless. Have you even considered that? I’m guessing not seeing as how you’ve tap danced around the spectre of that scenario the entire time.

So it’s summary time kids. What we have is a severely overconfident nimrod who scarcely understands the English language, who doesn’t understand the rules of the match he’s entering, who thinks that I’m just going to walk right into his counter moves after he spelled out what they are (and which he didn’t think all that hard about anyway), who, even if he wins, stands a very high chance of getting cashed in on (maybe by his best friend), and becoming the biggest Universal flop since Bobby Bourbon himself.

Ooof, that’s a mouthful. But unlike pretty much anything Thunder Knuckles has said, actually holds a candle to objective truth.

And hey, I’m well aware that the doomsday scenario could happen to me too. I’m well aware I could just as easily get cashed in on at the end of all this, and that by creating this match I just might have signed the death certificate of my own Universal Championship reign.

But ya know what?

WORTH IT.

Abso-fucking-lutely 100% WORTH IT. Just to see you suffer. Just to see you agonize over whether or not 1 more torture is worth the gold. Just to see you looking up at me with those pleading eyes as it all comes crashing down on you that maybe, just maybe, you SHOULD NOT HAVE FUCKED WITH COREY SMITH.

Was it worth it for you, TK? Boy I sure hope so. Because at Relentless, you’re gonna hurt. You’re gonna bleed. And you’re gonna beg the bastardly father in the sky to make it all end. But it won’t. Because there will still be 10 odd more briefcases to go through. And a million miles to go before you can rest.

Joachim Bright peeks his head around the corner. Hey, Corey? That sounded like denoument to me. Are you done?

Yes I am done. And incidentally thanks for dropping another word that’s going to confuse Thunder Knuckles. What’s up?

Come on out front and see. Joachim ducked back out of the shot as Corey looks at the camera, mystified. But head to the front he does, and as he steps through his home and past the threshold of the front door, he’s greeted by a sight that gives him pause.

All of the residents of Coreytopia have amassed on his front lawn. Joachim stands on the front steps, smiling wide as he looks up at Corey.

Listen man, we all talked it over, and, well, we don’t want you to close the commune.

Corey looks moved, but still apprehensive. But Jo, we talked about this…

Yeah, and so did we. We understand the dangers. We understand your concerns. And we want you to know that we stand with you. All the way. Because we all think this community is worth it. We think YOU are worth it. And that no matter how many times people have tried to drag you through the mud because of Coreytopia, we know you’re a good, honest person who just wants to make people feel safe and hopeful. And that means the world to us. So, will you please keep the commune open? Please?

Corey looks deeply torn as he looks out at the people. HIS people. HIS friends. And as he considers each of their faces in turn, he doesn’t see fear or regret. He sees happiness. He sees hope. And he sees a faith in him that he hasn’t felt in quite some time. Corey takes a moment to brush away an errant tear before it can crest onto his cheek.

I don’t know what to say…

You can start by saying “yes”.

Corey is still for a moment before finally nodding his head. Okay…yes. My answer is yes. We can stay open.

His people erupt into cheers. But Corey holds a hand up to quiet them.

But there’s something I need to do. Pan is still missing. And I need to find him. So I’m afraid I won’t be around much. I’ll need a stand in. Someone I can trust. I have somebody in mind, but I need to talk it over with him first. Corey shoots a furtive glance at Joachim. Joachim parts his lips a bit in surprise but doesn’t let on any further hints that he understands.

But yes, as long as I’m still breathing, this community has a place. And we won’t let hate tear it down. Thank you all for believing in me.

With that, Corey steps out amongst his people, finally feeling home.]]> <![CDATA[thug tears. (rp 2)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46902 Thu, 21 Sep 2023 22:06:57 -0700 John_Black]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46902

[We open to a local cemetery where JB was standing over his mother’s gravestone, nicknamed Mama Blackstone who was born in 1945 until her sunrise of 2005. As he stood there, he looked at the stone with a look of bleakness and sadness. As it was a cold September sunday, he worn his jacket and he placed flowers on top of the gravestone, and pulled out a water bottle to poor on her ground.]

JB: Oh Mama, I know I ain't good to be able to stay on the righteous pathway, I know I anit the man you wanted me to be. I know you wanted me to be a preacher, and stay away from the wrestling shit.

[He pulls out another bottle of water to pour around her graveside and spread some around to the others who had perished to parch them.]

JB: Mama, let me tell you this, I know you are going to be disappointed in me, but I have to do some shit that I know you didn’t want me to do. I have to go to hell, yes, hell just to wrestle some whyte man for a belt. I know you are looking down on me hard as hell, you want to beat me with that switch on my ass when I say shit like that. But hear me out, I want you and my ex wife and my son to guide me through this shit. I’ll always be thinkin about you.

[JB then walks away from her gravesite, and he walks around the cemetery where he looks at others who are mourning towards there lost ones. Then he went into his car, and he drove away from the cemetery. About an hour later, he was at a diner parking lot, sitting in his car crying out his eyes. Then his phone blows up in the cup holder, and he answers it with a speaker on.]

T: JB, what’s up man… you haven’t been hitting me or Reggie up lately. What’s good?

JB: Man, you know I'm just tryin to focus on my outside life from this shit. You know, I haven’t seen my cousin and my nephew in a long time, so I wanted to spend some time and shit. What about you, have you been able to focus on your own shit?

T: Yeah man, even though we are going to different shows, I haven’t been able to settle down and focus on my music. But, you never could guess what happened to me.


JB: What’s up?

T: I got my daughter back from my ex-baby's mother, Jonee, and she’s currently living with my sister Sam in Texas. So now, I have a reason to give a fuck about life outside of XWF.

JB: Oh that’s good man, I know how much you love your kid, and I know those wage garnishments were a bitch in court. Maybe I might stop by there, and visit her when you're down there.

T: That’s cool with me, the more the merrier. Look i’ll hit you up later man, stay cool.

JB: You too man. 

[After his call finished with T, not even a hot minute, Reggie was calling him. As he answered his phone, Reggie was breathing heavily on the other line, sounding like he was distressed with something which caused JB to worry about what is going on with him.]

JB: Reggie, you alright man

Reg: ….. No…. My Child…. Miranda… she…

JB: She?...

Reg: ….. Her Abeula told me she overdosed on pills…. She blamed me for not stopping her… she blamed me…

JB: Whoa whoa….

Reg: She’s dead John, fuckin dead!... Look… tell T, and HGH and Machina that I won’t be around the scene for awhile… I need time to get my shit together man.

JB: Hey man, that’s fine man. Reggie, look i’ll let them know you need some time away…. I am sorry for your loss man. It’s not your fault, you need to remind yourself of that. It’s not easy being a father ya feel me man.

Reg: I know esse, i’ll hit you up later…

[Then Reggie just muttered something in Spanish, then he ended the call. JB then took a second to focus on what he heard, then he shook his head in disbelief and he went into the dinner to eat a later brunch.]

[It was 2 AM, JB was pretty much in his home being sleep deprived on his bed. Tossing and turning, can’t really sleep due to having too much on his mind. So he got out of his bed, turned on his night light, and he went to the hallway bathroom, and he stared himself in the mirror and he started to scream to himself like a mad man. Then he opens his drawer under his sink and pulls out a revolver with three bullets in his hand.]

JB: Should I fuckin do it, or not?....

[He pulls open the chamber, then he places one of the rounds in it. Then he contemplates his life as he places it in his head.]

JB: Like I said… should I do it!!!???!!....






    Censored
    [Image: denzel-washington-gun.gif]




[As some divine intervention, the bullet didn’t strike him in the temple. He threw the revolver away in the trash with the bullets too, then he decided to look himself in the mirror, as he talks to himself being sleep deprived and depressed to the point he wanted to self delete.]

JB: Listen to yourself JB, you wanted to end it all for what? You need to break free from those inner thoughts of negative shit. You deserve much better, you really need to find something good for yourself. Don’t you have a title shot in hell coming shortly? Wait a minute is that what is fucking up your own mind to this thought, on top of your dead mother?

[After his own words came out in the mirror, he stepped back from the mirror bathroom and went into the hallway to go back to his room. It was close to 4AM, and he ended up getting a tripod from his closet and decided to film himself.]

“Listen world, I am John Black, a fuck up who isn’t even close to a man that I was in the past. I know the world doesn't care about me, and I could care less if the world liked me. The only thing that kept me going was the fear of death and sorrow. I’ve seen things, done things, and embraced things that was too fucked up for me to be able to comprehend this shit. I could have pulled that glock to my head, and erase myself with a temporary outlook of life itself. I don’t encourage anyone to do what I did, and I feel for those who feel like that is their way out.

I also want to shed some thug tears to Thad and his loss of child, and to anyone who had to make sacrifices or suffer too many things into the world that is cold and unfair itself. You have my back, and I want you all to know, I shed a thug tear to you and others who are down with me and what I need to do.

The one tear I won’t shed for is Big D, I remember he was just a simple busta who wanted to do the right thing. Now, he wants to be a big shot, even to the point he flew himself down to hell first class seats and all. Well, I know that BOB had funded that route for him, and they also pretty much used him as a meat puppet. I know Suddam Hussiem and the Devil are ready to greet him with their dick up in his mouth as they laugh above him. Hell, he had to run away from Jason’s advances at him, guess that belt causes nothin but trouble for those who hold that shit.

Look Big D, I too respect you, but you think TK or Bourbon really give a shit about you? You can figure that out when they decide to give you the Randy Orton treatment if things don’t go their way down the line, don’t say i didn’t warn you. Shirt and all, I can handle my own battles and that so-called triple threat handicap match was your only way of getting the exposure from us. We didn’t need the belt, we didn’t even need to win it because WE felt sorry if one of us did get the belt off you, that could have fucked up your spot back then.

Unlike Bulk Hogan, I like to give people a chance to shine as much as they like. Belt or no belt, crew or no crew, at the end of the day I get paid, made, and possibly laid as much as I can get by with. Me being a weak link? Hell, I was the one who decided to come to Anarchy to bring it to life, I was the one who had mat classic with everyone’s favorite bad guy Chris Page for the Uni Title that Smith is currently holding, I was the OG of this shit before management behind the scenes went to shit D. I was around when there was once a so-called invasion that tried to take over XWF but failed with quickness. So that weak link shit is a drag and you know it, but whatever helps you sleep at night, D.

Also, I find it cute you brought up Fuzz’s name, yeah yeah I know he’s infinite of a D12 like persona who made XWF fun again with his former Sick Cunts patna Noah, I know he’s the barometer of success but that doesn't mean much to me at all. I had encounters where I thought, why the fuck he bothering with a “low card” guy like me. Godamn it, he’s the freakin Mosh to Noah’s Thrasher for hell’s sake with how lit they were, but that still didn’t stop me from doing what I need to do against them bitches. You soundin too much like a stooge to be worrying about your spot, well let me tell you something D, if MeFisto was in your spot and he tried to play with your dick in the bathroom for your belt, would you still be worried about losin that spot?

I already know the answer to that… Nope, so you can pretend you are a legend in your own mind in the realm of XWF. You can have your star, but sometimes it has to burn out before people get sick of you, D. I am close to feelin that way with how much you think being affiliated with BOB is guaranteed to make your star shining bright like a diamond. I want to get that in your head, that you are just one of many who can get dethroned in a minute.

I really don’t care about the belt, I genuinely don’t care about getting that so-called second prize possession because all it will mean is more stress on me. I know you want that, that’s fine with me, so I could go down to hell lose to you and fuck off back to earth while you getting spit roasted like a pig you are for the belt you got. Let them spin your X-Treme carcass round and round till you have to give in and forget about that belt, but if somehow I do win the belt off you that won’t mean I will even hold it long enough for someone tryin to gank it off me in the backstage. I promise you Big Dick BOB Dudley, I won’t need to bother to harass you in the backstage for it ill let my crew do that shit instead. 

So D, I want you to know this, I want to beat the hell out of you on where you stand in Hell. I want the world to know that I am not a man to be played with, and all that talk about you being a star and me being a weak link, will be put to the test in Hell. Even the refs wouldn’t want to see how much damage I can do to a man like yourself. If I was able to pull that trigger and survive, then you don’t know what is going to happen  when I come down to hell at Relentless. I will be the most vile, despicable, mean thug who will leave you in Hell with no tears to be shed with hellfire bound by you when I walk away.

See you hell, BoB D.”

[Then from there, it faded to static, then it had the words “EKAT OT LUOS SIH YARP//EID OT GNIOG SI D BOB”in blood red as it faded into darkness.]]]>

[We open to a local cemetery where JB was standing over his mother’s gravestone, nicknamed Mama Blackstone who was born in 1945 until her sunrise of 2005. As he stood there, he looked at the stone with a look of bleakness and sadness. As it was a cold September sunday, he worn his jacket and he placed flowers on top of the gravestone, and pulled out a water bottle to poor on her ground.]

JB: Oh Mama, I know I ain't good to be able to stay on the righteous pathway, I know I anit the man you wanted me to be. I know you wanted me to be a preacher, and stay away from the wrestling shit.

[He pulls out another bottle of water to pour around her graveside and spread some around to the others who had perished to parch them.]

JB: Mama, let me tell you this, I know you are going to be disappointed in me, but I have to do some shit that I know you didn’t want me to do. I have to go to hell, yes, hell just to wrestle some whyte man for a belt. I know you are looking down on me hard as hell, you want to beat me with that switch on my ass when I say shit like that. But hear me out, I want you and my ex wife and my son to guide me through this shit. I’ll always be thinkin about you.

[JB then walks away from her gravesite, and he walks around the cemetery where he looks at others who are mourning towards there lost ones. Then he went into his car, and he drove away from the cemetery. About an hour later, he was at a diner parking lot, sitting in his car crying out his eyes. Then his phone blows up in the cup holder, and he answers it with a speaker on.]

T: JB, what’s up man… you haven’t been hitting me or Reggie up lately. What’s good?

JB: Man, you know I'm just tryin to focus on my outside life from this shit. You know, I haven’t seen my cousin and my nephew in a long time, so I wanted to spend some time and shit. What about you, have you been able to focus on your own shit?

T: Yeah man, even though we are going to different shows, I haven’t been able to settle down and focus on my music. But, you never could guess what happened to me.


JB: What’s up?

T: I got my daughter back from my ex-baby's mother, Jonee, and she’s currently living with my sister Sam in Texas. So now, I have a reason to give a fuck about life outside of XWF.

JB: Oh that’s good man, I know how much you love your kid, and I know those wage garnishments were a bitch in court. Maybe I might stop by there, and visit her when you're down there.

T: That’s cool with me, the more the merrier. Look i’ll hit you up later man, stay cool.

JB: You too man. 

[After his call finished with T, not even a hot minute, Reggie was calling him. As he answered his phone, Reggie was breathing heavily on the other line, sounding like he was distressed with something which caused JB to worry about what is going on with him.]

JB: Reggie, you alright man

Reg: ….. No…. My Child…. Miranda… she…

JB: She?...

Reg: ….. Her Abeula told me she overdosed on pills…. She blamed me for not stopping her… she blamed me…

JB: Whoa whoa….

Reg: She’s dead John, fuckin dead!... Look… tell T, and HGH and Machina that I won’t be around the scene for awhile… I need time to get my shit together man.

JB: Hey man, that’s fine man. Reggie, look i’ll let them know you need some time away…. I am sorry for your loss man. It’s not your fault, you need to remind yourself of that. It’s not easy being a father ya feel me man.

Reg: I know esse, i’ll hit you up later…

[Then Reggie just muttered something in Spanish, then he ended the call. JB then took a second to focus on what he heard, then he shook his head in disbelief and he went into the dinner to eat a later brunch.]

[It was 2 AM, JB was pretty much in his home being sleep deprived on his bed. Tossing and turning, can’t really sleep due to having too much on his mind. So he got out of his bed, turned on his night light, and he went to the hallway bathroom, and he stared himself in the mirror and he started to scream to himself like a mad man. Then he opens his drawer under his sink and pulls out a revolver with three bullets in his hand.]

JB: Should I fuckin do it, or not?....

[He pulls open the chamber, then he places one of the rounds in it. Then he contemplates his life as he places it in his head.]

JB: Like I said… should I do it!!!???!!....






    Censored
    [Image: denzel-washington-gun.gif]




[As some divine intervention, the bullet didn’t strike him in the temple. He threw the revolver away in the trash with the bullets too, then he decided to look himself in the mirror, as he talks to himself being sleep deprived and depressed to the point he wanted to self delete.]

JB: Listen to yourself JB, you wanted to end it all for what? You need to break free from those inner thoughts of negative shit. You deserve much better, you really need to find something good for yourself. Don’t you have a title shot in hell coming shortly? Wait a minute is that what is fucking up your own mind to this thought, on top of your dead mother?

[After his own words came out in the mirror, he stepped back from the mirror bathroom and went into the hallway to go back to his room. It was close to 4AM, and he ended up getting a tripod from his closet and decided to film himself.]

“Listen world, I am John Black, a fuck up who isn’t even close to a man that I was in the past. I know the world doesn't care about me, and I could care less if the world liked me. The only thing that kept me going was the fear of death and sorrow. I’ve seen things, done things, and embraced things that was too fucked up for me to be able to comprehend this shit. I could have pulled that glock to my head, and erase myself with a temporary outlook of life itself. I don’t encourage anyone to do what I did, and I feel for those who feel like that is their way out.

I also want to shed some thug tears to Thad and his loss of child, and to anyone who had to make sacrifices or suffer too many things into the world that is cold and unfair itself. You have my back, and I want you all to know, I shed a thug tear to you and others who are down with me and what I need to do.

The one tear I won’t shed for is Big D, I remember he was just a simple busta who wanted to do the right thing. Now, he wants to be a big shot, even to the point he flew himself down to hell first class seats and all. Well, I know that BOB had funded that route for him, and they also pretty much used him as a meat puppet. I know Suddam Hussiem and the Devil are ready to greet him with their dick up in his mouth as they laugh above him. Hell, he had to run away from Jason’s advances at him, guess that belt causes nothin but trouble for those who hold that shit.

Look Big D, I too respect you, but you think TK or Bourbon really give a shit about you? You can figure that out when they decide to give you the Randy Orton treatment if things don’t go their way down the line, don’t say i didn’t warn you. Shirt and all, I can handle my own battles and that so-called triple threat handicap match was your only way of getting the exposure from us. We didn’t need the belt, we didn’t even need to win it because WE felt sorry if one of us did get the belt off you, that could have fucked up your spot back then.

Unlike Bulk Hogan, I like to give people a chance to shine as much as they like. Belt or no belt, crew or no crew, at the end of the day I get paid, made, and possibly laid as much as I can get by with. Me being a weak link? Hell, I was the one who decided to come to Anarchy to bring it to life, I was the one who had mat classic with everyone’s favorite bad guy Chris Page for the Uni Title that Smith is currently holding, I was the OG of this shit before management behind the scenes went to shit D. I was around when there was once a so-called invasion that tried to take over XWF but failed with quickness. So that weak link shit is a drag and you know it, but whatever helps you sleep at night, D.

Also, I find it cute you brought up Fuzz’s name, yeah yeah I know he’s infinite of a D12 like persona who made XWF fun again with his former Sick Cunts patna Noah, I know he’s the barometer of success but that doesn't mean much to me at all. I had encounters where I thought, why the fuck he bothering with a “low card” guy like me. Godamn it, he’s the freakin Mosh to Noah’s Thrasher for hell’s sake with how lit they were, but that still didn’t stop me from doing what I need to do against them bitches. You soundin too much like a stooge to be worrying about your spot, well let me tell you something D, if MeFisto was in your spot and he tried to play with your dick in the bathroom for your belt, would you still be worried about losin that spot?

I already know the answer to that… Nope, so you can pretend you are a legend in your own mind in the realm of XWF. You can have your star, but sometimes it has to burn out before people get sick of you, D. I am close to feelin that way with how much you think being affiliated with BOB is guaranteed to make your star shining bright like a diamond. I want to get that in your head, that you are just one of many who can get dethroned in a minute.

I really don’t care about the belt, I genuinely don’t care about getting that so-called second prize possession because all it will mean is more stress on me. I know you want that, that’s fine with me, so I could go down to hell lose to you and fuck off back to earth while you getting spit roasted like a pig you are for the belt you got. Let them spin your X-Treme carcass round and round till you have to give in and forget about that belt, but if somehow I do win the belt off you that won’t mean I will even hold it long enough for someone tryin to gank it off me in the backstage. I promise you Big Dick BOB Dudley, I won’t need to bother to harass you in the backstage for it ill let my crew do that shit instead. 

So D, I want you to know this, I want to beat the hell out of you on where you stand in Hell. I want the world to know that I am not a man to be played with, and all that talk about you being a star and me being a weak link, will be put to the test in Hell. Even the refs wouldn’t want to see how much damage I can do to a man like yourself. If I was able to pull that trigger and survive, then you don’t know what is going to happen  when I come down to hell at Relentless. I will be the most vile, despicable, mean thug who will leave you in Hell with no tears to be shed with hellfire bound by you when I walk away.

See you hell, BoB D.”

[Then from there, it faded to static, then it had the words “EKAT OT LUOS SIH YARP//EID OT GNIOG SI D BOB”in blood red as it faded into darkness.]]]> <![CDATA[Heaven and Hell]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46891 Tue, 19 Sep 2023 19:28:04 -0700 Bobby Bourbon]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46891

With deft maneuvering, Bobby Bourbon courses through the skies in a retro biplane. Performing stunts such as the barrel roll, the aileron roll, and even a complete loop. Bobby, and definitely not a stunt pilot in the wide shot, is piloting his craft. On the horizon, Bobby sees what he’s looking for. A dragon! It soars in the sky, breathing fire, it’s a fucking dragon! DRAGONS ARE FUCKING COOL! Bobby flies and crashes his plane right into the giant dragon, slaying it, and blowing the fuck up in the process. On the ground, we see Genevieve Tote.

Okay, Mr. Bourbon. Your stock is up to fifteen whole cents!

Bobby finds himself at a large pearly gate. Saint Peter stands, arms folded across his chest.

You.

What?

You had to go and slay that dragon after stepping in and standing up for Ned, huh?

It seemed cool to do, so, yeah.

Well, welcome to heaven!

Bobby looks around.

Nope. No, no, no, big mistake, pal. I just committed suicide.

Bobby, you sacrificed yourself to destroy a monster!

Yeah, but, I need to be in hell! That’s where my match is!

Don’t be ridiculous, Bobby! C’mon in!

Bobby snorts and tromps in through the gates of heaven.

Dammit.

Bobby looks around. There’s a big mascot version of Jesus, and one of Buddha, and those other guys you know about from all the religions too. It’s pretty much a theme park but there’s no lines but the ride is always full. Go figure. Bobby continues his plod forward, through the entrance to the deeper areas of paradise. He comes to a perfect sandy beach with clear blue water as far as the eye can see, and of course, a hover surfboard. Bobby hops onto the surfboard as though he was born for it. He flies around like the Silver Surfer, going up and up and up. He passes by tons of people in balloons, in planes, sailing around with row boats, and just flat out flying, some with wings, some like Superman. The first moments in heaven are a rush, to be sure. Eventually, though, things settle. Bobby finds himself in a bustling city. It’s utopian to the utmost, with no want or worry anywhere. It’s here he finds the goth club. Of course there’s a goth club in heaven. Crucified is bumping, or as bumping as goth clubs get. How one bumps the Cure is beyond me. The Cure sure is playing as Bobby walks in, and up to a VIP table, where none other than Jesus Christ, All God, all Bourbon-man, is enjoying table service with some associates.

Oh, hey Bobby. Meet Abe Lincoln, Jerry Garcia, Santa Claus, and Ernest Hemmingway.

Bobby rubs his clean shaven chin.

Beardos! I love it!

The table all grunt in agreement, heaven’s beard club holding their quarterly meeting.

Hey, look, there was a mix-up, I need you to fix it, buddy. Be those footprints in the sand for me man.

What is it, Bobby? Is it about TK not being allowed in heaven? Fine, he’s allowed now.

No, I’m supposed to be in hell too, I have a match!

Bobby, I can get you a match with whoever you want up here bud! Think about it, you could fight Hemingway.

Neat.

Hemingway sneers at Bobby.

Lincoln was a heavyweight champion!

Lincoln snarls.

Well then let’s do this!

Hemingway steps up from the booth, knocking back his appletini as he does. He leaps at Bobby, putting him in a bear hug. Bobby looks quizzically at Hemingway.

Dude, I’m like twice your size.

Bobby goes to push Hemingway away, but in comes Lincoln! Lincoln sets in a headlock on Bobby, and Hemingway squeezes with all his might! Bobby slings Lincoln to the ground! He powers out of the Hemingway Hug! Bobby with a headbutt to Hemingway! Bobby scoops Hemingway and drops him with a body slam! Lincoln is up, and he runs at Bobby! Bobby counters with a hip toss! Hemingway is back up and Bobby grabs him by the neck! EMC from Bobby to Hemingway! Lincoln in with a leaping leg lariat, flooring Bobby!

Four score and seven years ago, I put the beat down on your goofy ass!

Whatever, I’m going to emancipate your head from your neck!

Following the Lincoln Leg Lariat, Hemingway and Lincoln each grab one of Bobby’s legs, and they wishbone him! Bobby grabs his pelvis, and Hemingway and Lincoln pose for the fans. Nobody in the club is paying any attention, they’re literally doing wrestling taunts for their own sake. Both men bring Bobby to his feet, but Bobby gets a sudden burst of energy! He throws a huge right to Hemingway! Lincoln swings at Bobby! Bobby ducks, and grabs Lincoln! Spinebuster to Lincoln! Hemingway steps in, and it’s a spinebuster for Hemingway too! Lincoln is slow to his feet, staggered, and he walks into a spinebuster from Bobby! Bobby lifts Hemingway up, and pops him up for a huge pop-up spinebuster! Jerry Garcia looks SUPER out of place in a goth club. He gets up and rushes at Bobby. Spinebuster to Jerry Garcia! Santa has a delivery for Bobby, because he’s been nice! Bobby catches Santa, spinebuster city up in Crucified goth club! Jesus stands up and applauds.

Well done, seraphim, see? You don’t need hell anymore.

I think I want to go to hell and whoop D’Ville’s ass. Who needs heaven, I got shit to do.

Bobby, I think you need to have a Come to Me moment. You died, gloriously, you’ve had a legacy that will last forever, and now you get to reap in the rewards! It’s like you have a punch card for Subway and every day is the tenth punch, man! We got it great, you want you, you got it, and we do it great!

Oh come on, man. Really, we’re doing this.

Jesus nods.

Oh yeah. It’s Relentless, your promo is getting an existential crisis.

Dammit. Cliche but, I guess I gotta roll with it. So, you mean, I can have eternal bliss and peace of mind if I just stay dead?

Yep. Total contentment.

Well, I wouldn’t be totally content if I didn’t beat Doc.

Well, okay, except that.

So we’re bargaining here? That’s not an existential crisis, I’m still as of singular purpose as I’ve ever been, to absolutely wreck the motherfucker lined up against me in the ring, and right now there’s someone lined up and in my sights and about to get pancaked out there in the ring in hell, mind you.

Not here.

Not in heaven.

Jesus looks confused.

You bastards are a stubborn bunch.

The best.

Jesus furrows his brow.

That’s not what I said.

I know, I did.

Bobby smirks.

You drop this petty thing with TK saying he can’t be forgiven, either. He didn’t betray his team, he betrayed himself by taking a wad of cash.

Yeah, but he has a match in hell, against Corey. I want to see that.

Bobby’s smirk drops.

Seriously, man? I need to be there.

Yeah, well, alright. I condemn thee.

Jesus waves his hand. As he does, Bobby gives a thumbs up.

Good man.

Right.

A hole opens below Bobby Bourbon and he drops, plummeting until he lands hard on solid rock. Molten lava flows past, and Bobby stands, dusting himself off. He looks around, and Charlie Nickles approaches.

Bobby!

Bobby looks at Charlie.

Oh, damn, you’re going to be at Relentless?

Nope. I fell asleep at the wheel after I ate a dozen Benadryl and pooped my pants!

Fuck!

It happens.

Right, well, let’s rendezvous with TK and get the B.O.Ball rolling.

Another Charlie Nickles approaches Bobby.

BOBBAY!

Bobby looks back at Charlie, and then at the second Charlie. Realizing what’s going on, he rolls his eyes.

Dammit.

Another five Charlies walk up. One does that thing Charlie does where he somehow enunciates every single vowel in a random string before speaking. Yes, even sometimes Y. They then do a harmony, each rising in scale as a quintet.

BOBBY!

BOBBY!

BOBBY!

BOBBY!

BOBBY!

How many of you are there?

Thirteen more Charlies walk out from around a stalactite.

I died eating a balloon I found on the ground. I thought it was full of heroin.

I died from accidentally electrocuting myself cooking with a hotplate in the bathtub.

I died from eating balloons too. I didn’t think there was heroin in them.

Carbon Monoxide, the silent killer got me.

Bobby looks on as the endless hordes of an exponential value of Charlies, knowing he won't do the math. They continue to approach him, just to talk for a bit. They all enunciate all their vowels again out of nowhere in excitement. Bobby shakes his head ‘no’.

Oh, come on, I gotta beat my personal hell right now. Wait, did Jesus call me a seraphim?

[Image: 00002.jpg]

Bobby sprouts a pair of feathery wings, and his archangelic body armor comes to form around him. The Defiant Archangel of the Bastardly Father ascends above the sea of Charlies.

Shit, Bobby’s a fucking archangel!

Fuck yeah, Bobby, you have wings!

I think that’s so fucking tight!

Bobby takes off, soaring with the grace of an eagle in some direction. As he does, it begins its descent downward towards Bobby. Massive, and dark, a sickly green ichor oozing from it’s fanged maw beneath six glowing green eyes, the demonic entity chases Bobby. It howls, something disgusting and wracked with the phlegm causing the ichor, spewing the muck as it does. Bobby turns, and changes course, ascending and allowing the creature to hurtle past him. It is much slower to course correct, and Bobby flies headlong into the creature himself, knowing that he is ever the predator, never the prey in any situation. Bobby throws an arm into one of the thing’s eye sockets. It wails in agony, plummeting towards the ground as it writhes, Bobby’s hand giving it more than a lobotomy, its brain being completely turned to pulp. It lands with a crash and twitches, its nervous system no longer cohesive. Bobby pulls his hand out, and shakes it.

That’s disgusting.

Another demon approaches.

[Image: b49ae421a5f0e6f415b9a0de55b5fb20d8a9e4e2...3ea7bb.jpg]

Alright, asshole, you had your fun. I’ll have you know that demon was a damned good man and you just left a family without a father.

What? Really?

Nah.

It was just a monster that we keep around here, but some people liked it. I didn’t. Anyway, aren’t you one of those XWF guys? Weird, a bunch of you have been down here lately. I’m Darren. Darren Dangerous.

Bobby snickers.

Really?

Not that one.

Okay.

Well, I’m supposed to be the liaison getting you guys to where you’re not falling into your own personal hells and whatnot, but some of you got here way ahead of schedule. I’m pretty sure your bosses arranged a bus meetup to get to the show.

Oh.

A bus.

Man, that sounds fun.

Yeah, yeah I’m sure it’ll be a good time, but I take it you have your own means of getting in and out of hell?

Bobby points to the wings.

Well, uh, I’m an archangel, so..

What? Nobody cleared us about one of you from the other side! Usually you religious nuts don’t last long in wrestling anyways.

Look, buddy, I didn’t know until about fifteen minutes ago when an army of Charlies showed up, and I’m not religious.

You called yourself the Defiant Archangel.

No, I didn’t. Maybe somebody else did, but I didn’t.

Darren checks his notes.

Whatever. Well, come along, the arena is this way, we don’t want you confronting your own worst punishments, which seems to be adoration, weirdo, or killing any more of our elder demons. Seriously, that guy was pre-Big Bang, and you just reached in and undid it’s whole entire brain. Yeesh.

Um..

Darren rolls his eyes.

You want to go kick Hitler in the dick?

Yes.

There’s a line.

Dammit.

Yeah, let’s go.

The arena set up in hell is massive. Suffering souls, condemned for their wicked ways on earth, are chained up and set as tables and chairs, creatures, monstrosities, and those with the best travel agents on earth take delight in the festive nature of Relentless Week in the XWF. Darren leads Bobby into the carnival-like happenings. The fans in attendance all notice Bobby, who is in head to toe white with angel wings now. They rush him. A few succubi approach Bobby looking for an autograph. Bobby signs their boobs with a sharpie. Imps, ogres, creatures and monstrosity alike all are agog at the sight of Bobby, and he’s signing things left and right. He then notices a nearby funnel cake stand, as we all do, by the smell. Bobby flies up gently and stands on top of the funnel cake stand.

Hellions, what is going on?

The denizens of hell all echo a sentiment of excitement.

My name is..

The populace of hell all echo his name.

"BOBBY MOTHERFUCKING BOURBON!"

Bobby pauses, taken aback. The raucous XWF faithful crowd, nay, the biggest collection of wrestling fans imaginable is on hand for Relentless, THE event of events in all of wrestling. They knew his lines better than he did at this point.

Woah, you guys know my lines better than I do at this point!

The crowd laughs. They then begin to chant.

*FUCK ‘EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*FUCK ‘EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*FUCK ‘EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*

Bobby waves his hands up and down, vibing with the chant.

With all of you here I don’t even have to cut a promo!

The crowd roars. It actually overtakes the pained moans of the condemned for a moment.

But cut a promo I will, right here, for all of you!

Bobby then performs the exact same task every XWF star is pretty much performing prior to their match.

It’s been a long way to Hell, for sure.

I have spun the tapestry that is the XWF along the way, making my mark here and there, sometimes the highlight, sometimes the lowlight, but always in the fucking spotlight.

But that’s okay. Because even with these wings, I am a bastard, and a bastard doesn’t have to have a perfect record.

A bastard doesn’t have to be flawless.

A bastard doesn’t have to falsely stand against such allegations.

Brothers and sisters! The day of the Bastard is nigh! And Louis is going to learn the core principles of the group he wishes he could ride with.

Thou shalt not fuck with a Bastard.

Thou shalt not piss a Bastard off.

Thou shalt not beat a Bastard.

Because I am the Defiant Archangel of the Bastardly Father, the self-righteous prick coming to absolutely punish and demolish any who sin against the Bastardly Father, and my wrath is at hand and by the will of the Bastardly Father.

I am the Big Bad, Big Bad, of Big Bads! The Warfare Wrecker, Sultan of Smacktalk, and set before me, because I fucking wanted it, is a man, a ladder, and destiny.

That ladder, I tell you, it sucks. No matter who you are, no matter how hard you try, you will fall from that ladder. You will find yourself down, at the bottom, and without any grip on it whatsoever.

As often as I have fallen, who has risen further than I have?

Bobby shakes his head ‘no’.

Don’t even try to say another name, you’d be fooling yourself.

Then, there’s the man.

Louis.

I warn you, my friend.

Don’t view this as a walk in the park, lest it become the mugging it shall be without your preparation.

Don’t be dismissive of what is about to happen to your body and the beating I bring.

You will not survive if you do.

Show us your smile, have a few laughs, that cavalier attitude shoved to the front.

But the pulse, Louis. That beating in the recesses of your chest that sounds like war drums turning into an executioner’s.

Then, that of course, leaves one thing.

Destiny.

What all of this all means, from heaven to hell itself, and everything in between, what is my purpose, my place, or beyond? Once I’ve used that briefcase as bait to get you where I wanted you, I move on and become a three time Universal Champion, dominating wrestling as it’s greatest champion, destroying any who come into the ring, and my conquest continues onward as I take the top championships of company after company, as is the will of the Bastardly Father to conquer.

So, as such, as I am only left to surmise..

What I do in the ring I’ve done before so it shouldn’t be a surprise.

I’ve been the subject of backlash and public outcries.

I’m straight up bad for your health like nacho cheese on your fries.

That big guy who shows up and he’s stealing shows.

Win or lose you can bet his stock only grows.

You wonder how I got here? Well, that sounds like it blows.

How’d you miss me coming, hot damn, nobody knows!

The ball’s always been in your court, so what’re you gonna do?

Besides disappointing your whole War Games crew?

I’ve got a beating to bring to an old man named Lou.

And I’ll beat him so bad, they’ll start calling him Dr. Who.]]>

With deft maneuvering, Bobby Bourbon courses through the skies in a retro biplane. Performing stunts such as the barrel roll, the aileron roll, and even a complete loop. Bobby, and definitely not a stunt pilot in the wide shot, is piloting his craft. On the horizon, Bobby sees what he’s looking for. A dragon! It soars in the sky, breathing fire, it’s a fucking dragon! DRAGONS ARE FUCKING COOL! Bobby flies and crashes his plane right into the giant dragon, slaying it, and blowing the fuck up in the process. On the ground, we see Genevieve Tote.

Okay, Mr. Bourbon. Your stock is up to fifteen whole cents!

Bobby finds himself at a large pearly gate. Saint Peter stands, arms folded across his chest.

You.

What?

You had to go and slay that dragon after stepping in and standing up for Ned, huh?

It seemed cool to do, so, yeah.

Well, welcome to heaven!

Bobby looks around.

Nope. No, no, no, big mistake, pal. I just committed suicide.

Bobby, you sacrificed yourself to destroy a monster!

Yeah, but, I need to be in hell! That’s where my match is!

Don’t be ridiculous, Bobby! C’mon in!

Bobby snorts and tromps in through the gates of heaven.

Dammit.

Bobby looks around. There’s a big mascot version of Jesus, and one of Buddha, and those other guys you know about from all the religions too. It’s pretty much a theme park but there’s no lines but the ride is always full. Go figure. Bobby continues his plod forward, through the entrance to the deeper areas of paradise. He comes to a perfect sandy beach with clear blue water as far as the eye can see, and of course, a hover surfboard. Bobby hops onto the surfboard as though he was born for it. He flies around like the Silver Surfer, going up and up and up. He passes by tons of people in balloons, in planes, sailing around with row boats, and just flat out flying, some with wings, some like Superman. The first moments in heaven are a rush, to be sure. Eventually, though, things settle. Bobby finds himself in a bustling city. It’s utopian to the utmost, with no want or worry anywhere. It’s here he finds the goth club. Of course there’s a goth club in heaven. Crucified is bumping, or as bumping as goth clubs get. How one bumps the Cure is beyond me. The Cure sure is playing as Bobby walks in, and up to a VIP table, where none other than Jesus Christ, All God, all Bourbon-man, is enjoying table service with some associates.

Oh, hey Bobby. Meet Abe Lincoln, Jerry Garcia, Santa Claus, and Ernest Hemmingway.

Bobby rubs his clean shaven chin.

Beardos! I love it!

The table all grunt in agreement, heaven’s beard club holding their quarterly meeting.

Hey, look, there was a mix-up, I need you to fix it, buddy. Be those footprints in the sand for me man.

What is it, Bobby? Is it about TK not being allowed in heaven? Fine, he’s allowed now.

No, I’m supposed to be in hell too, I have a match!

Bobby, I can get you a match with whoever you want up here bud! Think about it, you could fight Hemingway.

Neat.

Hemingway sneers at Bobby.

Lincoln was a heavyweight champion!

Lincoln snarls.

Well then let’s do this!

Hemingway steps up from the booth, knocking back his appletini as he does. He leaps at Bobby, putting him in a bear hug. Bobby looks quizzically at Hemingway.

Dude, I’m like twice your size.

Bobby goes to push Hemingway away, but in comes Lincoln! Lincoln sets in a headlock on Bobby, and Hemingway squeezes with all his might! Bobby slings Lincoln to the ground! He powers out of the Hemingway Hug! Bobby with a headbutt to Hemingway! Bobby scoops Hemingway and drops him with a body slam! Lincoln is up, and he runs at Bobby! Bobby counters with a hip toss! Hemingway is back up and Bobby grabs him by the neck! EMC from Bobby to Hemingway! Lincoln in with a leaping leg lariat, flooring Bobby!

Four score and seven years ago, I put the beat down on your goofy ass!

Whatever, I’m going to emancipate your head from your neck!

Following the Lincoln Leg Lariat, Hemingway and Lincoln each grab one of Bobby’s legs, and they wishbone him! Bobby grabs his pelvis, and Hemingway and Lincoln pose for the fans. Nobody in the club is paying any attention, they’re literally doing wrestling taunts for their own sake. Both men bring Bobby to his feet, but Bobby gets a sudden burst of energy! He throws a huge right to Hemingway! Lincoln swings at Bobby! Bobby ducks, and grabs Lincoln! Spinebuster to Lincoln! Hemingway steps in, and it’s a spinebuster for Hemingway too! Lincoln is slow to his feet, staggered, and he walks into a spinebuster from Bobby! Bobby lifts Hemingway up, and pops him up for a huge pop-up spinebuster! Jerry Garcia looks SUPER out of place in a goth club. He gets up and rushes at Bobby. Spinebuster to Jerry Garcia! Santa has a delivery for Bobby, because he’s been nice! Bobby catches Santa, spinebuster city up in Crucified goth club! Jesus stands up and applauds.

Well done, seraphim, see? You don’t need hell anymore.

I think I want to go to hell and whoop D’Ville’s ass. Who needs heaven, I got shit to do.

Bobby, I think you need to have a Come to Me moment. You died, gloriously, you’ve had a legacy that will last forever, and now you get to reap in the rewards! It’s like you have a punch card for Subway and every day is the tenth punch, man! We got it great, you want you, you got it, and we do it great!

Oh come on, man. Really, we’re doing this.

Jesus nods.

Oh yeah. It’s Relentless, your promo is getting an existential crisis.

Dammit. Cliche but, I guess I gotta roll with it. So, you mean, I can have eternal bliss and peace of mind if I just stay dead?

Yep. Total contentment.

Well, I wouldn’t be totally content if I didn’t beat Doc.

Well, okay, except that.

So we’re bargaining here? That’s not an existential crisis, I’m still as of singular purpose as I’ve ever been, to absolutely wreck the motherfucker lined up against me in the ring, and right now there’s someone lined up and in my sights and about to get pancaked out there in the ring in hell, mind you.

Not here.

Not in heaven.

Jesus looks confused.

You bastards are a stubborn bunch.

The best.

Jesus furrows his brow.

That’s not what I said.

I know, I did.

Bobby smirks.

You drop this petty thing with TK saying he can’t be forgiven, either. He didn’t betray his team, he betrayed himself by taking a wad of cash.

Yeah, but he has a match in hell, against Corey. I want to see that.

Bobby’s smirk drops.

Seriously, man? I need to be there.

Yeah, well, alright. I condemn thee.

Jesus waves his hand. As he does, Bobby gives a thumbs up.

Good man.

Right.

A hole opens below Bobby Bourbon and he drops, plummeting until he lands hard on solid rock. Molten lava flows past, and Bobby stands, dusting himself off. He looks around, and Charlie Nickles approaches.

Bobby!

Bobby looks at Charlie.

Oh, damn, you’re going to be at Relentless?

Nope. I fell asleep at the wheel after I ate a dozen Benadryl and pooped my pants!

Fuck!

It happens.

Right, well, let’s rendezvous with TK and get the B.O.Ball rolling.

Another Charlie Nickles approaches Bobby.

BOBBAY!

Bobby looks back at Charlie, and then at the second Charlie. Realizing what’s going on, he rolls his eyes.

Dammit.

Another five Charlies walk up. One does that thing Charlie does where he somehow enunciates every single vowel in a random string before speaking. Yes, even sometimes Y. They then do a harmony, each rising in scale as a quintet.

BOBBY!

BOBBY!

BOBBY!

BOBBY!

BOBBY!

How many of you are there?

Thirteen more Charlies walk out from around a stalactite.

I died eating a balloon I found on the ground. I thought it was full of heroin.

I died from accidentally electrocuting myself cooking with a hotplate in the bathtub.

I died from eating balloons too. I didn’t think there was heroin in them.

Carbon Monoxide, the silent killer got me.

Bobby looks on as the endless hordes of an exponential value of Charlies, knowing he won't do the math. They continue to approach him, just to talk for a bit. They all enunciate all their vowels again out of nowhere in excitement. Bobby shakes his head ‘no’.

Oh, come on, I gotta beat my personal hell right now. Wait, did Jesus call me a seraphim?

[Image: 00002.jpg]

Bobby sprouts a pair of feathery wings, and his archangelic body armor comes to form around him. The Defiant Archangel of the Bastardly Father ascends above the sea of Charlies.

Shit, Bobby’s a fucking archangel!

Fuck yeah, Bobby, you have wings!

I think that’s so fucking tight!

Bobby takes off, soaring with the grace of an eagle in some direction. As he does, it begins its descent downward towards Bobby. Massive, and dark, a sickly green ichor oozing from it’s fanged maw beneath six glowing green eyes, the demonic entity chases Bobby. It howls, something disgusting and wracked with the phlegm causing the ichor, spewing the muck as it does. Bobby turns, and changes course, ascending and allowing the creature to hurtle past him. It is much slower to course correct, and Bobby flies headlong into the creature himself, knowing that he is ever the predator, never the prey in any situation. Bobby throws an arm into one of the thing’s eye sockets. It wails in agony, plummeting towards the ground as it writhes, Bobby’s hand giving it more than a lobotomy, its brain being completely turned to pulp. It lands with a crash and twitches, its nervous system no longer cohesive. Bobby pulls his hand out, and shakes it.

That’s disgusting.

Another demon approaches.

[Image: b49ae421a5f0e6f415b9a0de55b5fb20d8a9e4e2...3ea7bb.jpg]

Alright, asshole, you had your fun. I’ll have you know that demon was a damned good man and you just left a family without a father.

What? Really?

Nah.

It was just a monster that we keep around here, but some people liked it. I didn’t. Anyway, aren’t you one of those XWF guys? Weird, a bunch of you have been down here lately. I’m Darren. Darren Dangerous.

Bobby snickers.

Really?

Not that one.

Okay.

Well, I’m supposed to be the liaison getting you guys to where you’re not falling into your own personal hells and whatnot, but some of you got here way ahead of schedule. I’m pretty sure your bosses arranged a bus meetup to get to the show.

Oh.

A bus.

Man, that sounds fun.

Yeah, yeah I’m sure it’ll be a good time, but I take it you have your own means of getting in and out of hell?

Bobby points to the wings.

Well, uh, I’m an archangel, so..

What? Nobody cleared us about one of you from the other side! Usually you religious nuts don’t last long in wrestling anyways.

Look, buddy, I didn’t know until about fifteen minutes ago when an army of Charlies showed up, and I’m not religious.

You called yourself the Defiant Archangel.

No, I didn’t. Maybe somebody else did, but I didn’t.

Darren checks his notes.

Whatever. Well, come along, the arena is this way, we don’t want you confronting your own worst punishments, which seems to be adoration, weirdo, or killing any more of our elder demons. Seriously, that guy was pre-Big Bang, and you just reached in and undid it’s whole entire brain. Yeesh.

Um..

Darren rolls his eyes.

You want to go kick Hitler in the dick?

Yes.

There’s a line.

Dammit.

Yeah, let’s go.

The arena set up in hell is massive. Suffering souls, condemned for their wicked ways on earth, are chained up and set as tables and chairs, creatures, monstrosities, and those with the best travel agents on earth take delight in the festive nature of Relentless Week in the XWF. Darren leads Bobby into the carnival-like happenings. The fans in attendance all notice Bobby, who is in head to toe white with angel wings now. They rush him. A few succubi approach Bobby looking for an autograph. Bobby signs their boobs with a sharpie. Imps, ogres, creatures and monstrosity alike all are agog at the sight of Bobby, and he’s signing things left and right. He then notices a nearby funnel cake stand, as we all do, by the smell. Bobby flies up gently and stands on top of the funnel cake stand.

Hellions, what is going on?

The denizens of hell all echo a sentiment of excitement.

My name is..

The populace of hell all echo his name.

"BOBBY MOTHERFUCKING BOURBON!"

Bobby pauses, taken aback. The raucous XWF faithful crowd, nay, the biggest collection of wrestling fans imaginable is on hand for Relentless, THE event of events in all of wrestling. They knew his lines better than he did at this point.

Woah, you guys know my lines better than I do at this point!

The crowd laughs. They then begin to chant.

*FUCK ‘EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*FUCK ‘EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*FUCK ‘EM UP, BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!*CLAP CLAP*

Bobby waves his hands up and down, vibing with the chant.

With all of you here I don’t even have to cut a promo!

The crowd roars. It actually overtakes the pained moans of the condemned for a moment.

But cut a promo I will, right here, for all of you!

Bobby then performs the exact same task every XWF star is pretty much performing prior to their match.

It’s been a long way to Hell, for sure.

I have spun the tapestry that is the XWF along the way, making my mark here and there, sometimes the highlight, sometimes the lowlight, but always in the fucking spotlight.

But that’s okay. Because even with these wings, I am a bastard, and a bastard doesn’t have to have a perfect record.

A bastard doesn’t have to be flawless.

A bastard doesn’t have to falsely stand against such allegations.

Brothers and sisters! The day of the Bastard is nigh! And Louis is going to learn the core principles of the group he wishes he could ride with.

Thou shalt not fuck with a Bastard.

Thou shalt not piss a Bastard off.

Thou shalt not beat a Bastard.

Because I am the Defiant Archangel of the Bastardly Father, the self-righteous prick coming to absolutely punish and demolish any who sin against the Bastardly Father, and my wrath is at hand and by the will of the Bastardly Father.

I am the Big Bad, Big Bad, of Big Bads! The Warfare Wrecker, Sultan of Smacktalk, and set before me, because I fucking wanted it, is a man, a ladder, and destiny.

That ladder, I tell you, it sucks. No matter who you are, no matter how hard you try, you will fall from that ladder. You will find yourself down, at the bottom, and without any grip on it whatsoever.

As often as I have fallen, who has risen further than I have?

Bobby shakes his head ‘no’.

Don’t even try to say another name, you’d be fooling yourself.

Then, there’s the man.

Louis.

I warn you, my friend.

Don’t view this as a walk in the park, lest it become the mugging it shall be without your preparation.

Don’t be dismissive of what is about to happen to your body and the beating I bring.

You will not survive if you do.

Show us your smile, have a few laughs, that cavalier attitude shoved to the front.

But the pulse, Louis. That beating in the recesses of your chest that sounds like war drums turning into an executioner’s.

Then, that of course, leaves one thing.

Destiny.

What all of this all means, from heaven to hell itself, and everything in between, what is my purpose, my place, or beyond? Once I’ve used that briefcase as bait to get you where I wanted you, I move on and become a three time Universal Champion, dominating wrestling as it’s greatest champion, destroying any who come into the ring, and my conquest continues onward as I take the top championships of company after company, as is the will of the Bastardly Father to conquer.

So, as such, as I am only left to surmise..

What I do in the ring I’ve done before so it shouldn’t be a surprise.

I’ve been the subject of backlash and public outcries.

I’m straight up bad for your health like nacho cheese on your fries.

That big guy who shows up and he’s stealing shows.

Win or lose you can bet his stock only grows.

You wonder how I got here? Well, that sounds like it blows.

How’d you miss me coming, hot damn, nobody knows!

The ball’s always been in your court, so what’re you gonna do?

Besides disappointing your whole War Games crew?

I’ve got a beating to bring to an old man named Lou.

And I’ll beat him so bad, they’ll start calling him Dr. Who.]]> <![CDATA[Pure Imagination]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46888 Tue, 19 Sep 2023 04:19:02 -0700 Chris Page]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46888 Jesus Christ has this place taken a shit in just a handful of months. The downward trajectory the Xtreme Wrestling Federation has been on throughout 2023 has turned into a straight nose dive into obscurity; and if you need further proof to that statement, when your Universal Champion selects a match that has NOTHING to do with wrestling and everything with saving face pretty much says it all, pussy. If having your marquee title wrapped around a talentless tool wasn’t bad enough… this is supposed to be the biggest show of the year, yet it’s wrapped around MONDAY NIGHT MADNESS!

Wow.

Impressive.

Not really.

Several months ago I popped back into this organization for a hot minute and told you fuckboys then that this place is operating with a collapsed lung with its life slowly depleting. After walking back through the front doors and snatching a title I had no intention of holding- but that’s not what led to my zero fucks given attitude while exiting just as quickly as I entered. Nah, all that rests with one Loverboy. You know the guy. The same guy that takes potshots at those who tell him to fuck off, right, Vincent? Naturally when I found out that his claws aren’t sunken into this organization like they once were opened the door for me to come back and finish a story that should have been finished months ago. Let me make this clear from Jump Street- I don’t care about this federation, I don’t care about most of the people involved in it, and I find it nothing short of amusing that this is supposed to be your biggest show of the year and yet when I look over the card the only match worth a damn is Bourbon vs Doc.

… and while I can care less about most of you. I do care about you, Ned.

Why else would I be here? Hmmm? I’m not going to pretend that you’re meaningless because if you were I wouldn’t be here to live up to the title of Mr. Relentless. If any of you twatwaffles or cuntcakes think that’s smoke being blown up your ass I’d suggest you take a walk through the history of this event because I’m the ONLY talent that has wrestled on all three nights in back-to-back years back when I drank the XWF kool-aid. Fuck, now that I think about it can anyone tell me the last time there was a strong program heading into the biggest show of YOUR year? Oh yeah, Robert Man and Chris Page. You’re welcome… but this is about you, Ned. Do you remember the last time we met when I told you that if the Trilogy was being spearheaded by Theo Pryce it would be dead in months, and did I lie? CCPE is not only alive and kicking but hell, three weeks ago we dispatched another team of talent that tried to take us down. What happened? Oh yeah, they failed with flying colors too. It seems to be the nature of the beast when you fuck with those that are just better than you. Fuck dude, in that one event I showed more balls than ANY of your XWF Champions by putting my money where my mouth is.

I’d imagine the surprise when you watched back Weekend Warfare to see that mask come off to see this wicked sexy face being the culprit behind leaving you lying, and truthfully it wasn’t the way I wanted to go about things but considering how we left things I figured some theatrics would be a little interesting. The attack wasn’t personal, it was a reminder that I will NOT stop until you live up to the potential that lives inside you as a goddamn professional wrestler. It chaps my ass to see someone waste their talents and abilities like you’ve done the majority of your career. The potential that lives inside of you is sickening, but you know what they say, Ned. You can’t confuse efforts with results.

**********

“Why the fuck did I agree to do this?”

The scene opens to find Chris Page and Candice Page lounging poolside at their Las Vegas residence in a pair of lounge chairs working on their tans while smoking a blunt.

CANDICE PAGE: I didn’t tell you to re-open that can of worms.

CHRIS PAGE: I gotta give him some credit, I never expected to see him on Monday Night Brawl.

Candice passes Chris the blunt.

CHRIS PAGE: That took some balls.

Chris pulls on the blunt.

CANDICE PAGE: Are you sure going back to the XWF even for one night is the right move after the public falling out with shitstain?

Chris blows out the smoke.

CHRIS PAGE: My understanding is he’s out delivering mail or something, but if his presence was truly felt in the land of Xtreme there isn’t a chance in hell I’d help him sell tickets. Theo on the other hand; we’ve had professional differences but never personal ones.

Chris takes another pull off the blunt before passing it over to Candice.

CANDICE PAGE: I just hope you’re not walking into a trap. You’ll be surrounded by people that don’t like you… like at all… people that throw slurs, and people that truly don’t give a shit if you live or die. I mean some of them compare you to Domino’s pizza.

Chris giggles under his breath.

CHRIS PAGE: Yeah, I never really understood if you truly despise someone to their core then why fucking talk to them, maybe we should ask the paper champion that… but then again when people are desperate for attention, or whine like babies when creative doesn’t go their way it’s to be expected.

Hey Corey, did you miss me fuckboy?

CHRIS PAGE: Ned’s never been like that. He’s just constantly taken bad advice from people who want to hold him down versus letting him be the talent he’s meant to be.

Let’s talk about your run in the XWF. You’ve always been the bridesmaid but never the bride and a large part of that is following the wrong people dating back to your days in Apex. Sure, who wouldn’t want to join the ranks alongside Robert Main or Drew Archylde? It looks great on paper until you look a little deeper to realize your tenure there led to a lot of nothing for you… but benefited others around you. You thought this would be your shot and yet you ended up being nothing more than background fodder. You’ve made a career flying under the radar regardless if it’s by your own volition or if other people have held you down. You’ve allowed it. Why?

I’m genuinely curious.

CANDICE PAGE: You know you can’t save everyone.

Candice states while hitting the blunt. Chris lets out a small sigh.

CHRIS PAGE: This is true.

Chris rests his head back and closes his eyes where he drifts off.

*********

[video=dailymotion]www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVi3-PrQ0pY[/video]

Ned, there isn’t a lot that you can say to demean me that isn’t pure imagination. When I kicked the XWF to the curb I moved on and have been more successful than any other piece of talent in the world. I’ll say that again, I moved on and have been more successful than any other piece of talent in the world. I relaunched the WGWF and made a bold prediction when I did it. I said give me twelve months and we will be the premiere federation on the planet. A year later we outperformed this dog and pony show without breaking a sweat. I’ve won two additional World Titles, one of which I carry to this day going on seven or eight months, I lost count. I’ve had Denzel Porter call me directly about headlining Grand Awakening, CCPE still kicking everyone's asses while Trilogy is the only thing to die faster than this federation… I say that to say that those who continue to say I suck, or I’m not good, or I’m overrated, or whatever excuse they need to tell themselves to make themselves feel better for being subpar talents in an industry where everyone wants to be the star yet to the people that matter I’m loved and respected. Isn’t that interesting?

In your case, specifically, I’ve owned you every time we’ve stepped through those ropes.

So what can you say to me that holds any weight?

Survey says. Nothing.

I’m the guy the masses can’t cancel, I lost count of how many times they’ve tried and yet I’m still the guy that garners the attention by simply telling you and everyone else how it is versus what people want you to believe; but you know this, right? I’m also the same guy who has walked through hell and slapped Satan himself, I’m the same guy who right now at this very minute has not only you to contend with but I’ve also got a Cataclysm match on deck. You remember Robert, right? The heart and soul of the XWF for so long now work with me after refusing to come back to the XWF. How bad do things have to be for a guy like Main to tell this place to fuck off? Stop pretending that you represent a fantastic place to work, I mean when staff members are actively competing for titles sounds like the IWF but it’s certainly an XWF issue as well, but then again that’s what happens when your roster starts to thin out and you want to put up the facade of being okay.

Fuck it Ned, you should come work for me.

At least I’ll give you the platform to succeed, or you can continue to flounder in obscurity wrestling the same people over, and over, and over, and over again. Not every company can have a roster fifty-deep. The WGWF does, and that my friend, is any but pure imagination.

**********

“Hold your breath.”

“Make a wish.”

“Count to three…”

Our scene opens….

“Come with me, you will see how to produce a quality Relentless Main Event.”

The scene fades to the entry of the room to find…

[Image: Untitled_design_9.png?width=1000&height=562]

CHRIS PAGE: On this stage, you will see, a group of guys pretending to main event Relentless. One Champion scared of defeat at the hands of a dirty old bastard. If you need, further proof, look at what at what he named as a stipulation…

“Hey now!”

The screeching voice of an ugly blonde dude holding the hand of a short-sided chunky dude who has a toy belt over his shoulder.

Chris spins around looking at the split ends of Mr. Layne.

MR. LAYNE: You can’t talk about my champion like that!

CHRIS PAGE: Who? This guy? The guy that runs and hides from fucking anyone that can, and will beat him? That rears his head every time the XWF is on a downward side so that he can taste some levels of success.

MR. LAYNE: I’ll have you know he beat Alias.

CHRIS PAGE: Handcuffing someone to play at a lower level hardly constitutes being a better talent or performer. It just means you are forcing someone to lower their standards to meet yours But hey, if that’s what you need to tell yourself then it explains perfectly why your snot-nosed kid found a Golden Ticket.

Theopatria Lane squeezes the hand of Mr. Layne.

THEOPATRIA: Honey, he does have a point.

Chris spins around facing Theopatria as he cocks his head to the side with his hat not moving an inch.

CHRIS PAGE: I know you’re used to cleaning up Mr. Layne's messes but this is hardly the time to oppose him.

Chris then picks right up with his timely tune.

CHRIS PAGE: If you want to view paradise then open up your eyes and view it, because if you all apply yourself you too can do it.

Chris throws his arms out and we see all the children and parents run down the steps to explore the Chocolate room… well, almost everyone. Chris kneels looking a Nedski Kayeness.

CHRIS PAGE: What’s the matter little guy?

NEDSKI: I’ve been trying to have a meaningful Relentless Main Event for the last five or six years and nothing ever seems to pan out in my favor.

CHRIS PAGE: It’s okay. What’s your name?

NEDSKIE: Nedski.

CHRIS PAGE: Did your parents hate you? That’s the only explanation for a name like that.

NEDSKI: I don’t think so.

*******************

Part of your problem rests with reliving the past, constantly. I’ve stepped into the ring with you for now a third or fourth time and I can already tell you that you’ve elected to take a trip down memory lane over living in the present. You’ve done nothing but make the same mistakes. You’d think you’d learned by now. This isn’t about history, Ned. This is about me doing what I do better than anyone else who bothers to lace a pair of boots- bringing out the best in whoever is standing across the ring from me. You are still as gullible as ever if you didn’t see Big D making the third string of B.O.B. I don’t know what’s worse. The fact Big D pulled one over on you or how desperate B.O.B. has to be to bring someone as beatable as Big D into the fold at your expense. If you can’t see a swerve coming a mile away then how do you expect to live through a Deathmatch with yours truly? It’s going to take a level of intelligence that you do not possess, and as a matter of fact, I was the guy who laid down the stipulation.

You do realize you’re walking into my element?

You do understand that this isn’t going to be like anything else you’ve ever been involved in before, and I highly doubt it will be something you ever see again… especially looking around this dense locker room that has zero depth to it. It’s shocking to me that even with less talent, with fewer Main Event players… hell, with less everything you can’t seem to find that level of success that you feel you’re owed. Who do you think that falls on? You can’t point and make excuses for not having the opportunity because you haven’t created it. My biggest problem with you has always been your level of complacency. I’ve said it several times throughout our past because truthfully it’s the only thing that needs to be said when it comes to dealing with you. You’re okay with being in the background behind guys like Doc, guys like Bourbon, like Thunder Knuckles, but more importantly… like Chris Page. Regardless if you’ve earned it or not I’m going to give you that Relentless moment that you THINK you want, only it’s going to be more than you’re prepared to handle. Nothing is off limits, and unlike that Universal Title match you’re going to have to BEAT ME to win.

I’ll say it again.

You’ll have to BEAT ME to win.

Opening briefcases until a strap falls out isn’t being beaten… it’s being protected.

******************

Nedski and Chris take a stroll on the bank of the Chocolate River where off in the distance TeeKay and Big Red are giving Mr. Layne a double wedgie. Theopatria joins them.

CHRIS PAGE: Nedski, you are your own worst enemy when it comes to situations like these. You think you want to be the man but you don’t have the first clue what that means. Don’t feel about that, the rest of this group is in the same boat.

THEOPATRIA: Mr. Page, may I have a word?

CHRIS PAGE: Sure.

Chris pats Nedski on the head.

CHRIS PAGE: Run along, have some fun. The adults need to talk.

NEDSKI: Okay.

Nedski runs off joining the children pretending to be adults.

CHRIS PAGE: Can I help you, mam?

THEOPATRIA: I just wanted to speak to you and let you know some of the things you’re saying to our kids are a little offensive.

Chris nods.

CHRIS PAGE: Well part of the problem as a parent is we tend to tell our children how good they are when that’s the last thing from the truth. It’s like pretending the Xtreme Wrestling Federation is anything today like it once was a few years ago. The caliber of talent is down, the quality of talent is way down, and I don’t see the need to mask the truth because they need to understand just how far down the rabbit hole they’ve gone. Relentless is the biggest event of the calendar year for the XWF, a stage that once housed over twenty to thirty matches is reduced to fifteen less competitive matches with ONE match that remotely fits the bill.

Chris then states.

CHRIS PAGE: It didn’t get here overnight. Plenty of mistakes have been made. I’m not going to lie to the children. You can continue to do that when you leave the premises but here in my factory, we speak the truth.

Chris and Theopatria observe Mr. Layne screaming and shouting at Bertha Smith who magically has a toy championship they’re parading around with as they tease Nedski and Teekay, yet she is dangerously close to the river of Chocolate.

CHRIS PAGE: Watch this.

Chris hollers out toward Bertha Smith.

CHRIS PAGE: Stay away from the river!

Bertha responds with a middle finger.

CHRIS PAGE: Watch, the ego won’t allow them not to do what’s asked.

Sure enough, Bertha drops to her knees at the river's edge and starts scooping handfuls of Chocolate into her mouth. TeeKay sneaks up behind Bertha Smith and kicks her in the ass sending her ass over teakettle into the river of Chocolate. Nedski immediately rushes to the river’s edge.

CHRIS PAGE: Poor Nedski, always trying to be captain save a hoe.

TeeKay points and laughs as Bertha Smith sails down the Chocolate River into obscurity.

THEOPATRIA: Nedski is such a good boy.

A loud bell sounds.

CHRIS PAGE: AH HA! Come along.

Attention is drawn to a Candy Boat that docks.

Chris screams out.

CHRIS PAGE: ALL ABOARD!

Naturally, Nedski is first on the boat followed by Theopatria, Mr. Layne, Teekay, Big Red, and an old dude that remains nameless.

NEDSKI: Where are we off to?

CHRIS PAGE: You’ll see.

I question your overall toughness, Nedski. I question if you have the balls to handle the proverbial storm that’s brewing and headed your way. This isn’t about being a great professional wrestler, it’s not about putting on an instant classic because that isn’t what the XWF is about. It’s about shedding as much of your blood, it’s about your screams filling the seventh realm of hell, and it’s about putting you through so much pain that the Devil himself pats me on the back. If this last encounter doesn’t bring out the beast that lays inside you then nothing will, and I will give up on you. You are why I’m here. When I put you to bed on the grandest stage the XWF has to offer there isn’t going to be anything left for you to do other than admit that the only thing you’ll ever be in this business is mid at best.

*******************

[Image: 1047690_orig.jpg]

“Welcome to my inventing room.”

Chris leads Nedski, Theopatria, Mr. Layne, TeeKay, Big Red, and Random Old Dude into the inventing room.

CHRIS PAGE: This is where all the magic happens.

Instantly TeeKay, Big Red, and Random Old Guy roam around the room getting into mischief.

CHRIS PAGE: Don’t touch that!

Of course, Big Red and TeeKay throw a switch causing a massive burst of light to overtake the entire room for several seconds. When the lights fade away there is no TeeKay, Big Red, or Random Old Guy.

MR. LAYNE: NOOOOOOOO!!!

Theopatria rushes over looking around for his Relentless Main Events.

CHRIS PAGE: I asked them not to touch it.

Mr. Layne is pissed as he turns toward Chris.

MR. LAYNE: We NEED them! We need ALL of them! Our Main Events are gone!

CHRIS PAGE: Let’s be fair, they weren’t money makers. The fact this event is in hell should tell you that, you don’t have to sell tickets down there.

MR. LAYNE: That’s not the point!

CHRIS PAGE: It should be.

I wonder how the rest of you are going to feel when this event comes to a close and the last thing anyone outside of this sandbox talks about is any of you while touting my performance in single-handedly saving an event that was dead on arrival before I signed on. I shouldn’t be shocked we’re going to hell, it seems fitting considering the history of this organization.

MR. LAYNE: What are we going to do?!?!

Mr. Layne asks Theopatria.

THEOPATRIA: I don’t know.

Theopatria slowly turns his head looking over at Nedski and then slowly turns his head toward Chris.

CHRIS PAGE: Don’t even think about it! Absolutely not! I already saved one of your Pay-Per-Views this year and you guys put over a dude that dropped the “R” word. That screams fuckery if there ever was.

MR. LAYNE: But… but….

CHRIS PAGE: But nothing. Tasteless is tasteless.

THEOPATRIA: Don’t think about that… think about… Nedski. We don’t have anything for him, and clearly, we don’t have anything else either.

CHRIS PAGE: I don’t know if I should feel complimented or insulted.

MR. LAYNE: Both.

CHRIS PAGE: I didn’t know this was the XWF Podcast.

Mr. Layne gets a boo-boo face while Chris looks over at Nedski who displays the sweetest little puppy dog eyes.

CHRIS PAGE: That adorable face.

THEOPATRIA: How can you say no to that?

*********************

A lot of pressure rests on your shoulders, Ned. I’m the one guy that can walk through these doors and generate instant heat because I’m the guy that can give two fucks about hurting your feelings. The seas of the XWF have never been more political because it’s not like the higher-ups can say no. There is a reason why business is down, there is a reason why there isn’t an influx of talent beating down your doors. The sooner you open your eyes to that fundamentally simple truth the better off you are all going to be. Ninety-nine percent of you couldn’t and wouldn’t make it in a reputable organization. Hell, bragging about anything in the XWF is on the level of celebrating coloring within the lines. Sure, it’s cool the first time… but is it really that impressive? Ned, you wouldn’t know because your only meaningful win was a Leap of Faith match like four years ago.

You better be ready.

You better be more prepared for this than you’ve been prepared for anything else in your professional career. You can talk up my past, you can bring up anything you choose to harp on like it means a goddamn now. I’m still leading this industry, and that notion alone not only eats your ass but those in and around the sport. Listen, it’s not my fault I know what it means to be successful… I also can’t help that learning your craft doesn’t seem to be a viable option for you.

*******************

“Where did Mr. Layne and Theopatria go?”

Nedski asks as the scene re-opens inside a dark room.

CHRIS PAGE: They asked me to have a word with you.

NEDSKI: Am I in trouble?

CHRIS PAGE: That depends on your outlook.

NEDSKI: How so?

CHRIS PAGE: It’s almost every day that I’m asked to go to different organizations, doing different things… and to be honest, the last place I thought I’d be is here and now. Relentless is right around the corner and it seems like you haven’t been factored into any real plans… considering the lack of real main events on the entire show, or Champions that COULD have done something great but would rather ego stroke themselves in the event they lose can claim he wasn’t “pinned” for the title.

[Image: 200w.gif?cid=6c09b952pox77mgmulpu1ai8u2t...w.gif&ct=g]

CHRIS PAGE: I looked over the active roster and if I can make chicken salad out of all the chicken shit that exists here I can do it with you.

NEDSKI: But haven’t you destroyed me…

CHRIS PAGE: Twice but who’s counting?

NEDSKI: You.

CHRIS PAGE: If I’m going to make this work I’m going to need you to break through that glass ceiling that you’ve been living under for the last several years, I’m going to need you to tap into whatever badassness rests inside that little body of yours, and I’m going to need you to elevate yourself to a completely different level.

NEDSKI: How do you suppose I do that?

An overhead light turns on displaying a glass elevator.

CHRIS PAGE: All you have to do is get in.

Nedski observes the glass elevator.

CHRIS PAGE: Put your fears aside and tempt fate… it’s the only chance you’ve got.

Reluctantly Nedski starts to take a few steps toward the glass elevator before Chris comes forward and shoves Nedski into the glass elevator with the doors shutting instantly which traps him inside. Nedski starts pounding on the glass with both fists.

CHRIS PAGE: Just like I said… gullible.

Chris smacks a button causing the elevator to drop into the fiery pits.

CHRIS PAGE: I’ll see you hell.

******************

“Where am I?”

Chris wakes up in the lounge chair on the pool deck of his Las Vegas estate with Candice laughing at him under her breath.

CANDICE PAGE: You passed out mid toke.

Chris sits up.

CANDICE PAGE: It sounded like you were having a weird dream.

CHRIS PAGE: You have no idea.

CANDICE PAGE: When you’re singing a rendition of Pure Imagination I think it’s safe to say that I have an idea.

Chris suddenly exclaims taking Candice by surprise.

CHRIS PAGE: Oh shit!

CANDICE PAGE: What?

CHRIS PAGE: I have to go to hell.

Without hesitation, Candice responds.

CANDICE PAGE: That’s easy, just use X and call it a day.

CHRIS PAGE: Good point.

Scene fades.

[/i]]]> Jesus Christ has this place taken a shit in just a handful of months. The downward trajectory the Xtreme Wrestling Federation has been on throughout 2023 has turned into a straight nose dive into obscurity; and if you need further proof to that statement, when your Universal Champion selects a match that has NOTHING to do with wrestling and everything with saving face pretty much says it all, pussy. If having your marquee title wrapped around a talentless tool wasn’t bad enough… this is supposed to be the biggest show of the year, yet it’s wrapped around MONDAY NIGHT MADNESS!

Wow.

Impressive.

Not really.

Several months ago I popped back into this organization for a hot minute and told you fuckboys then that this place is operating with a collapsed lung with its life slowly depleting. After walking back through the front doors and snatching a title I had no intention of holding- but that’s not what led to my zero fucks given attitude while exiting just as quickly as I entered. Nah, all that rests with one Loverboy. You know the guy. The same guy that takes potshots at those who tell him to fuck off, right, Vincent? Naturally when I found out that his claws aren’t sunken into this organization like they once were opened the door for me to come back and finish a story that should have been finished months ago. Let me make this clear from Jump Street- I don’t care about this federation, I don’t care about most of the people involved in it, and I find it nothing short of amusing that this is supposed to be your biggest show of the year and yet when I look over the card the only match worth a damn is Bourbon vs Doc.

… and while I can care less about most of you. I do care about you, Ned.

Why else would I be here? Hmmm? I’m not going to pretend that you’re meaningless because if you were I wouldn’t be here to live up to the title of Mr. Relentless. If any of you twatwaffles or cuntcakes think that’s smoke being blown up your ass I’d suggest you take a walk through the history of this event because I’m the ONLY talent that has wrestled on all three nights in back-to-back years back when I drank the XWF kool-aid. Fuck, now that I think about it can anyone tell me the last time there was a strong program heading into the biggest show of YOUR year? Oh yeah, Robert Man and Chris Page. You’re welcome… but this is about you, Ned. Do you remember the last time we met when I told you that if the Trilogy was being spearheaded by Theo Pryce it would be dead in months, and did I lie? CCPE is not only alive and kicking but hell, three weeks ago we dispatched another team of talent that tried to take us down. What happened? Oh yeah, they failed with flying colors too. It seems to be the nature of the beast when you fuck with those that are just better than you. Fuck dude, in that one event I showed more balls than ANY of your XWF Champions by putting my money where my mouth is.

I’d imagine the surprise when you watched back Weekend Warfare to see that mask come off to see this wicked sexy face being the culprit behind leaving you lying, and truthfully it wasn’t the way I wanted to go about things but considering how we left things I figured some theatrics would be a little interesting. The attack wasn’t personal, it was a reminder that I will NOT stop until you live up to the potential that lives inside you as a goddamn professional wrestler. It chaps my ass to see someone waste their talents and abilities like you’ve done the majority of your career. The potential that lives inside of you is sickening, but you know what they say, Ned. You can’t confuse efforts with results.

**********

“Why the fuck did I agree to do this?”

The scene opens to find Chris Page and Candice Page lounging poolside at their Las Vegas residence in a pair of lounge chairs working on their tans while smoking a blunt.

CANDICE PAGE: I didn’t tell you to re-open that can of worms.

CHRIS PAGE: I gotta give him some credit, I never expected to see him on Monday Night Brawl.

Candice passes Chris the blunt.

CHRIS PAGE: That took some balls.

Chris pulls on the blunt.

CANDICE PAGE: Are you sure going back to the XWF even for one night is the right move after the public falling out with shitstain?

Chris blows out the smoke.

CHRIS PAGE: My understanding is he’s out delivering mail or something, but if his presence was truly felt in the land of Xtreme there isn’t a chance in hell I’d help him sell tickets. Theo on the other hand; we’ve had professional differences but never personal ones.

Chris takes another pull off the blunt before passing it over to Candice.

CANDICE PAGE: I just hope you’re not walking into a trap. You’ll be surrounded by people that don’t like you… like at all… people that throw slurs, and people that truly don’t give a shit if you live or die. I mean some of them compare you to Domino’s pizza.

Chris giggles under his breath.

CHRIS PAGE: Yeah, I never really understood if you truly despise someone to their core then why fucking talk to them, maybe we should ask the paper champion that… but then again when people are desperate for attention, or whine like babies when creative doesn’t go their way it’s to be expected.

Hey Corey, did you miss me fuckboy?

CHRIS PAGE: Ned’s never been like that. He’s just constantly taken bad advice from people who want to hold him down versus letting him be the talent he’s meant to be.

Let’s talk about your run in the XWF. You’ve always been the bridesmaid but never the bride and a large part of that is following the wrong people dating back to your days in Apex. Sure, who wouldn’t want to join the ranks alongside Robert Main or Drew Archylde? It looks great on paper until you look a little deeper to realize your tenure there led to a lot of nothing for you… but benefited others around you. You thought this would be your shot and yet you ended up being nothing more than background fodder. You’ve made a career flying under the radar regardless if it’s by your own volition or if other people have held you down. You’ve allowed it. Why?

I’m genuinely curious.

CANDICE PAGE: You know you can’t save everyone.

Candice states while hitting the blunt. Chris lets out a small sigh.

CHRIS PAGE: This is true.

Chris rests his head back and closes his eyes where he drifts off.

*********

[video=dailymotion]www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVi3-PrQ0pY[/video]

Ned, there isn’t a lot that you can say to demean me that isn’t pure imagination. When I kicked the XWF to the curb I moved on and have been more successful than any other piece of talent in the world. I’ll say that again, I moved on and have been more successful than any other piece of talent in the world. I relaunched the WGWF and made a bold prediction when I did it. I said give me twelve months and we will be the premiere federation on the planet. A year later we outperformed this dog and pony show without breaking a sweat. I’ve won two additional World Titles, one of which I carry to this day going on seven or eight months, I lost count. I’ve had Denzel Porter call me directly about headlining Grand Awakening, CCPE still kicking everyone's asses while Trilogy is the only thing to die faster than this federation… I say that to say that those who continue to say I suck, or I’m not good, or I’m overrated, or whatever excuse they need to tell themselves to make themselves feel better for being subpar talents in an industry where everyone wants to be the star yet to the people that matter I’m loved and respected. Isn’t that interesting?

In your case, specifically, I’ve owned you every time we’ve stepped through those ropes.

So what can you say to me that holds any weight?

Survey says. Nothing.

I’m the guy the masses can’t cancel, I lost count of how many times they’ve tried and yet I’m still the guy that garners the attention by simply telling you and everyone else how it is versus what people want you to believe; but you know this, right? I’m also the same guy who has walked through hell and slapped Satan himself, I’m the same guy who right now at this very minute has not only you to contend with but I’ve also got a Cataclysm match on deck. You remember Robert, right? The heart and soul of the XWF for so long now work with me after refusing to come back to the XWF. How bad do things have to be for a guy like Main to tell this place to fuck off? Stop pretending that you represent a fantastic place to work, I mean when staff members are actively competing for titles sounds like the IWF but it’s certainly an XWF issue as well, but then again that’s what happens when your roster starts to thin out and you want to put up the facade of being okay.

Fuck it Ned, you should come work for me.

At least I’ll give you the platform to succeed, or you can continue to flounder in obscurity wrestling the same people over, and over, and over, and over again. Not every company can have a roster fifty-deep. The WGWF does, and that my friend, is any but pure imagination.

**********

“Hold your breath.”

“Make a wish.”

“Count to three…”

Our scene opens….

“Come with me, you will see how to produce a quality Relentless Main Event.”

The scene fades to the entry of the room to find…

[Image: Untitled_design_9.png?width=1000&height=562]

CHRIS PAGE: On this stage, you will see, a group of guys pretending to main event Relentless. One Champion scared of defeat at the hands of a dirty old bastard. If you need, further proof, look at what at what he named as a stipulation…

“Hey now!”

The screeching voice of an ugly blonde dude holding the hand of a short-sided chunky dude who has a toy belt over his shoulder.

Chris spins around looking at the split ends of Mr. Layne.

MR. LAYNE: You can’t talk about my champion like that!

CHRIS PAGE: Who? This guy? The guy that runs and hides from fucking anyone that can, and will beat him? That rears his head every time the XWF is on a downward side so that he can taste some levels of success.

MR. LAYNE: I’ll have you know he beat Alias.

CHRIS PAGE: Handcuffing someone to play at a lower level hardly constitutes being a better talent or performer. It just means you are forcing someone to lower their standards to meet yours But hey, if that’s what you need to tell yourself then it explains perfectly why your snot-nosed kid found a Golden Ticket.

Theopatria Lane squeezes the hand of Mr. Layne.

THEOPATRIA: Honey, he does have a point.

Chris spins around facing Theopatria as he cocks his head to the side with his hat not moving an inch.

CHRIS PAGE: I know you’re used to cleaning up Mr. Layne's messes but this is hardly the time to oppose him.

Chris then picks right up with his timely tune.

CHRIS PAGE: If you want to view paradise then open up your eyes and view it, because if you all apply yourself you too can do it.

Chris throws his arms out and we see all the children and parents run down the steps to explore the Chocolate room… well, almost everyone. Chris kneels looking a Nedski Kayeness.

CHRIS PAGE: What’s the matter little guy?

NEDSKI: I’ve been trying to have a meaningful Relentless Main Event for the last five or six years and nothing ever seems to pan out in my favor.

CHRIS PAGE: It’s okay. What’s your name?

NEDSKIE: Nedski.

CHRIS PAGE: Did your parents hate you? That’s the only explanation for a name like that.

NEDSKI: I don’t think so.

*******************

Part of your problem rests with reliving the past, constantly. I’ve stepped into the ring with you for now a third or fourth time and I can already tell you that you’ve elected to take a trip down memory lane over living in the present. You’ve done nothing but make the same mistakes. You’d think you’d learned by now. This isn’t about history, Ned. This is about me doing what I do better than anyone else who bothers to lace a pair of boots- bringing out the best in whoever is standing across the ring from me. You are still as gullible as ever if you didn’t see Big D making the third string of B.O.B. I don’t know what’s worse. The fact Big D pulled one over on you or how desperate B.O.B. has to be to bring someone as beatable as Big D into the fold at your expense. If you can’t see a swerve coming a mile away then how do you expect to live through a Deathmatch with yours truly? It’s going to take a level of intelligence that you do not possess, and as a matter of fact, I was the guy who laid down the stipulation.

You do realize you’re walking into my element?

You do understand that this isn’t going to be like anything else you’ve ever been involved in before, and I highly doubt it will be something you ever see again… especially looking around this dense locker room that has zero depth to it. It’s shocking to me that even with less talent, with fewer Main Event players… hell, with less everything you can’t seem to find that level of success that you feel you’re owed. Who do you think that falls on? You can’t point and make excuses for not having the opportunity because you haven’t created it. My biggest problem with you has always been your level of complacency. I’ve said it several times throughout our past because truthfully it’s the only thing that needs to be said when it comes to dealing with you. You’re okay with being in the background behind guys like Doc, guys like Bourbon, like Thunder Knuckles, but more importantly… like Chris Page. Regardless if you’ve earned it or not I’m going to give you that Relentless moment that you THINK you want, only it’s going to be more than you’re prepared to handle. Nothing is off limits, and unlike that Universal Title match you’re going to have to BEAT ME to win.

I’ll say it again.

You’ll have to BEAT ME to win.

Opening briefcases until a strap falls out isn’t being beaten… it’s being protected.

******************

Nedski and Chris take a stroll on the bank of the Chocolate River where off in the distance TeeKay and Big Red are giving Mr. Layne a double wedgie. Theopatria joins them.

CHRIS PAGE: Nedski, you are your own worst enemy when it comes to situations like these. You think you want to be the man but you don’t have the first clue what that means. Don’t feel about that, the rest of this group is in the same boat.

THEOPATRIA: Mr. Page, may I have a word?

CHRIS PAGE: Sure.

Chris pats Nedski on the head.

CHRIS PAGE: Run along, have some fun. The adults need to talk.

NEDSKI: Okay.

Nedski runs off joining the children pretending to be adults.

CHRIS PAGE: Can I help you, mam?

THEOPATRIA: I just wanted to speak to you and let you know some of the things you’re saying to our kids are a little offensive.

Chris nods.

CHRIS PAGE: Well part of the problem as a parent is we tend to tell our children how good they are when that’s the last thing from the truth. It’s like pretending the Xtreme Wrestling Federation is anything today like it once was a few years ago. The caliber of talent is down, the quality of talent is way down, and I don’t see the need to mask the truth because they need to understand just how far down the rabbit hole they’ve gone. Relentless is the biggest event of the calendar year for the XWF, a stage that once housed over twenty to thirty matches is reduced to fifteen less competitive matches with ONE match that remotely fits the bill.

Chris then states.

CHRIS PAGE: It didn’t get here overnight. Plenty of mistakes have been made. I’m not going to lie to the children. You can continue to do that when you leave the premises but here in my factory, we speak the truth.

Chris and Theopatria observe Mr. Layne screaming and shouting at Bertha Smith who magically has a toy championship they’re parading around with as they tease Nedski and Teekay, yet she is dangerously close to the river of Chocolate.

CHRIS PAGE: Watch this.

Chris hollers out toward Bertha Smith.

CHRIS PAGE: Stay away from the river!

Bertha responds with a middle finger.

CHRIS PAGE: Watch, the ego won’t allow them not to do what’s asked.

Sure enough, Bertha drops to her knees at the river's edge and starts scooping handfuls of Chocolate into her mouth. TeeKay sneaks up behind Bertha Smith and kicks her in the ass sending her ass over teakettle into the river of Chocolate. Nedski immediately rushes to the river’s edge.

CHRIS PAGE: Poor Nedski, always trying to be captain save a hoe.

TeeKay points and laughs as Bertha Smith sails down the Chocolate River into obscurity.

THEOPATRIA: Nedski is such a good boy.

A loud bell sounds.

CHRIS PAGE: AH HA! Come along.

Attention is drawn to a Candy Boat that docks.

Chris screams out.

CHRIS PAGE: ALL ABOARD!

Naturally, Nedski is first on the boat followed by Theopatria, Mr. Layne, Teekay, Big Red, and an old dude that remains nameless.

NEDSKI: Where are we off to?

CHRIS PAGE: You’ll see.

I question your overall toughness, Nedski. I question if you have the balls to handle the proverbial storm that’s brewing and headed your way. This isn’t about being a great professional wrestler, it’s not about putting on an instant classic because that isn’t what the XWF is about. It’s about shedding as much of your blood, it’s about your screams filling the seventh realm of hell, and it’s about putting you through so much pain that the Devil himself pats me on the back. If this last encounter doesn’t bring out the beast that lays inside you then nothing will, and I will give up on you. You are why I’m here. When I put you to bed on the grandest stage the XWF has to offer there isn’t going to be anything left for you to do other than admit that the only thing you’ll ever be in this business is mid at best.

*******************

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“Welcome to my inventing room.”

Chris leads Nedski, Theopatria, Mr. Layne, TeeKay, Big Red, and Random Old Dude into the inventing room.

CHRIS PAGE: This is where all the magic happens.

Instantly TeeKay, Big Red, and Random Old Guy roam around the room getting into mischief.

CHRIS PAGE: Don’t touch that!

Of course, Big Red and TeeKay throw a switch causing a massive burst of light to overtake the entire room for several seconds. When the lights fade away there is no TeeKay, Big Red, or Random Old Guy.

MR. LAYNE: NOOOOOOOO!!!

Theopatria rushes over looking around for his Relentless Main Events.

CHRIS PAGE: I asked them not to touch it.

Mr. Layne is pissed as he turns toward Chris.

MR. LAYNE: We NEED them! We need ALL of them! Our Main Events are gone!

CHRIS PAGE: Let’s be fair, they weren’t money makers. The fact this event is in hell should tell you that, you don’t have to sell tickets down there.

MR. LAYNE: That’s not the point!

CHRIS PAGE: It should be.

I wonder how the rest of you are going to feel when this event comes to a close and the last thing anyone outside of this sandbox talks about is any of you while touting my performance in single-handedly saving an event that was dead on arrival before I signed on. I shouldn’t be shocked we’re going to hell, it seems fitting considering the history of this organization.

MR. LAYNE: What are we going to do?!?!

Mr. Layne asks Theopatria.

THEOPATRIA: I don’t know.

Theopatria slowly turns his head looking over at Nedski and then slowly turns his head toward Chris.

CHRIS PAGE: Don’t even think about it! Absolutely not! I already saved one of your Pay-Per-Views this year and you guys put over a dude that dropped the “R” word. That screams fuckery if there ever was.

MR. LAYNE: But… but….

CHRIS PAGE: But nothing. Tasteless is tasteless.

THEOPATRIA: Don’t think about that… think about… Nedski. We don’t have anything for him, and clearly, we don’t have anything else either.

CHRIS PAGE: I don’t know if I should feel complimented or insulted.

MR. LAYNE: Both.

CHRIS PAGE: I didn’t know this was the XWF Podcast.

Mr. Layne gets a boo-boo face while Chris looks over at Nedski who displays the sweetest little puppy dog eyes.

CHRIS PAGE: That adorable face.

THEOPATRIA: How can you say no to that?

*********************

A lot of pressure rests on your shoulders, Ned. I’m the one guy that can walk through these doors and generate instant heat because I’m the guy that can give two fucks about hurting your feelings. The seas of the XWF have never been more political because it’s not like the higher-ups can say no. There is a reason why business is down, there is a reason why there isn’t an influx of talent beating down your doors. The sooner you open your eyes to that fundamentally simple truth the better off you are all going to be. Ninety-nine percent of you couldn’t and wouldn’t make it in a reputable organization. Hell, bragging about anything in the XWF is on the level of celebrating coloring within the lines. Sure, it’s cool the first time… but is it really that impressive? Ned, you wouldn’t know because your only meaningful win was a Leap of Faith match like four years ago.

You better be ready.

You better be more prepared for this than you’ve been prepared for anything else in your professional career. You can talk up my past, you can bring up anything you choose to harp on like it means a goddamn now. I’m still leading this industry, and that notion alone not only eats your ass but those in and around the sport. Listen, it’s not my fault I know what it means to be successful… I also can’t help that learning your craft doesn’t seem to be a viable option for you.

*******************

“Where did Mr. Layne and Theopatria go?”

Nedski asks as the scene re-opens inside a dark room.

CHRIS PAGE: They asked me to have a word with you.

NEDSKI: Am I in trouble?

CHRIS PAGE: That depends on your outlook.

NEDSKI: How so?

CHRIS PAGE: It’s almost every day that I’m asked to go to different organizations, doing different things… and to be honest, the last place I thought I’d be is here and now. Relentless is right around the corner and it seems like you haven’t been factored into any real plans… considering the lack of real main events on the entire show, or Champions that COULD have done something great but would rather ego stroke themselves in the event they lose can claim he wasn’t “pinned” for the title.

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CHRIS PAGE: I looked over the active roster and if I can make chicken salad out of all the chicken shit that exists here I can do it with you.

NEDSKI: But haven’t you destroyed me…

CHRIS PAGE: Twice but who’s counting?

NEDSKI: You.

CHRIS PAGE: If I’m going to make this work I’m going to need you to break through that glass ceiling that you’ve been living under for the last several years, I’m going to need you to tap into whatever badassness rests inside that little body of yours, and I’m going to need you to elevate yourself to a completely different level.

NEDSKI: How do you suppose I do that?

An overhead light turns on displaying a glass elevator.

CHRIS PAGE: All you have to do is get in.

Nedski observes the glass elevator.

CHRIS PAGE: Put your fears aside and tempt fate… it’s the only chance you’ve got.

Reluctantly Nedski starts to take a few steps toward the glass elevator before Chris comes forward and shoves Nedski into the glass elevator with the doors shutting instantly which traps him inside. Nedski starts pounding on the glass with both fists.

CHRIS PAGE: Just like I said… gullible.

Chris smacks a button causing the elevator to drop into the fiery pits.

CHRIS PAGE: I’ll see you hell.

******************

“Where am I?”

Chris wakes up in the lounge chair on the pool deck of his Las Vegas estate with Candice laughing at him under her breath.

CANDICE PAGE: You passed out mid toke.

Chris sits up.

CANDICE PAGE: It sounded like you were having a weird dream.

CHRIS PAGE: You have no idea.

CANDICE PAGE: When you’re singing a rendition of Pure Imagination I think it’s safe to say that I have an idea.

Chris suddenly exclaims taking Candice by surprise.

CHRIS PAGE: Oh shit!

CANDICE PAGE: What?

CHRIS PAGE: I have to go to hell.

Without hesitation, Candice responds.

CANDICE PAGE: That’s easy, just use X and call it a day.

CHRIS PAGE: Good point.

Scene fades.

[/i]]]> <![CDATA[Silent No More: Part 2]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46887 Tue, 19 Sep 2023 02:08:32 -0700 Thunder Knuckles™]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46887 It is so common to see burning embers flying around that you become accustomed to them almost immediately. From his knelt position, TK witnesses the falling spirits of the damned. There are some who stand up, while there are others who lie there and become salt pillars. Those who stand, however, begin walking toward the man at the gate with a funny look on his face.

I guess this is the fucking way to go then.

As TK approaches the gate, he cracks his knuckles. In awe of the scenery, he can't help but stare. A howling can be heard from boundless spirits who are being tortured. In addition, packs of hellhounds seemed to be stalking the poor fucks with bodies, jumping on them. Suddenly the voice of the funny-looking man can be heard. As TK gets closer the voice and face become even more clear. It’s Rodney Dangerfield!

What a crowd. What a crowd. I tell you, this weeks been rough. Yeah, this weeks been rough, ya know? I just found out that Corey Smith retained his XWF Universal Championship. Reminds me of the time I found out my inflatable doll wanted to friend-zone me. Last week was rough, I tell ya.

Rodney twitches his head to the side and compulsively adjusts his tie. He notices TK looking like a badass in body armor.

Oh, hey there! You're Thunder Knuckles ain'tcha?

Yeah, holy fuck, dude. What are you doing down here?

Heaven's not nearly as fun. I decided to come down here and check it out, ya know?

TK is tired of Rodney's schtick already and begins mumbling to himself.

Jimmy probably called 911 but still, I have to try to find my way out here.

Little did he know that Mr. Dangerfield has pretty solid hearing.

I asked my Doctor before I died. I looked and him and said, Hey Doc. What's the difference between a rectal thermometer and an oral one? Without flinching he said, The taste

What?

That's just what he said. I don't know. I'm just saying, don't trust doctors is all. You know what I found out down here standing by this gate? Know what I found out?

TK starts to answer but Rodney keeps going.

You have to have a sense of humor, ya know? A lot of people don't have a sense of humor.

I completely fucking agree but-

Especially down here, ya know? Yeah, I found out people don't like dirty jokes anymore.

Fuck'em.

I was telling some jokes as people were going in, ya know? And they said that was disgusting. I was like, in shock, ya know? I said to them, I said, that's not disgusting. No, walking in on your grandparents while they have sex. That's disgusting.

Some random-bodied soul lumbering by, like cattle, says.

That's disgusting!

See!

So, you never actually walked into Hell? You've just been chillin' here by the gate greeting people, and shit?

Something like that. I tell you what though, I tell ya, it's pretty hot. Don't worry about heat stroke though, ya know? Heh, you're dead. Can't die twice, ya know?

There was a sudden flash in TK's brain, like a light bulb going off. His mind wandered to something. It could be possible for him to escape Hell with the help of someone.

Yo, I got an idea!

I tell y-

Will you shut the fuck up?!

Woah, I get no respect. No respect.

Smirking at Rodney, TK has an idea.

So, mother fucker, I will make you a deal of the afterlife. Make it to where I can get back into my goddamn body by showing me around Hell. There's gotta be a way out of here. If we do that together, maybe we can put a little respect on both of our fucking names? Is that shit alright with you?

So, umm, got any plans?

Fucking right I do. So a few years back Miss Fury bit the big one on Halloween. I’m thinking we find her mean ass.

Woah.

What? That’s a compliment. Shit. Anyway, we find her and I’m pretty fucking sure we’ll find a way to get my back to my body.

Alright, but, ya know? Demons aren’t going to let us just pass though. Kind of like the Nazis in Europe, ya know.

Holy shit, Rodney, no wonder you get no respect. Just use rassling moves.

Heh, you know? That reminds me of the time I was with the WW-

I don’t give a fuck, Rodney. Are you in or what?

Even though the demons are going to try and torture us until we succumb… I’m in, reminds me of my first marriage.

Give it a rest, man. Which way should we go?

Well, depends, ya know? I hear everyone’s hell is a little different. I hear there's this laboratory, right? Like we need more-

Cut to the chase.

TK is annoyed that this is taking way longer than it should.

Well, some dude made it to make “Super Demons” for Satan.

Perfect, sounds like just the place that we need to start looking. She’s the best candidate for something like that. Now, just point me in the right direction. The thing is you need to stay far enough behind me so you don’t get too fucked up. I’m not trying to lose my goddamn tour guide, ya feel me?





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Rodney nods his head, or twitches, either way, TK takes that as a sign that Rodney will be joining him. Rodney points in a direction and the two men begin their trek through Hell. It starts out fine. Rodney's just chirping away like a bird, feeding one-liner after one-liner. Moving with some gusto TK presses forward until they get jumped by a demon. TK makes short work of it, grabbing it by the chin, swiping its back legs, and slamming it to the ground. Once on the ground TK grabs it's right foot and plants the Thunder Strike. Thus the demons explode.


[Image: doom2.gif]



Woah, you got quite the move there, don't ya?

As soon as Rodney finishes his sentence TK's version of hell begins. A giant screen blocks the road.

What the goddamn shit is this?

The screen fires up and starts playing Corey Smith's promo.

Oh, get fucked!

Rodney doesn’t see what TK’s seeing.

What?

This shit!

Looking all kinds of annoyed, TK points to the screen that only he and XWF viewers can see.

Hehey, You got a screw loose or something or are you living your own Hell? It reminds me of the time I was making love to this girl and she started crying. I said, Are you going to hate yourself in the morning? She said, no, I hate myself now.

Suddenly the sound of growls and four-legged footsteps could be heard.

That fuck is that?

TK quickly looks behind him and sees four hellhounds.

Do you see those?

Oh, heh, yeah they’re real.

Surrounded by the four hellhounds now. TK gets ready for the attack. One bares its long, blood-stained fangs. TK barely dodges the first beat, causing him to fall to the ground. Quickly rolling out of the way of another hound. With a pushup, TK gets to his feet. Only to be knocked down again. Just in time, TK jerks back to elbow the next incoming hound attack. The hound whimpers and steps back. The pack backs off suddenly.

Oh, come on, bitches!

Standing up like a true champion TK stands up and brushes himself off. The biggest of the beasts snarls and slowly backs away.


[Image: doom3.gif]



Woah, that was close. You know what I'm saying? You think they looked bad, you should have seen my wife. Geez, those dogs have prettier faces, let me tell ya.

Corey’s promotional material is constantly playing in the background. TK is starting to crack and can’t help himself.

I’m so sick of hearing this mother fucker. Has anyone ever asked Corey why he talks the way he does? For fucks sake, he sounds like a pompous fuck boy. Don't he? Hell, I barely understand what he's saying half the time. It's goddamn insulting to the average rassling fan. At least I'm entertaining and made for the mass market. And who the fuck educated this shit stick between being a drug-addicted dying kid and being trapped in his own body? The engineer program? Give me a break, the only program Shane produced was the XWF to sucker folks out of their money. That's a goddamn fact.

As TK finishes his sentence one of Hell’s Heavy Weapon Dudes tries to sneak up on TK. With quickness we didn’t know he possessed, Rodney performs an amazing spinning back kick to the chin of the Heavy Weapons Dude. TK sees this transpire.

You have to be fucking kidding me, right?

What?

Did you just hit him with a Face Pain De-Lux?

No… What is that? Heh, I hit him with a Spinning Back Kick, ya know?

It’s the same fucking thing!

Look over there!

Rodney sees the building and points over to it, TK looks relieved.

Thank the Bastardly Father.

Who?

Don’t worry about it. We have to get to that fucking building, and fast!

TK starts running to the building as Rodeny slowly walks. That's when the Hellhounds return out of nowhere. This time three leap at TK, clawing viciously. TK can escape at first and takes a lot of damage. Without warning another of the beasts pounced on TK from behind grabbing his arm, trying hard to rip the flesh from his bone.

Get the fuck off me!

Trying to shake the hound from his arm. He stomps down on one, killing it instantly, as he sees it running for his junk.

Eat shit!

It's still impossible for him to get the dog off of his arm. At this point, the dog on his arm was to be used as a weapon. He slings out his arm and catches another hound when it rushes in. Mercilessly, TK begins to hammer the dog on the ground with the one hanging from his arm. That is until the dog releases its clutched teeth and falls to the ground. TK then kicks the dog away, sending it flying across the room. He watches as the last Hellhound tries to escape, slowly crawling. TK is already prepared with another stomp. This time the beast's skull, crushing it, he laughs as it stays down. Looking more damaged than before, TK motions Rodney to continue advancing toward the building they believe Miss Fury to be in.


[Image: doom4.gif]



Without stopping or getting into another fight they finally make it to the building. TK tries to open the door but nothing doing. The door won't open.

What now?

Looking fed up, TK looks around and sees a ladder. A smirk forms on TK's face.

Now we show off my breaking and entering skills, mother fucker!

Walking over to the ladder, TK grabs it and puts it in place by what looks like a blown-out window.

See! Not so bad, huh?

TK disappears into the window of the building. Moments later the door opens.

Right this goddamn way Rodney.

As the door shuts behind Rodney, it locks behind him.

Will you turn that shit the fuck off!?

Rodney looks at TK confused. Corey’s promotional material is still consistently playing in the background, you've kind of grown numb to it.

Goddamn, talk about lacking aggression. If this piss-ant keeps sucking my mother fucking dick off, I tell you what.

TK looks over at Rodney realizing some of his mannerisms are rubbing off on him.

I’m going to start thinking that he wants to be my sad ex-boyfriend next.

Shaking his head no, TK continues.

Honestly, though, this isn’t the same fireball that went against Raion. He’s gone soft. Where’s the Corey that wants to beat the life out ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles? Shutting down Coreytopia? I guess, a loss to ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles and a draw with King will do that to a man. Turns out the Universal Champion is nothing more than a paper tiger. Which is funny seeing the only thing he could truly kill was a cardboard lion.

Rubbing his index finger and thumb together, he played the world's smallest violin for Corey.

I should have figured he was scared when he made this match. Hell, we don’t have to get too physical in there, but if relying on dumb fucking luck, instead of skill is what he’s looking for. That’s on him and I’ll have his ass whipped in spades!

Looking around for a second TK scratches his head.

Despite my current situation, I'm a pretty lucky guy. I’m not going to win the Universal Championship-

TK pauses with a smile on his face, just long enough for it to be annoying.

-by trying to lie to the fans like Corey will.

Again shaking his head no.

Nah, such sudden developments are weakness. Oh, and boy, they’re showing. The dude can rassle and I expected he’d fight, but he’d rather climb ladders and run than stand and fight. Fine. I’m not going to sit here and over-explain why *I* am going to win like some fucking bond villain. That’s for chumps who rely on old stereotypes. Nah, I’m going to tell you why Corey is going to lose.

A snarl forms on TK’s face.

What? You don’t think I know about your flippity fucking moves, Corey? I gonna grab you out of the air and slam your ass. I’m not playing with you, Hurricana equal powerbomb. You get the goddamned picture, you're a smart guy. I’m not going to beat you because I picked the right briefcase one time. Hell, no, homie, all I have to do is stop you from winning. I mean, shit, If I have to grab every single one of those briefcases and put myself through…

TK points around him and smirks.

Hell!

Shruging nonchalantly then giving the finger, TK continues.

So be it. When you want to win something this big you have to risk it all. Do you think I'm stopping at Corey? Shit no! Whoever is the best and most dangerous opponents out there those are the people I wanna fight. That's the goddamn truth of it. I swear to Space Jesus I'll get the fight made. I won't even make him lower his standards to fight me either, unlike some people I know. *Cough Cor-ough Cough* The Universal Championship has been stuck in pant-um-mime mode and because of, yours truly, Relentless has a true Hero versus Villain Main Event! That’s right! That’s right! On September twenty fourth a match between two of this sport's baddest men! Making the spotlight burn just that much brighter for this Leap of Faith type match. You're all welcome. Not for the stipulation though, I could have done better, just sayin'. 'Ol Thunder Knuckles can turn any match into a five-star, on the Sayor Scale, match because I'm an un-goddamn-paralleled showman. At the end of the day, I'm just a player in this, not the game. Do you feel me? We're in the business of selling tickets! Oh, and my name on the goddamn billboard sells fucking tickets! With me, you get it all! What do you value more? The skill or the show? Ability or controversy? A slick counter move or a sharp tongue?

Brushing off his shoulder, TK pushes on with his promo.

With this whole Tenth Circle match, I guess, the million xbux question is; what happens when you get one of those briefcases down and it is not the Uni? You reach in and get the little card from inside there and it says; "Staple gun your balls to the canvas". And you do that... Except to your opponent? Is the ref even going to give a shit? That's why Mud Show rassling is my cup-o-fucking-tea boys. Always thinking outside the box. Let's face it, we've all seen shit like this turn into a blood bath. Does it make it a five-star match? Eh, not always but when you put Corey Smith in front of 'Ol Thunder Knuckles for the Universal Championship. That's guaranteed to bring upscale Fourth of goddamn July fireworks. Corey can save his suck-up routine for someone who’ll buy it. Speaking of which, I noticed Thad was back around.

TK looks around and sees Corey’s promo playing on almost every wall.

Not like I could fucking miss it or anything. At least you got him, I guess. Continue to lie to him like you lie to Dolly. Make them believe you're the one true god, the righteous. Only to take it away from them time and time again. Only when things get rough or convenient. I'm sure you'll go out of your way to prove me wrong.

Giving the classic TK fuck you, he makes his jerking-off hand gesture.

But deep down in your programming you know I'm right.

At that moment a flood of demons crashes into the door, cutting TK's air time down. This enrages him and he destroys three-four-five demons at once, mercilessly. He’s become quite good at killing demons.  A pack of them retreats from the room, obviously, because they are desperately trying to escape the power of TK, right? However, TK keeps advancing, his goal is to make it back to his body and he won't stop until he does. Suddenly we find out the real reason why the pack had retreated. Part unfeeling machine, part horned demon comes stomping forward. This nightmare of a creature has a rocket launcher for an arm. It gives out a deathly roar that reminds you of a T-Rex from Jurassic Park.

What’s this now?

It’s a harbinger of doom!

Get fucked, I’m a harbanger of doom. It's a Cyber Demon at best.

This creature doesn’t seem to mind tearing apart its own kind as it approaches. It launches a rocket and misses TK entirely. The explosion takes out ten, maybe even fifteen, smaller demons who weren’t even in the fight. TK looks back to see the explosion.

Did you see that?!

Then back at the truly terrifying Cyber Demon.

Alright, shit stain.

Cracking his neck both ways, TK heads forward to meet the monster's advance. Compared to ten smaller demons combined, the Cyber Demon is far more vicious. Demons are sent flying through the fire-lit sky by the Cyber Demon followed by waves of rockets. Although TK does get close to the Cyber Demon, he is swatted away like a fly. Slung backward TK is bounced off the far wall.

Goddamn, that hurt!

TK’s eyes go wide out of fear.

Oh shit!

Even though he hit the wall hard he has the wherewithal to see an incoming rocket. He gets out of the way. The blast is still too much and sends TK flying again, this time toward the Cyber Demon. This may have been a miss calculation on the monster's part, or a run of bad luck for the beast because TK sees it’s weakness. Despite its size and strength, it’s not ready for TK to use the momentum from the blast to bury his diving elbow into its throat. TK hangs from the beast's throat for a moment. He gives his arm a quick shake, which allows him to free himself from the Cyber Demon's neck. He falls to the ground and lands on his feet.


YEAH, BITCH! WHAT’S GOOD WIT’CHA!


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After his outbursts of celebration, TK begins to focus on what's important again.

Rodney!

Yeah?

I thought you said Miss Fury would fucking be here.

What can I say? I know the best way to get girls. I mean, I hang out at prisons and wait for parolees, ya know?

What's that got to do with any goddamn thing, Rodney?

Nothing, it's just a good joke. Come on; learn some comedy, kid. Let's just keep going.

Rodney adjusts his tie and twitches and walks in front of TK.

If she’s as mean as you say she is, like my ex-wife, sheesh. She’ll be in the next room ahead.

Rodney hits the keypad to the door then you hear the sound of the door unlocking. Rodney opens it, looks in, and closes it.

Well?

I tell ya, It reminds me of this girl in the summer, ya know. She was no bargain either, let me tell ya. She showed up with pigtails coming out of her shorts. Ugh.

That bad?

It’s pretty bad, ya know? I’m not trying to go in there. There’s a bunch of demons.

TK walks over to the door and peeks in he sees tons of shadowy figures. After slowly closing the door, he puts his head against it.

Well…

TK lifts his head off the door.

I have to find my way out of here and Miss Fury could be through this door.

Taking a deep breath TK slings open the door and rushes through.

GET FUCKED PUSSIES!!!!

TK roars at the shadowy figures standing in front of him in a mass, he leaps straight at them. He begins ripping through hellspawn after hellspawn with his bare hands.  They're surely doing damage to TK, however,  his adrenaline is pumping. Which in turn causes him to feel no pain. The ferocity of his attack disorganizes the mass of shadowy hellspawn. As they become overpowered their numbers become smaller and smaller. Once down to the final hellspawn, TK kicks it in the back of the leg causing it to fall to its knees. Rodney runs up and does a spinning front kick to the hellspawn's face. It roars and lunges at Rodney. However, luckily for Rodney, TK was there to grab the hellspawn from behind by the eye sockets pulling its head backward. It’s bent at an awkward angle as TK grabs its jaw with his other hand and rips it apart. Thus leaving TK the last standing. Victorious, TK looks over at Rodney and says.

I think I need a drink.

Rodney adjusts his suit jacket and twitches.

Oh, hehey, I remember when I solved my drinking problem. I joined Alcoholics Anonymous. I still drink, but I used my name. So, what can ya do, ya know?

TK looks around now since the danger has been cleared out. He sees cages of the most vile humans to ever grace the world. Hitler, Nixon, Pest, Mahatma Gandhi but no Miss Fury.

What the fuck?! Where is she?!

Are you sure she died?

I mean… She did-

Rodney cuts off TK.

Heh, you go to her funeral?

No…

So, she could still be alive then, huh?

TK kicks one of the cages which happens to be housing Marcus Junius Brutus.

Hey, knock it off!

Oh, get bent, fuck stick!

TK sits down Indian style, to regain some of his energy and rest up a bit. He's feeling a little beat up.


[Image: doom4.gif]






Alright, Rodney, I guess we go to plan b.

What do you mean? I’m a bad lover, ya know? I once had a cuck boo me. I mean, what can you do about it, ya know?

Not that Plan B! We need to find Satan! Surely, if I talk to the fucker I can get back to my body.

Rodney fixes his tie and does his compulsive jerk.

Heh, it’s worth a try. I tell ya, follow me.

The two man crew head out of the building the same way they came in with no resistance. Rodney points over to a mountaintop.

Right over there, ya know? At the top of that mountain, I tell ya. Is the throne of Hell. That’s where Satan is. Heh, I wonder if he has any cigars?

I’d kill for a fucking cigar right now.

You’ve been killing this whole time.

Placing his hand on Rodney’s shoulder and a cocky smile, TK resumes with a quip.

Now who doesn’t get comedy, Rodney?

The shot of TK and Rodney gradually decreases in visibility as does the sounds of the nightmares screams in the background your ears have adjusted for.]]> It is so common to see burning embers flying around that you become accustomed to them almost immediately. From his knelt position, TK witnesses the falling spirits of the damned. There are some who stand up, while there are others who lie there and become salt pillars. Those who stand, however, begin walking toward the man at the gate with a funny look on his face.

I guess this is the fucking way to go then.

As TK approaches the gate, he cracks his knuckles. In awe of the scenery, he can't help but stare. A howling can be heard from boundless spirits who are being tortured. In addition, packs of hellhounds seemed to be stalking the poor fucks with bodies, jumping on them. Suddenly the voice of the funny-looking man can be heard. As TK gets closer the voice and face become even more clear. It’s Rodney Dangerfield!

What a crowd. What a crowd. I tell you, this weeks been rough. Yeah, this weeks been rough, ya know? I just found out that Corey Smith retained his XWF Universal Championship. Reminds me of the time I found out my inflatable doll wanted to friend-zone me. Last week was rough, I tell ya.

Rodney twitches his head to the side and compulsively adjusts his tie. He notices TK looking like a badass in body armor.

Oh, hey there! You're Thunder Knuckles ain'tcha?

Yeah, holy fuck, dude. What are you doing down here?

Heaven's not nearly as fun. I decided to come down here and check it out, ya know?

TK is tired of Rodney's schtick already and begins mumbling to himself.

Jimmy probably called 911 but still, I have to try to find my way out here.

Little did he know that Mr. Dangerfield has pretty solid hearing.

I asked my Doctor before I died. I looked and him and said, Hey Doc. What's the difference between a rectal thermometer and an oral one? Without flinching he said, The taste

What?

That's just what he said. I don't know. I'm just saying, don't trust doctors is all. You know what I found out down here standing by this gate? Know what I found out?

TK starts to answer but Rodney keeps going.

You have to have a sense of humor, ya know? A lot of people don't have a sense of humor.

I completely fucking agree but-

Especially down here, ya know? Yeah, I found out people don't like dirty jokes anymore.

Fuck'em.

I was telling some jokes as people were going in, ya know? And they said that was disgusting. I was like, in shock, ya know? I said to them, I said, that's not disgusting. No, walking in on your grandparents while they have sex. That's disgusting.

Some random-bodied soul lumbering by, like cattle, says.

That's disgusting!

See!

So, you never actually walked into Hell? You've just been chillin' here by the gate greeting people, and shit?

Something like that. I tell you what though, I tell ya, it's pretty hot. Don't worry about heat stroke though, ya know? Heh, you're dead. Can't die twice, ya know?

There was a sudden flash in TK's brain, like a light bulb going off. His mind wandered to something. It could be possible for him to escape Hell with the help of someone.

Yo, I got an idea!

I tell y-

Will you shut the fuck up?!

Woah, I get no respect. No respect.

Smirking at Rodney, TK has an idea.

So, mother fucker, I will make you a deal of the afterlife. Make it to where I can get back into my goddamn body by showing me around Hell. There's gotta be a way out of here. If we do that together, maybe we can put a little respect on both of our fucking names? Is that shit alright with you?

So, umm, got any plans?

Fucking right I do. So a few years back Miss Fury bit the big one on Halloween. I’m thinking we find her mean ass.

Woah.

What? That’s a compliment. Shit. Anyway, we find her and I’m pretty fucking sure we’ll find a way to get my back to my body.

Alright, but, ya know? Demons aren’t going to let us just pass though. Kind of like the Nazis in Europe, ya know.

Holy shit, Rodney, no wonder you get no respect. Just use rassling moves.

Heh, you know? That reminds me of the time I was with the WW-

I don’t give a fuck, Rodney. Are you in or what?

Even though the demons are going to try and torture us until we succumb… I’m in, reminds me of my first marriage.

Give it a rest, man. Which way should we go?

Well, depends, ya know? I hear everyone’s hell is a little different. I hear there's this laboratory, right? Like we need more-

Cut to the chase.

TK is annoyed that this is taking way longer than it should.

Well, some dude made it to make “Super Demons” for Satan.

Perfect, sounds like just the place that we need to start looking. She’s the best candidate for something like that. Now, just point me in the right direction. The thing is you need to stay far enough behind me so you don’t get too fucked up. I’m not trying to lose my goddamn tour guide, ya feel me?





[Image: doomed.png]



[Image: doom1.gif]



Rodney nods his head, or twitches, either way, TK takes that as a sign that Rodney will be joining him. Rodney points in a direction and the two men begin their trek through Hell. It starts out fine. Rodney's just chirping away like a bird, feeding one-liner after one-liner. Moving with some gusto TK presses forward until they get jumped by a demon. TK makes short work of it, grabbing it by the chin, swiping its back legs, and slamming it to the ground. Once on the ground TK grabs it's right foot and plants the Thunder Strike. Thus the demons explode.


[Image: doom2.gif]



Woah, you got quite the move there, don't ya?

As soon as Rodney finishes his sentence TK's version of hell begins. A giant screen blocks the road.

What the goddamn shit is this?

The screen fires up and starts playing Corey Smith's promo.

Oh, get fucked!

Rodney doesn’t see what TK’s seeing.

What?

This shit!

Looking all kinds of annoyed, TK points to the screen that only he and XWF viewers can see.

Hehey, You got a screw loose or something or are you living your own Hell? It reminds me of the time I was making love to this girl and she started crying. I said, Are you going to hate yourself in the morning? She said, no, I hate myself now.

Suddenly the sound of growls and four-legged footsteps could be heard.

That fuck is that?

TK quickly looks behind him and sees four hellhounds.

Do you see those?

Oh, heh, yeah they’re real.

Surrounded by the four hellhounds now. TK gets ready for the attack. One bares its long, blood-stained fangs. TK barely dodges the first beat, causing him to fall to the ground. Quickly rolling out of the way of another hound. With a pushup, TK gets to his feet. Only to be knocked down again. Just in time, TK jerks back to elbow the next incoming hound attack. The hound whimpers and steps back. The pack backs off suddenly.

Oh, come on, bitches!

Standing up like a true champion TK stands up and brushes himself off. The biggest of the beasts snarls and slowly backs away.


[Image: doom3.gif]



Woah, that was close. You know what I'm saying? You think they looked bad, you should have seen my wife. Geez, those dogs have prettier faces, let me tell ya.

Corey’s promotional material is constantly playing in the background. TK is starting to crack and can’t help himself.

I’m so sick of hearing this mother fucker. Has anyone ever asked Corey why he talks the way he does? For fucks sake, he sounds like a pompous fuck boy. Don't he? Hell, I barely understand what he's saying half the time. It's goddamn insulting to the average rassling fan. At least I'm entertaining and made for the mass market. And who the fuck educated this shit stick between being a drug-addicted dying kid and being trapped in his own body? The engineer program? Give me a break, the only program Shane produced was the XWF to sucker folks out of their money. That's a goddamn fact.

As TK finishes his sentence one of Hell’s Heavy Weapon Dudes tries to sneak up on TK. With quickness we didn’t know he possessed, Rodney performs an amazing spinning back kick to the chin of the Heavy Weapons Dude. TK sees this transpire.

You have to be fucking kidding me, right?

What?

Did you just hit him with a Face Pain De-Lux?

No… What is that? Heh, I hit him with a Spinning Back Kick, ya know?

It’s the same fucking thing!

Look over there!

Rodney sees the building and points over to it, TK looks relieved.

Thank the Bastardly Father.

Who?

Don’t worry about it. We have to get to that fucking building, and fast!

TK starts running to the building as Rodeny slowly walks. That's when the Hellhounds return out of nowhere. This time three leap at TK, clawing viciously. TK can escape at first and takes a lot of damage. Without warning another of the beasts pounced on TK from behind grabbing his arm, trying hard to rip the flesh from his bone.

Get the fuck off me!

Trying to shake the hound from his arm. He stomps down on one, killing it instantly, as he sees it running for his junk.

Eat shit!

It's still impossible for him to get the dog off of his arm. At this point, the dog on his arm was to be used as a weapon. He slings out his arm and catches another hound when it rushes in. Mercilessly, TK begins to hammer the dog on the ground with the one hanging from his arm. That is until the dog releases its clutched teeth and falls to the ground. TK then kicks the dog away, sending it flying across the room. He watches as the last Hellhound tries to escape, slowly crawling. TK is already prepared with another stomp. This time the beast's skull, crushing it, he laughs as it stays down. Looking more damaged than before, TK motions Rodney to continue advancing toward the building they believe Miss Fury to be in.


[Image: doom4.gif]



Without stopping or getting into another fight they finally make it to the building. TK tries to open the door but nothing doing. The door won't open.

What now?

Looking fed up, TK looks around and sees a ladder. A smirk forms on TK's face.

Now we show off my breaking and entering skills, mother fucker!

Walking over to the ladder, TK grabs it and puts it in place by what looks like a blown-out window.

See! Not so bad, huh?

TK disappears into the window of the building. Moments later the door opens.

Right this goddamn way Rodney.

As the door shuts behind Rodney, it locks behind him.

Will you turn that shit the fuck off!?

Rodney looks at TK confused. Corey’s promotional material is still consistently playing in the background, you've kind of grown numb to it.

Goddamn, talk about lacking aggression. If this piss-ant keeps sucking my mother fucking dick off, I tell you what.

TK looks over at Rodney realizing some of his mannerisms are rubbing off on him.

I’m going to start thinking that he wants to be my sad ex-boyfriend next.

Shaking his head no, TK continues.

Honestly, though, this isn’t the same fireball that went against Raion. He’s gone soft. Where’s the Corey that wants to beat the life out ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles? Shutting down Coreytopia? I guess, a loss to ‘Ol Thunder Knuckles and a draw with King will do that to a man. Turns out the Universal Champion is nothing more than a paper tiger. Which is funny seeing the only thing he could truly kill was a cardboard lion.

Rubbing his index finger and thumb together, he played the world's smallest violin for Corey.

I should have figured he was scared when he made this match. Hell, we don’t have to get too physical in there, but if relying on dumb fucking luck, instead of skill is what he’s looking for. That’s on him and I’ll have his ass whipped in spades!

Looking around for a second TK scratches his head.

Despite my current situation, I'm a pretty lucky guy. I’m not going to win the Universal Championship-

TK pauses with a smile on his face, just long enough for it to be annoying.

-by trying to lie to the fans like Corey will.

Again shaking his head no.

Nah, such sudden developments are weakness. Oh, and boy, they’re showing. The dude can rassle and I expected he’d fight, but he’d rather climb ladders and run than stand and fight. Fine. I’m not going to sit here and over-explain why *I* am going to win like some fucking bond villain. That’s for chumps who rely on old stereotypes. Nah, I’m going to tell you why Corey is going to lose.

A snarl forms on TK’s face.

What? You don’t think I know about your flippity fucking moves, Corey? I gonna grab you out of the air and slam your ass. I’m not playing with you, Hurricana equal powerbomb. You get the goddamned picture, you're a smart guy. I’m not going to beat you because I picked the right briefcase one time. Hell, no, homie, all I have to do is stop you from winning. I mean, shit, If I have to grab every single one of those briefcases and put myself through…

TK points around him and smirks.

Hell!

Shruging nonchalantly then giving the finger, TK continues.

So be it. When you want to win something this big you have to risk it all. Do you think I'm stopping at Corey? Shit no! Whoever is the best and most dangerous opponents out there those are the people I wanna fight. That's the goddamn truth of it. I swear to Space Jesus I'll get the fight made. I won't even make him lower his standards to fight me either, unlike some people I know. *Cough Cor-ough Cough* The Universal Championship has been stuck in pant-um-mime mode and because of, yours truly, Relentless has a true Hero versus Villain Main Event! That’s right! That’s right! On September twenty fourth a match between two of this sport's baddest men! Making the spotlight burn just that much brighter for this Leap of Faith type match. You're all welcome. Not for the stipulation though, I could have done better, just sayin'. 'Ol Thunder Knuckles can turn any match into a five-star, on the Sayor Scale, match because I'm an un-goddamn-paralleled showman. At the end of the day, I'm just a player in this, not the game. Do you feel me? We're in the business of selling tickets! Oh, and my name on the goddamn billboard sells fucking tickets! With me, you get it all! What do you value more? The skill or the show? Ability or controversy? A slick counter move or a sharp tongue?

Brushing off his shoulder, TK pushes on with his promo.

With this whole Tenth Circle match, I guess, the million xbux question is; what happens when you get one of those briefcases down and it is not the Uni? You reach in and get the little card from inside there and it says; "Staple gun your balls to the canvas". And you do that... Except to your opponent? Is the ref even going to give a shit? That's why Mud Show rassling is my cup-o-fucking-tea boys. Always thinking outside the box. Let's face it, we've all seen shit like this turn into a blood bath. Does it make it a five-star match? Eh, not always but when you put Corey Smith in front of 'Ol Thunder Knuckles for the Universal Championship. That's guaranteed to bring upscale Fourth of goddamn July fireworks. Corey can save his suck-up routine for someone who’ll buy it. Speaking of which, I noticed Thad was back around.

TK looks around and sees Corey’s promo playing on almost every wall.

Not like I could fucking miss it or anything. At least you got him, I guess. Continue to lie to him like you lie to Dolly. Make them believe you're the one true god, the righteous. Only to take it away from them time and time again. Only when things get rough or convenient. I'm sure you'll go out of your way to prove me wrong.

Giving the classic TK fuck you, he makes his jerking-off hand gesture.

But deep down in your programming you know I'm right.

At that moment a flood of demons crashes into the door, cutting TK's air time down. This enrages him and he destroys three-four-five demons at once, mercilessly. He’s become quite good at killing demons.  A pack of them retreats from the room, obviously, because they are desperately trying to escape the power of TK, right? However, TK keeps advancing, his goal is to make it back to his body and he won't stop until he does. Suddenly we find out the real reason why the pack had retreated. Part unfeeling machine, part horned demon comes stomping forward. This nightmare of a creature has a rocket launcher for an arm. It gives out a deathly roar that reminds you of a T-Rex from Jurassic Park.

What’s this now?

It’s a harbinger of doom!

Get fucked, I’m a harbanger of doom. It's a Cyber Demon at best.

This creature doesn’t seem to mind tearing apart its own kind as it approaches. It launches a rocket and misses TK entirely. The explosion takes out ten, maybe even fifteen, smaller demons who weren’t even in the fight. TK looks back to see the explosion.

Did you see that?!

Then back at the truly terrifying Cyber Demon.

Alright, shit stain.

Cracking his neck both ways, TK heads forward to meet the monster's advance. Compared to ten smaller demons combined, the Cyber Demon is far more vicious. Demons are sent flying through the fire-lit sky by the Cyber Demon followed by waves of rockets. Although TK does get close to the Cyber Demon, he is swatted away like a fly. Slung backward TK is bounced off the far wall.

Goddamn, that hurt!

TK’s eyes go wide out of fear.

Oh shit!

Even though he hit the wall hard he has the wherewithal to see an incoming rocket. He gets out of the way. The blast is still too much and sends TK flying again, this time toward the Cyber Demon. This may have been a miss calculation on the monster's part, or a run of bad luck for the beast because TK sees it’s weakness. Despite its size and strength, it’s not ready for TK to use the momentum from the blast to bury his diving elbow into its throat. TK hangs from the beast's throat for a moment. He gives his arm a quick shake, which allows him to free himself from the Cyber Demon's neck. He falls to the ground and lands on his feet.


YEAH, BITCH! WHAT’S GOOD WIT’CHA!


[Image: doom5.gif]



After his outbursts of celebration, TK begins to focus on what's important again.

Rodney!

Yeah?

I thought you said Miss Fury would fucking be here.

What can I say? I know the best way to get girls. I mean, I hang out at prisons and wait for parolees, ya know?

What's that got to do with any goddamn thing, Rodney?

Nothing, it's just a good joke. Come on; learn some comedy, kid. Let's just keep going.

Rodney adjusts his tie and twitches and walks in front of TK.

If she’s as mean as you say she is, like my ex-wife, sheesh. She’ll be in the next room ahead.

Rodney hits the keypad to the door then you hear the sound of the door unlocking. Rodney opens it, looks in, and closes it.

Well?

I tell ya, It reminds me of this girl in the summer, ya know. She was no bargain either, let me tell ya. She showed up with pigtails coming out of her shorts. Ugh.

That bad?

It’s pretty bad, ya know? I’m not trying to go in there. There’s a bunch of demons.

TK walks over to the door and peeks in he sees tons of shadowy figures. After slowly closing the door, he puts his head against it.

Well…

TK lifts his head off the door.

I have to find my way out of here and Miss Fury could be through this door.

Taking a deep breath TK slings open the door and rushes through.

GET FUCKED PUSSIES!!!!

TK roars at the shadowy figures standing in front of him in a mass, he leaps straight at them. He begins ripping through hellspawn after hellspawn with his bare hands.  They're surely doing damage to TK, however,  his adrenaline is pumping. Which in turn causes him to feel no pain. The ferocity of his attack disorganizes the mass of shadowy hellspawn. As they become overpowered their numbers become smaller and smaller. Once down to the final hellspawn, TK kicks it in the back of the leg causing it to fall to its knees. Rodney runs up and does a spinning front kick to the hellspawn's face. It roars and lunges at Rodney. However, luckily for Rodney, TK was there to grab the hellspawn from behind by the eye sockets pulling its head backward. It’s bent at an awkward angle as TK grabs its jaw with his other hand and rips it apart. Thus leaving TK the last standing. Victorious, TK looks over at Rodney and says.

I think I need a drink.

Rodney adjusts his suit jacket and twitches.

Oh, hehey, I remember when I solved my drinking problem. I joined Alcoholics Anonymous. I still drink, but I used my name. So, what can ya do, ya know?

TK looks around now since the danger has been cleared out. He sees cages of the most vile humans to ever grace the world. Hitler, Nixon, Pest, Mahatma Gandhi but no Miss Fury.

What the fuck?! Where is she?!

Are you sure she died?

I mean… She did-

Rodney cuts off TK.

Heh, you go to her funeral?

No…

So, she could still be alive then, huh?

TK kicks one of the cages which happens to be housing Marcus Junius Brutus.

Hey, knock it off!

Oh, get bent, fuck stick!

TK sits down Indian style, to regain some of his energy and rest up a bit. He's feeling a little beat up.


[Image: doom4.gif]






Alright, Rodney, I guess we go to plan b.

What do you mean? I’m a bad lover, ya know? I once had a cuck boo me. I mean, what can you do about it, ya know?

Not that Plan B! We need to find Satan! Surely, if I talk to the fucker I can get back to my body.

Rodney fixes his tie and does his compulsive jerk.

Heh, it’s worth a try. I tell ya, follow me.

The two man crew head out of the building the same way they came in with no resistance. Rodney points over to a mountaintop.

Right over there, ya know? At the top of that mountain, I tell ya. Is the throne of Hell. That’s where Satan is. Heh, I wonder if he has any cigars?

I’d kill for a fucking cigar right now.

You’ve been killing this whole time.

Placing his hand on Rodney’s shoulder and a cocky smile, TK resumes with a quip.

Now who doesn’t get comedy, Rodney?

The shot of TK and Rodney gradually decreases in visibility as does the sounds of the nightmares screams in the background your ears have adjusted for.]]> <![CDATA[Thanatopsis Redux, part 2]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46885 Mon, 18 Sep 2023 06:15:51 -0700 Corey Smith]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46885 September 18
Neverland


The alien beauty of the amphitheater was truly something to behold. Like a snippet of some fever dream captured and brought to life. The stands were carved into the immense trunks of a circle grove of trees. Each tree must have been at least 500 feet in diameter, and somehow they had formed a perfect ring in the midst of this nigh endless wood. The space in the middle of the ring had been cleared away, so that shows and festivals could be held amidst the grandeur. And to top it off, the bark of the trees flowed with color like spilled oil, making the entire scene look positively out of this world.

Corey could have appreciated it more if he wasn’t currently cuffed and staring down 200 or so young children and adolescents calling for his head.

In-Between!
In-Between!
In-Between!

The crowd roared at Corey. Corey felt himself jabbed in the shoulder by the dull end of a spear, prompting him to walk into the middle of the amphitheater. The clearing had been set up like a facsimile of a courtroom, but using a mishmash of furniture purloined from Earth and made here in Neverland. Corey was prodded over to the “defense” side of the court room and made to sit in a large rotating office chair that looked like it had been left out in the rain. The table before him was cheap particle board, also no doubt originally from Earth. He looked to the empty seat beside him, having been promised a “defender”. But so far no one had showed up.

Corey then looked to a large desk that had been raised up on stilts. Seated atop a ladder just behind it was a boy of no more than 12 who wore a old style judge’s white pompadour wig. Twisted in between the hairs were twines of berries and other natural elements. And he was adorned in what looked to be a barber’s smock. The name plate on the desk helpfully read “Judge Kevin”.

Can I at least know where my defense is? Corey asked the spear wielding boy to his left. But the boy wouldn’t so much as grant him a look. Corey cast his gaze back out at the youth venting their rage at him, calling for him to be banished to the In-Between like Hook had. It was an experience he hoped not to have to endure again.

Just then, he picked up on some commotion just behind him. Another boy had arrived, wearing a straw hat. He rushed into the seat beside Corey, breathing heavily. Sorry I’m late! He jerkily extended his hand towards Corey. I’m Pedro, I’m your uh….uhhhh….

Defense attorney?

Yeah! That!

[Image: live-action-one-piece.jpeg]

Great. Corey sighed, sinking further into his seat.

And let me just say Mr. Smith that I am a big huge fan of you! I sneak onto Earth all the time to watch XWF! And you’ve always been my favorite.

Well, thanks. I’m sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.

Don’t you worry Mr. Smith, I’m gonna “defense attorney” the hell out of this case!

Corey cringed. Yeah? And what about the judge? He looks like he may not even have hit puberty yet. What are his qualifications?

Oh, he’s a big fan of that Earth show Law and Order. So we decided Kevin would be the best judge!

Oh, of course! I’m screwed.

You’re not screwed! You’re-

ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT! Judge Kevin belted out, his voice cracking audibly as he hit his desk with a blow up gavel that somehow wasn’t as effective as the real thing. The benefit of course was that it got the throngs of Lost Boys in the stands to finally stop calling for his banishment.

But were they so wrong? I deserve this. I deserve every bit of this.

This court will now hear the case of Lost Boys vee Smith. Corey, how do you plead?

Some of the boys in the stands shouted out GUILTY before Corey could get a word in. Corey looked to Pedro, who seemed to be out to lunch. Corey nudged Pedro’s foot with his own, bringing him back to the present.

Oh! That’s me! UM, NOT GUILTY YOUR WORSHIPNESS!

Judge Kevin leaned over his desk with a sneer. Corey Smith, you stand charged with the death of our beloved Peter Pan!

Raucous boo’s rocked the stands.

Judge Kevin banged his gavel again. THIS COURT IS NOW IN SESSION!

SEPTEMBER 15
THE WAINSCOTT BUILDING

Pan blew the pink dust in the secretary’s face before she could even protest their presence. It had been a small miracle that they had gotten to this point, but between Pan’s magicks and Corey’s fast talking they had reached the pinnacle of the very beating heart of Wainscott’s empire. Now, they stood just outside his suite, with naught but a personal assistant standing in their way.

The pink dust flew up the secretary’s nose and mouth, and she sneezed a bit. Corey was about to start in when Pan raised up a finger to quiet him. Give it a minute.

The secretary started to consider them strangely, and then her features slackened and her pupils dilated into large dark moons.

There we go. Pan clasped his fist together. Ma’am, we sure would like to see Mr. Wainscott. If you could please let us in that would be fantastic.

The woman, still with a miasma of pink dust peppering her lips and nose, slowly got up from behind her desk and walked to the door. Yes. Let you in. She replied dreamily. Then, taking her key card, she swiped it through the door lock and opened the door for them. They all stepped into a large ornate office. That was empty.

Uh, where is Mr. Wainscott?

Oh, he’s not here! The secretary replied, again in that dreamy cadence.

It didn’t occur to you to tell us that before? Corey groused. Come on, there’s gotta be something in here that will tell us where he lives.

I’m surprised Thad’s intel wasn’t able to provide you with that.

Yeah, me too. But apparently the creep is super paranoid. Hell, I would be too after what Lux did to him. Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course. But let’s scour the place and look for an address. It’s got to be here somewhere.

We have to act fast, my magicks won’t hold forever.

In point of fact, they didn’t even hold for five minutes before outside forces intervened. Corey heard the telltale sounds of an elevator, nay, multiple elevators on the rise. Racing out of the office and back into the lobby, he sees all four elevators climbing to reach the apex of the building. Corey rushed back into the office, waving at Pan.

We’ve got company! A lot of company!

And we were prepared for that. Pan stepped away from the pile of detritus he had made on Wainscott’s desk and stood shoulder to shoulder with Corey as they waited for the elevators to rise. Are you ready?

We have to be.

The doors opened almost simultaneously, and out of them stepped 18 clones of Dexter Bright and The Engineer, still wearing their dowdy rotund body from the medical examiner’s office.

It was worse than they thought.

The Dexter’s filed into the office, appraising Corey and Pan like meat on a bone. But clearly The Engineer was holding them in check. The Engineer took center stage, standing in the doorway with their hands on their hips, surveying the scene.

You had to know it would come to this. You overplayed your hand coming here.

You wanna talk or you wanna fight? Pan challenged. He assumed a fighting stance, pushing one foot slowly backwards. He spread his fingers wide and then with a bit of flash made two daggers suddenly appear in his hands.

Ooooh! Fancy! Too bad there’s still one….uh….one….plus….

Two. There are two. The Engineer retorted cooly to the Dexter.

Yeah! Too bad there’s only two of you!

I’ve got a little something for that too. Good thing the lighting in here is just right. With that, Pan spoke a series of indesciperhable arcane syllables, and his shadow started to bubble and froth. The Dexter’s stepped back in fear, but The Engineer looked on in what seemed like fascination. Then, from that shadowy froth a form pulled itself up and out, an exact shadow twin of Pan himself, completely pitch black but unmistakeably his profile. Three more shadow Pan’s then emerged, making things a slightly more equitable 6 on 19.

He-he-he’s got HAINTS! One of the Dexter’s stammered fearfully.

Rally, you idiots! It’s just parlor tricks and worthless superstition. Fight like your lives depend on it. Because they do. But remember what we talked about.

Oh, you mean not to…

Shut. Up. The Engineer pointed at Corey and Pan. Restrain them!

On command, the Dexter’s charged Corey, Pan, and the Pan doppelgangers. Corey immediately swept left, Pan right, and the duplicates ran through the middle. It was almost choreographed how smoothly they all broke off to face their respective targets. Testament to the bond Pan and Corey had.

Corey waded into three of the Dexters. One threw a punch and Corey ducked under it, chopping low at his knees before bringing his own knee up to meet the jaw of another Dexter. The third tried to grapple Corey from behind but Corey was able to deep arm drag him instead, which resulted in a satisfying popping sound and a cry of pain from the enemy.

Pan also lunged into battle, leaping haphazardly at a Dexter and plunging both his blades into his chest. Pan then kicked out at another Dexter setting him skittering to the floor.

The shadow Pans were carving their way up the middle, and the Dexter’s had to quell their rapidly rising urge to flee. When they discovered they couldn’t actually touch the shadow creatures, but that the shadow creatures could harm them, two of them wailed in despondancy.

Attack Pan! He’s controlling them! The Engineer called to arms.

The Dexter’s broke away from the shadows and ran at Pan, and Pan became a whirling maelstrom of strikes and counterstrikes. But even he couldn’t keep the momentum going indefinitely. A blow landed to the back of Pan’s head, followed by a punch to his gut that sent him reeling.

Seeing this, Corey shouted out to his friend and tried to break away from his attackers, but one grabbed his shirt and pulled him back in. Corey met this attacker with a swift palm heel strike to the face, but two more grappled him and held him fast.

Not today! Pan cried as he rallied, trying desperately to shrug off his wounds and resume his attacks. Meanwhile however, one of the shadow Pan’s had faded to dust due to Pan’s break in concentration. But the other three attacked the backs of the Dexter’s attacking Pan, two of the enemies receiving blades plunged into their spines for good measure. They called out throaty death rattles as they fell, but there were still so, so, many on Pan, manhandling him. Pan’s blade strikes were getting slower, and before long two more of the shadow Pan’s bit the dust. Literally.

Hes fading! The Engineer cried.

Meanwhile, Corey lashed out with a sidekick on one of the Dexter’s holding him, cracking his knee and forcing him to let go. Corey then reached across to the other Dexter with a throat punch before kicking the other in the side of the head so viciously he dropped like a wet sack of meat. Having freed himself, Corey was able to join the fracas with Pan and his last remaining shadow. But he knew he had to hurry as Pan was clearly feeling overwhelmed. Corey leapt up and nailed one of the Dexter’s on Pan with a leaping neck snap just as Pan sliced another across the throat. But that was when one of the Dexter’s Corey hadn’t quite finished off before surprised him and grappled him from behind.

What happened next played out like a slow motion horror film. Pan swung wide at one of his assailant’s but in so doing lost his footing, causing him the minutest of slip ups. But this was just enough time. Enough time for a Dexter with a gaping stab wound in his chest to somehow rouse and rise up behind Pan. Enough time for him to sink his teeth deep into the meatiest section of Pan’s neck, bite down and pull. And just like that, where smooth skin used to be was now a open wound that instantly starting pushing out blood like a sieve.

Corey’s blood ran cold. He knew he had started screaming but couldn’t hear himself over the rushing of his own blood in his ears.

Pan’s hand went to the wound, the blood continuing to flow freely between his fingers as he slumped to his knees, his expression one of shock and pain.

STAND DOWN! The Engineer shouted, and the Dexter’s heeded her call. Corey slumped in the arms of the enemy who was holding him, the fight having drained out of him at the sight of this horror. What did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!

I can save him, Corey.

Look, look, LOOK, you can have me alright? You can have me! Just let me get him some medical attention. Please, I’m…!

You’re not listening. The Engineer responded cooly. And youre grossly misreading the situation.

God fucking damn it, he’s dying!

The Engineer was in Corey’s face in an instant. You’re not listening. I can save him. If I bond with him.

Corey, uncomprehending, could only mutter, What?

It wasn’t about you, Corey. It never was. It was always about Pan. Getting Pan to be my next host. With his power and insight, I would be nearly unstoppable.

That’s who you wanted? Corey replied lamely as the truth crashed down on him. She wanted Pan this whole time. And I brought him right to her. Oh God…oh God…

Once I’m bonded with Pan…

Shut up. Corey blurted out. The Engineer looked at him with mild surprise. Corey had been hiding something up his sleeve the whole time. A detonator. He flicked it into his palm. The Dexter holding him released him and shouted.

He’s got a bomb!

The Engineer smiled. So is this your ace in the hole, Corey? You’ve got this place rigged to explode?

No, just you. I have an electromagnetic pulse device strapped under my shirt. I don’t think I need to tell you what that would do to you.

Well, it seems we’re at a stalemate then. You have the means to destroy me. But only I have the means to save Pan. Looks like you have a decision to make Corey.

Pan would never want that. Corey reasoned. He would never want to be one of those things. But…

…what do I want?

I want Pan to have a chance at life. I…I can fix this. I know I can.

But am I being selfish? Would he want a chance at life? Or would he resent me?

He’s bleeding out, Corey.

I know! Corey hollered back. You said you could save him. How?

My nanites can close the severed blood vessels and stop the bleeding until he can get medical attention. Which he will. Very quickly.

How do I know you’re not lying?

Why would I lie? The Engineer looked bemused. As soon as you determine I couldn’t save your friend you trigger that EMP and I would die anyway, right?

Right.

Corey looked down at the trigger. He wondered why the device was trembling, and then realized it was him.

I can’t let you die, Pan.

I’m so sorry.

Corey dropped the trigger.

Do it.

Excellent choice, Corey. The Engineer smiled wide, leering. And it stepped back to the center of the room. The host body then started to convulse, choking up blood before long as the nanites inside him started to detach and flow freely again. The body dropped to the floor, rolling onto its back, as the nanite swarm started to pour out of his ears, nose, and mouth. The body was clearly deceased before the nanite swarm revealed itself in its full glory.

It looked like a BIblical swarm of locusts, bending and curving as though it was a whole sentient being. Which, in effect, it was. Corey looked on, desperate and numb, as the nanite swarm then entered Pan’s body, through the same points of entry it exited its previous host. Pan’s body started to spasm and quake, and once silent, Corey noticed the bleeding had stopped. The Engineer had told the truth.

That was when the vicious blow rained down on the back of his skull, and Corey’s whole world went black. 

NOW

Don’t worry kids, I lived. Although I kinda wish I hadn’t. But that’s another unfortunate story for another unfortunate day. Here, it’s time to talk about Thunder Knuckles. As if things couldn’t get any worse.

So, there’s something I’m about to say about TK that I think is kinda taboo. Something we’re not supposed to talk about when it comes to him. Something we’re supposed to see, hear, and speak no evil about.

Unfortunately I’m in a seeing, hearing, and speaking evil kind of mood. So let’s let ‘er rip.

Your shoot skills suck.

I’m not talking about shooting in the ring. I’m talking about your meandering, thoughtless, rambling dementia patient after a benzo bender promos. You switch more gears than a high performance sports car, and drop half assed bombs and walk away from them without providing any explanation whatsoever. What’s more, you just make shit up. And that I can’t abide.

Especially when we’re talking about your record over me. You see, to the surprise of absolutely NO FUCKING ONE, TK is taking credit for his “win” over me. What’s more, he takes pride in it. He thinks that “win” earned him a shot at the Universal Championship. Despite the fact that he already earned a shot at the Universal Championship, but anyhoo….semantics, right?

Thunder Knuckles, you didn’t beat Corey Smith. Corey Smith beat Corey Smith. And if you think that’s all you need to win this time, well sunshine, I see a pretty grim portent on your horizon. Because I’m not going to cup your hand in loving grace and lead you to a victory like I did the first time. No. This one you will have to EARN. And it’s mighty murky whether you’ve got it in you to do that.

You see folks, when you watch a TK promo it tends to be pretty light on facts and high in cheap attacks and blase insults. “Corey has a bad romantic history.” Well, at least I have a romantic history and no, drinking shots from between the plastic bolt ons of a cheap hooker blitzed on fentanyl doesn’t count as a “relationship”. But his promos run roughshod with cheap below the belt shit like that that has no bearing on the match whatsoever. Oh sure it’ll probably get his B.O.B. buddies to clap their fins together and hoark out hosannah’s to their Bastardly Father in the sky, but in the end, homeboy’s promo game is WEAK AS SHIT. Hell, he couldn’t even go ten straight minutes without (poorly) copping Bobby’s rap shtick. As if we needed two uncoordinated white boys spitting pedestrian rhymes ripped straight from a Kids Bop CD.

My point is this Thunder Knuckles: DO BETTER.

I know you’re trying to get under my skin. The problem is, you’re already there. Like a flesh eating virus. And you may think that’s a good thing. Being under somebody's skin. Except for the small fact that it propelled me to fill 19 briefcases with ways to make you suffer. You think you won the headgames? You think you got that dubya already? I hope you still think so as you're forced to take a belt sander to your face. Or you're forced to pry out your own finger nails with rusty pliers. Are those tortures in there? Who knows! But it’ll be fun to find out, won’t it kids?

I can just picture you, having to take a hammer to your own teeth, and with your mouth still frothing with blood, with those nerve endings still screaming in agony, patting yourself on the back for your success in getting under my skin. Moron.

So why does Thunder Knuckles focus on so much fluff, so much pointless, fact less bloviation and outright lying? Well, it’s because he has a lot to hide. The man said it himself. He has a laundry list of failures on his resume. Now, there are also some successes for sure. But TK (and Bobby Bourbon for that matter), both have records that are more like the waves in a sea than a true monolith. And it’s all in their thinking patterns. It’s in what they value. Because for guys like that, it’s okay to throw some chaff in with the wheat. Eating a loss is just something you stumble over on your way to a 10 minute Universal title reign. Anything less than damn close to perfection is just part of the game. They ACCEPT that and EXPECT so little of themselves. What did TK say in that abysmal rap of his? “Even in loss every second is perfection.”

Bloviation and bullshit.

No, TK, in loss everything is NOT perfection. Especially the part where you got pinned. Especially the part where you seem to hold two simultaneous notions in your head about “you being perfect” and “you having suffered losses”. My God that cognitive dissonance must be a KILLER.

Those of us comfortably here in reality see right through your d-tier promo game. And you won’t get that kind of insipid bullshit spewing from me because I don’t have anything to hide.

Like, for example, did you know I have only been cleanly beaten by THREE people? Bobby Bourbon. Mark Flynn. And Thad Duke. Hell, we can throw Jim Caedus in there too, but I was already beaten and left for dead by the time he got around to covering me. How many people have beaten you clean, TK? Do you even know? Is the number that high? Why don’t you spit some more of that cultural appropriation beat boxin’ to gloss over that fact?

And that right there is the difference between you and I. I can speak the truth because my record backs it up. You can’t because you know yours doesn’t hold a candle to mine. So you have to rely on overinflated ego, outright lying, and cheap personal attacks to hide the fact that, historically, you just haven’t been as good as me. And you never will be.

So for God sakes, clean up that promo game. You look like an asshole.     

September 18
Neverland

Judge Kevin cast Corey a critical eye. So how are you even still alive?

Corey looked at his council, Pedro, before replying. That's a story in it of itself.

Well I think we can all agree we'd love to hear why you're still alive and Pan isn't.

Corey looked exasperated. I already told you, Pan isn't dead. He's just…

Pedro cut in. Taken over by a sadistic robotic entity that likely wishes to do all sorts of unspeakable acts while wearing Pan like a flesh suit!

Corey rubbed his brow. Not helping. He muttered.

Well then Corey I think we would all love to hear how this tale of yours ends, hmmmmm? Kevin pounds the toy gavel. Speak like your life depends on it bucko!



To be continued….]]> September 18
Neverland


The alien beauty of the amphitheater was truly something to behold. Like a snippet of some fever dream captured and brought to life. The stands were carved into the immense trunks of a circle grove of trees. Each tree must have been at least 500 feet in diameter, and somehow they had formed a perfect ring in the midst of this nigh endless wood. The space in the middle of the ring had been cleared away, so that shows and festivals could be held amidst the grandeur. And to top it off, the bark of the trees flowed with color like spilled oil, making the entire scene look positively out of this world.

Corey could have appreciated it more if he wasn’t currently cuffed and staring down 200 or so young children and adolescents calling for his head.

In-Between!
In-Between!
In-Between!

The crowd roared at Corey. Corey felt himself jabbed in the shoulder by the dull end of a spear, prompting him to walk into the middle of the amphitheater. The clearing had been set up like a facsimile of a courtroom, but using a mishmash of furniture purloined from Earth and made here in Neverland. Corey was prodded over to the “defense” side of the court room and made to sit in a large rotating office chair that looked like it had been left out in the rain. The table before him was cheap particle board, also no doubt originally from Earth. He looked to the empty seat beside him, having been promised a “defender”. But so far no one had showed up.

Corey then looked to a large desk that had been raised up on stilts. Seated atop a ladder just behind it was a boy of no more than 12 who wore a old style judge’s white pompadour wig. Twisted in between the hairs were twines of berries and other natural elements. And he was adorned in what looked to be a barber’s smock. The name plate on the desk helpfully read “Judge Kevin”.

Can I at least know where my defense is? Corey asked the spear wielding boy to his left. But the boy wouldn’t so much as grant him a look. Corey cast his gaze back out at the youth venting their rage at him, calling for him to be banished to the In-Between like Hook had. It was an experience he hoped not to have to endure again.

Just then, he picked up on some commotion just behind him. Another boy had arrived, wearing a straw hat. He rushed into the seat beside Corey, breathing heavily. Sorry I’m late! He jerkily extended his hand towards Corey. I’m Pedro, I’m your uh….uhhhh….

Defense attorney?

Yeah! That!

[Image: live-action-one-piece.jpeg]

Great. Corey sighed, sinking further into his seat.

And let me just say Mr. Smith that I am a big huge fan of you! I sneak onto Earth all the time to watch XWF! And you’ve always been my favorite.

Well, thanks. I’m sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.

Don’t you worry Mr. Smith, I’m gonna “defense attorney” the hell out of this case!

Corey cringed. Yeah? And what about the judge? He looks like he may not even have hit puberty yet. What are his qualifications?

Oh, he’s a big fan of that Earth show Law and Order. So we decided Kevin would be the best judge!

Oh, of course! I’m screwed.

You’re not screwed! You’re-

ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT! Judge Kevin belted out, his voice cracking audibly as he hit his desk with a blow up gavel that somehow wasn’t as effective as the real thing. The benefit of course was that it got the throngs of Lost Boys in the stands to finally stop calling for his banishment.

But were they so wrong? I deserve this. I deserve every bit of this.

This court will now hear the case of Lost Boys vee Smith. Corey, how do you plead?

Some of the boys in the stands shouted out GUILTY before Corey could get a word in. Corey looked to Pedro, who seemed to be out to lunch. Corey nudged Pedro’s foot with his own, bringing him back to the present.

Oh! That’s me! UM, NOT GUILTY YOUR WORSHIPNESS!

Judge Kevin leaned over his desk with a sneer. Corey Smith, you stand charged with the death of our beloved Peter Pan!

Raucous boo’s rocked the stands.

Judge Kevin banged his gavel again. THIS COURT IS NOW IN SESSION!

SEPTEMBER 15
THE WAINSCOTT BUILDING

Pan blew the pink dust in the secretary’s face before she could even protest their presence. It had been a small miracle that they had gotten to this point, but between Pan’s magicks and Corey’s fast talking they had reached the pinnacle of the very beating heart of Wainscott’s empire. Now, they stood just outside his suite, with naught but a personal assistant standing in their way.

The pink dust flew up the secretary’s nose and mouth, and she sneezed a bit. Corey was about to start in when Pan raised up a finger to quiet him. Give it a minute.

The secretary started to consider them strangely, and then her features slackened and her pupils dilated into large dark moons.

There we go. Pan clasped his fist together. Ma’am, we sure would like to see Mr. Wainscott. If you could please let us in that would be fantastic.

The woman, still with a miasma of pink dust peppering her lips and nose, slowly got up from behind her desk and walked to the door. Yes. Let you in. She replied dreamily. Then, taking her key card, she swiped it through the door lock and opened the door for them. They all stepped into a large ornate office. That was empty.

Uh, where is Mr. Wainscott?

Oh, he’s not here! The secretary replied, again in that dreamy cadence.

It didn’t occur to you to tell us that before? Corey groused. Come on, there’s gotta be something in here that will tell us where he lives.

I’m surprised Thad’s intel wasn’t able to provide you with that.

Yeah, me too. But apparently the creep is super paranoid. Hell, I would be too after what Lux did to him. Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course. But let’s scour the place and look for an address. It’s got to be here somewhere.

We have to act fast, my magicks won’t hold forever.

In point of fact, they didn’t even hold for five minutes before outside forces intervened. Corey heard the telltale sounds of an elevator, nay, multiple elevators on the rise. Racing out of the office and back into the lobby, he sees all four elevators climbing to reach the apex of the building. Corey rushed back into the office, waving at Pan.

We’ve got company! A lot of company!

And we were prepared for that. Pan stepped away from the pile of detritus he had made on Wainscott’s desk and stood shoulder to shoulder with Corey as they waited for the elevators to rise. Are you ready?

We have to be.

The doors opened almost simultaneously, and out of them stepped 18 clones of Dexter Bright and The Engineer, still wearing their dowdy rotund body from the medical examiner’s office.

It was worse than they thought.

The Dexter’s filed into the office, appraising Corey and Pan like meat on a bone. But clearly The Engineer was holding them in check. The Engineer took center stage, standing in the doorway with their hands on their hips, surveying the scene.

You had to know it would come to this. You overplayed your hand coming here.

You wanna talk or you wanna fight? Pan challenged. He assumed a fighting stance, pushing one foot slowly backwards. He spread his fingers wide and then with a bit of flash made two daggers suddenly appear in his hands.

Ooooh! Fancy! Too bad there’s still one….uh….one….plus….

Two. There are two. The Engineer retorted cooly to the Dexter.

Yeah! Too bad there’s only two of you!

I’ve got a little something for that too. Good thing the lighting in here is just right. With that, Pan spoke a series of indesciperhable arcane syllables, and his shadow started to bubble and froth. The Dexter’s stepped back in fear, but The Engineer looked on in what seemed like fascination. Then, from that shadowy froth a form pulled itself up and out, an exact shadow twin of Pan himself, completely pitch black but unmistakeably his profile. Three more shadow Pan’s then emerged, making things a slightly more equitable 6 on 19.

He-he-he’s got HAINTS! One of the Dexter’s stammered fearfully.

Rally, you idiots! It’s just parlor tricks and worthless superstition. Fight like your lives depend on it. Because they do. But remember what we talked about.

Oh, you mean not to…

Shut. Up. The Engineer pointed at Corey and Pan. Restrain them!

On command, the Dexter’s charged Corey, Pan, and the Pan doppelgangers. Corey immediately swept left, Pan right, and the duplicates ran through the middle. It was almost choreographed how smoothly they all broke off to face their respective targets. Testament to the bond Pan and Corey had.

Corey waded into three of the Dexters. One threw a punch and Corey ducked under it, chopping low at his knees before bringing his own knee up to meet the jaw of another Dexter. The third tried to grapple Corey from behind but Corey was able to deep arm drag him instead, which resulted in a satisfying popping sound and a cry of pain from the enemy.

Pan also lunged into battle, leaping haphazardly at a Dexter and plunging both his blades into his chest. Pan then kicked out at another Dexter setting him skittering to the floor.

The shadow Pans were carving their way up the middle, and the Dexter’s had to quell their rapidly rising urge to flee. When they discovered they couldn’t actually touch the shadow creatures, but that the shadow creatures could harm them, two of them wailed in despondancy.

Attack Pan! He’s controlling them! The Engineer called to arms.

The Dexter’s broke away from the shadows and ran at Pan, and Pan became a whirling maelstrom of strikes and counterstrikes. But even he couldn’t keep the momentum going indefinitely. A blow landed to the back of Pan’s head, followed by a punch to his gut that sent him reeling.

Seeing this, Corey shouted out to his friend and tried to break away from his attackers, but one grabbed his shirt and pulled him back in. Corey met this attacker with a swift palm heel strike to the face, but two more grappled him and held him fast.

Not today! Pan cried as he rallied, trying desperately to shrug off his wounds and resume his attacks. Meanwhile however, one of the shadow Pan’s had faded to dust due to Pan’s break in concentration. But the other three attacked the backs of the Dexter’s attacking Pan, two of the enemies receiving blades plunged into their spines for good measure. They called out throaty death rattles as they fell, but there were still so, so, many on Pan, manhandling him. Pan’s blade strikes were getting slower, and before long two more of the shadow Pan’s bit the dust. Literally.

Hes fading! The Engineer cried.

Meanwhile, Corey lashed out with a sidekick on one of the Dexter’s holding him, cracking his knee and forcing him to let go. Corey then reached across to the other Dexter with a throat punch before kicking the other in the side of the head so viciously he dropped like a wet sack of meat. Having freed himself, Corey was able to join the fracas with Pan and his last remaining shadow. But he knew he had to hurry as Pan was clearly feeling overwhelmed. Corey leapt up and nailed one of the Dexter’s on Pan with a leaping neck snap just as Pan sliced another across the throat. But that was when one of the Dexter’s Corey hadn’t quite finished off before surprised him and grappled him from behind.

What happened next played out like a slow motion horror film. Pan swung wide at one of his assailant’s but in so doing lost his footing, causing him the minutest of slip ups. But this was just enough time. Enough time for a Dexter with a gaping stab wound in his chest to somehow rouse and rise up behind Pan. Enough time for him to sink his teeth deep into the meatiest section of Pan’s neck, bite down and pull. And just like that, where smooth skin used to be was now a open wound that instantly starting pushing out blood like a sieve.

Corey’s blood ran cold. He knew he had started screaming but couldn’t hear himself over the rushing of his own blood in his ears.

Pan’s hand went to the wound, the blood continuing to flow freely between his fingers as he slumped to his knees, his expression one of shock and pain.

STAND DOWN! The Engineer shouted, and the Dexter’s heeded her call. Corey slumped in the arms of the enemy who was holding him, the fight having drained out of him at the sight of this horror. What did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!

I can save him, Corey.

Look, look, LOOK, you can have me alright? You can have me! Just let me get him some medical attention. Please, I’m…!

You’re not listening. The Engineer responded cooly. And youre grossly misreading the situation.

God fucking damn it, he’s dying!

The Engineer was in Corey’s face in an instant. You’re not listening. I can save him. If I bond with him.

Corey, uncomprehending, could only mutter, What?

It wasn’t about you, Corey. It never was. It was always about Pan. Getting Pan to be my next host. With his power and insight, I would be nearly unstoppable.

That’s who you wanted? Corey replied lamely as the truth crashed down on him. She wanted Pan this whole time. And I brought him right to her. Oh God…oh God…

Once I’m bonded with Pan…

Shut up. Corey blurted out. The Engineer looked at him with mild surprise. Corey had been hiding something up his sleeve the whole time. A detonator. He flicked it into his palm. The Dexter holding him released him and shouted.

He’s got a bomb!

The Engineer smiled. So is this your ace in the hole, Corey? You’ve got this place rigged to explode?

No, just you. I have an electromagnetic pulse device strapped under my shirt. I don’t think I need to tell you what that would do to you.

Well, it seems we’re at a stalemate then. You have the means to destroy me. But only I have the means to save Pan. Looks like you have a decision to make Corey.

Pan would never want that. Corey reasoned. He would never want to be one of those things. But…

…what do I want?

I want Pan to have a chance at life. I…I can fix this. I know I can.

But am I being selfish? Would he want a chance at life? Or would he resent me?

He’s bleeding out, Corey.

I know! Corey hollered back. You said you could save him. How?

My nanites can close the severed blood vessels and stop the bleeding until he can get medical attention. Which he will. Very quickly.

How do I know you’re not lying?

Why would I lie? The Engineer looked bemused. As soon as you determine I couldn’t save your friend you trigger that EMP and I would die anyway, right?

Right.

Corey looked down at the trigger. He wondered why the device was trembling, and then realized it was him.

I can’t let you die, Pan.

I’m so sorry.

Corey dropped the trigger.

Do it.

Excellent choice, Corey. The Engineer smiled wide, leering. And it stepped back to the center of the room. The host body then started to convulse, choking up blood before long as the nanites inside him started to detach and flow freely again. The body dropped to the floor, rolling onto its back, as the nanite swarm started to pour out of his ears, nose, and mouth. The body was clearly deceased before the nanite swarm revealed itself in its full glory.

It looked like a BIblical swarm of locusts, bending and curving as though it was a whole sentient being. Which, in effect, it was. Corey looked on, desperate and numb, as the nanite swarm then entered Pan’s body, through the same points of entry it exited its previous host. Pan’s body started to spasm and quake, and once silent, Corey noticed the bleeding had stopped. The Engineer had told the truth.

That was when the vicious blow rained down on the back of his skull, and Corey’s whole world went black. 

NOW

Don’t worry kids, I lived. Although I kinda wish I hadn’t. But that’s another unfortunate story for another unfortunate day. Here, it’s time to talk about Thunder Knuckles. As if things couldn’t get any worse.

So, there’s something I’m about to say about TK that I think is kinda taboo. Something we’re not supposed to talk about when it comes to him. Something we’re supposed to see, hear, and speak no evil about.

Unfortunately I’m in a seeing, hearing, and speaking evil kind of mood. So let’s let ‘er rip.

Your shoot skills suck.

I’m not talking about shooting in the ring. I’m talking about your meandering, thoughtless, rambling dementia patient after a benzo bender promos. You switch more gears than a high performance sports car, and drop half assed bombs and walk away from them without providing any explanation whatsoever. What’s more, you just make shit up. And that I can’t abide.

Especially when we’re talking about your record over me. You see, to the surprise of absolutely NO FUCKING ONE, TK is taking credit for his “win” over me. What’s more, he takes pride in it. He thinks that “win” earned him a shot at the Universal Championship. Despite the fact that he already earned a shot at the Universal Championship, but anyhoo….semantics, right?

Thunder Knuckles, you didn’t beat Corey Smith. Corey Smith beat Corey Smith. And if you think that’s all you need to win this time, well sunshine, I see a pretty grim portent on your horizon. Because I’m not going to cup your hand in loving grace and lead you to a victory like I did the first time. No. This one you will have to EARN. And it’s mighty murky whether you’ve got it in you to do that.

You see folks, when you watch a TK promo it tends to be pretty light on facts and high in cheap attacks and blase insults. “Corey has a bad romantic history.” Well, at least I have a romantic history and no, drinking shots from between the plastic bolt ons of a cheap hooker blitzed on fentanyl doesn’t count as a “relationship”. But his promos run roughshod with cheap below the belt shit like that that has no bearing on the match whatsoever. Oh sure it’ll probably get his B.O.B. buddies to clap their fins together and hoark out hosannah’s to their Bastardly Father in the sky, but in the end, homeboy’s promo game is WEAK AS SHIT. Hell, he couldn’t even go ten straight minutes without (poorly) copping Bobby’s rap shtick. As if we needed two uncoordinated white boys spitting pedestrian rhymes ripped straight from a Kids Bop CD.

My point is this Thunder Knuckles: DO BETTER.

I know you’re trying to get under my skin. The problem is, you’re already there. Like a flesh eating virus. And you may think that’s a good thing. Being under somebody's skin. Except for the small fact that it propelled me to fill 19 briefcases with ways to make you suffer. You think you won the headgames? You think you got that dubya already? I hope you still think so as you're forced to take a belt sander to your face. Or you're forced to pry out your own finger nails with rusty pliers. Are those tortures in there? Who knows! But it’ll be fun to find out, won’t it kids?

I can just picture you, having to take a hammer to your own teeth, and with your mouth still frothing with blood, with those nerve endings still screaming in agony, patting yourself on the back for your success in getting under my skin. Moron.

So why does Thunder Knuckles focus on so much fluff, so much pointless, fact less bloviation and outright lying? Well, it’s because he has a lot to hide. The man said it himself. He has a laundry list of failures on his resume. Now, there are also some successes for sure. But TK (and Bobby Bourbon for that matter), both have records that are more like the waves in a sea than a true monolith. And it’s all in their thinking patterns. It’s in what they value. Because for guys like that, it’s okay to throw some chaff in with the wheat. Eating a loss is just something you stumble over on your way to a 10 minute Universal title reign. Anything less than damn close to perfection is just part of the game. They ACCEPT that and EXPECT so little of themselves. What did TK say in that abysmal rap of his? “Even in loss every second is perfection.”

Bloviation and bullshit.

No, TK, in loss everything is NOT perfection. Especially the part where you got pinned. Especially the part where you seem to hold two simultaneous notions in your head about “you being perfect” and “you having suffered losses”. My God that cognitive dissonance must be a KILLER.

Those of us comfortably here in reality see right through your d-tier promo game. And you won’t get that kind of insipid bullshit spewing from me because I don’t have anything to hide.

Like, for example, did you know I have only been cleanly beaten by THREE people? Bobby Bourbon. Mark Flynn. And Thad Duke. Hell, we can throw Jim Caedus in there too, but I was already beaten and left for dead by the time he got around to covering me. How many people have beaten you clean, TK? Do you even know? Is the number that high? Why don’t you spit some more of that cultural appropriation beat boxin’ to gloss over that fact?

And that right there is the difference between you and I. I can speak the truth because my record backs it up. You can’t because you know yours doesn’t hold a candle to mine. So you have to rely on overinflated ego, outright lying, and cheap personal attacks to hide the fact that, historically, you just haven’t been as good as me. And you never will be.

So for God sakes, clean up that promo game. You look like an asshole.     

September 18
Neverland

Judge Kevin cast Corey a critical eye. So how are you even still alive?

Corey looked at his council, Pedro, before replying. That's a story in it of itself.

Well I think we can all agree we'd love to hear why you're still alive and Pan isn't.

Corey looked exasperated. I already told you, Pan isn't dead. He's just…

Pedro cut in. Taken over by a sadistic robotic entity that likely wishes to do all sorts of unspeakable acts while wearing Pan like a flesh suit!

Corey rubbed his brow. Not helping. He muttered.

Well then Corey I think we would all love to hear how this tale of yours ends, hmmmmm? Kevin pounds the toy gavel. Speak like your life depends on it bucko!



To be continued….]]> <![CDATA[MAGNUM OPUS]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46880 Sat, 16 Sep 2023 23:59:01 -0700 Doctor Louis D'Ville]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46880

"I am the color red in a world full of black and white."
- Bray Wyatt


It was a dark and stormy night.


Only a single light loomed above the old train station, illuminating just part of the platform and railroad tracks.  The rest of the world was left in complete darkness, making this place truly seem to be in the middle of absolute nowhere.  Inside, a faint smell of sulfur would scratch at your senses, without a sign of any fire or anything previously burning.  Sitting by themselves, scattered throughout the small room across several benches were the few lost souls waiting to board the next train when it arrived.  They sat quietly, ticket-in-hand, with null, blank expressions painted on their faces, and their heads hung low.

The silence was deafening until the faint whistle of an oncoming locomotive interrupted it.  Looking confused like the sound had woken them up from a deep sleep, they began checking around their seats for something, perhaps luggage, but had nothing but the ticket in their grasp and the clothes on their back.

The whistle came again, twice this time, and much louder.  Those who seemed lost rose from their seats and slowly, one-by-one, began to head towards the exit to the platform.  Before they reached the door, it swung open and there stood the good doctor.  Chomping down on a cigar, he looked through the soon-to-be passengers and ignored them, as they did him, and walked by them all to the ticket booth.

One please.

Doc lifted a single finger signaling "one" and managed to squeeze out a faint grin.  The place felt dreadful and, even for him, it was hard to find a smile.  The man in the booth had no expression, just like the others who were lost, and leaned in to slide the ticket across the desktop.

"Running… late?"  He said in a low, drawn out, monotone voice.

Not at all.

The doctor reached for the ticket.

In fact, it appears I've arrived just in time.

He snatched it up and exited stage right out with the rest to the platform.  The whistle blew again and its large, round headlight could be seen approaching them.  A bright orb floating in the darkness coming closer and closer.  When the train finally came to a halt, it didn't look very long at all.  There was the engine, which steam rolled and hissed out the sides of when it stopped, just a single passenger car, and a caboose at the end.  It was a typical looking choo-choo, for sure, a little old-fashioned, but aside from that there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about it.  Once aboard, the doctor took a seat in a booth by himself and stared out into the nothingness outside.

The trip already seemed like it was taking forever, but time meant nothing.  In this place, the clocks did not tick.  The sun did not rise.  The world did not turn.  None of this was news to the doctor.  This wasn't his first trip, after all, nor his second, or tenth.  It was once so routine that he's honestly lost count.  Was.  Lately, not so much.  He's visited the void aplenty, but hasn't crossed the plane as the train is taking him for quite some time.  Many years, in fact.

As the train trekked across this dark track, the doctor pondered deeply about his next session.  Not the one with Bobby Bourbon.  No.  Not yet.  This session is not with a patient, but with more of a business associate, for lack of a better term.  It wasn't long, or maybe it was, before the doctor took his gaze from the window and looked across from him to see that he'd been suddenly joined in the booth by someone else.

Mister B?  What a surprise!

Doc smiled and let out a quick chuckle.


[Image: Q8PxFu9.png]


Mister B sat with his hands together on the table, smiling back at the doctor.

"Is it?"

But, of course!  he chuckled again.  What brings you?  Were you perhaps sent as an escort?

"Eh.  Not quite."

Doc finally snuffed out the cigar he'd been gnawing on the entire trip.  He looked up to Mister B with a confused look.

You've come to…

"Think of this as a pre-meeting."

With you?

"With me."

Doc can't help but laugh out loud a little.  The Right-Hand-Man paying him a visit on his way there was amusing.  And annoying.

And what is it we're supposed to accomplish with this pre-meeting?

Mister B cracked his knuckles and sat back in the booth.

"First of all, find out what the fuck your deal is."

I beg your pardon?

"You've been in and out of existence for a long time now.  We know.  It's been the same thing.  You remember you made a deal, right?"

Doc thought about it for a moment.

What was it this was supposed to accomplish?

Mister B bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"Alright, we'll do it the hard way."

He snapped his fingers and all of the other passengers stood up and started screaming.  Doc looked at Mister B, who's eyes remained closed, and to the passengers in the car as their skin started burning off.

You missed.

Mister B's eyes opened and he smiled.  The passengers kept screaming, but all rushed the doctor at once.  He leapt out of the way from his seat as one leaped and crashed into the booth.  As another charged him Doc hit the ground and let another fly by.  Two others attacked him on the ground, but he easily weaseled his way out from under them.  As he reached his feet, another jumped on his back and tried to wrangle him back down.  Doc flipped the skinless passenger off of his back into another and kicked them across the train car.  There was a stand-off with three others, Mister B stood up and watched closely.

"You see, wizard…  Your numbers have been down for quite some time now and it's noticeable to say the least.  It's important to know that your time is worth His these days."

Doc quick glanced over to Mister B and with a scoff.

And He sent you to be the judge, did he?  With them?  Puppets?

Mister B walked between them waving his hand.  The three skinless passengers left standing fell lifeless to the ground.

"I could find out for myself."

He wasted no time and attacked Doc.  He started with a couple of high kicks which the first caught Doc, but he blocked the rest.  Mister B went with spin kicks and front kicks and all kinds of kicks like some crazy Karate mofo, but Doc's defense managed to block most of the blows.  And, of course, in a big fight scene they have a big conversation about everything, too.

"You've got a lot to prove these days, wizard."

Doc dodged a punch and tried one of his own which was dodged, as well.

Haven't I proven myself enough?  Was my stranglehold so long ago that no one remembers?

Mister B went for a strike which landed him in just that.  A stranglehold.  Doc, with his hand tightly wrapped around Mister B's throat, lifted him and threw him across the car.

Mister B landed on his feet and charged again with a leaping high kick which landed in Doc's chest sending him flying the other way.  He crashed against the wall and slumped down onto the floor.

"Ha!  Defeated?"

Doc quickly got to his feet and shook it off.  The two met in the middle again and began exchanging and blocking blows.  Mister B began to land a couple more than old Doc.

"You've gotten weak with your old age, you know."

Doc blocked another high kick and this time grabbed a hold of Mister B's leg and held it

I'm as strong as I ever was, Mister B.

then slung him into a booth!

And you're older than I am, pissant.

"Peasant?!"

Mister B flipped back up to his feet and charged the doctor, but Doc met him with his own double front donkey kick to the face which sent him flying right back where he came from.  Doc jumped back to his feet and shot a snot from his nose and approached the downed Mister B.

I said PISS–

Before Doc could finish, Mister B shot a fire blast that sent down flying and crashing into an adjacent window!  It smashed and created a vacuum in the car, sucking out loose papers and appliances that were lying around!  It was so loud that they had to scream at each other.

"I'm a Prince you fucking asshole!"

It wasn't so strong to keep Doc from fighting it.  He dug in his heels and pushed himself across the car to where Mister B was sliding across the floor towards him.

I SAID PISSAAAAAAANT!!!

Doc opened up, ready to catch him and probably kill him, when he *POOFED* out of existence!  Something hard or somewhat heavy must've made its way towards the window, because the window smashed again causing the vacuum to go a lot harder!  Doc grabbed hold of one of the benches just as he started to be taken away!  He floated in the air for a few moments before the train whistle blew again.  The vacuum became less and less until his feet were on the ground again and the train felt it was coming to a stop.

What a jerk.

Doc thought out loud.  It wasn't so much the intrusion of his trip, but that bastard's nonsense.  If he wanted to fight, it wouldn't have been the first time.  Doc and He met a long, long time ago and Mister B was kind of a package deal with the whole thing.

This "meeting" that Mister B was taunting him about wasn't exactly an appointment.  Nothing was set up if that's what we're talking about.  It's been a long time, but after all this time why wouldn't he be welcome?  And these facts made Mister B's case even more bullshit.  He'll hear about it, for sure.  The doctor didn't have time for these interruptions.

As the train finally came to a halt, the side doors opened up into a bustling lobby connected to a large office area.  He approached the first open kiosk and found a cheerful gremlin looking creature behind it.

Good day.

"Good day to you!  Welcome!"

I have a meeting to attend to and I was hoping you could assist me.[doc]

"Oh, that's not really my department…  This is the check-in…  What are you exactly up to and maybe I can steer you the right way?"

[doc]Well, I have a meeting upstairs.

"Enough said!  Follow that yellow painted line there to the Main Desk.  They'll take care of you."

Why thank-you!  You've been extremely helpful!

"Go to Hell!  Hehe!  Get it?"

Doc shot a finger gun and winked at the goblin thing before heading the other direction, following the yellow line to the main desk.  When he arrived, he waited in line until his turn when he found another goblin-looking creature behind the desk through a small window.

"What do you want?"

It said without looking up.  Doc could barely understand its raspy, nasty, gargling voice.

Hm?

Doc cupped his ear and leaned in.  The mean little creature rolled some papers around and let the same mess leave his mouth a second time.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Doc chuckled and leaned on the desk.

I have–

"Hands off the desk!"

You're a mean little bugger, aren't you?

The goblin stared up at Doc with a snarl, emphasizing his underbite.

I have an appointment.

The thing zips around on the computer real quick.  So quick it seemed like he was faking it.

"I don't see anything here.  Was it the 2 o'clock?"

N-

"Gotcha!  Time doesn't mean shit here.  Take a number and we'll call it when it's time."

I–

Before Doc had any chance for rebuttal, the goblin slammed the window in his face.  To his right, he saw the ticket dispenser and pulled one out.

2238

He looked up at the ticker above the desk and watched it just tick up to 238.  Sighing, he pulled a cigar out from his pocket and went to light it when the window opened again.

"And no smoking!"

The window slammed shut again.

Hell, indeed.

Doc shoved the cigar back into his pocket for later.  He shoved his ticket into another pocket and left the area, thinking he had some time to burn.  The train had gone, not that there was any other place to go at this time, so he strolled away from the lobby area and towards a small resting area with a bar.

This all better be worth it in the end.  I didn't just come here for this obviously; there's big XWF business to attend to!  And this better actually be where it's supposed to be this time, unlike that moon BS for Leap of Faith…  Anyway…  Bobby Bourbon and I finally have a chance for our Magnum Opus.  After years of being in the same room together, Bobby finally decides to come over and talk to me.  How charming.  It won't be the first time we've been in the ring together, though, not at all.  Twice we've met in tag team combat, maybe more..  two stick out to me… with different partners, in far different times.  But!  We've never actually had the opportunity to lock horns, one-on-one.  Mono e mono.  Doctor to patient.

I suppose it's the best time for Bobby Bourbon to take his shot.  Some people would call this kicking a man when he's down, but I don't see it that way.  Bobby Bourbon has been an opportunist for as long as I can remember…  He's just not very good at it.  We've all seen enough things blow up in his face and he look the fool in the end.  You can't blame him for seeing another opportunity and trying to grab it.  What all of you see is someone that's supposed to be ruling the roost take a loss, after a loss, after another loss.  Old Doc just isn't the same as he used to be.  And EACH time I've told you all that things are the same as they've always been.  I'm just as strong, just as dangerous, and just as good.

There's downsides to being a legend, ya know?  You become a threshold.  A ceiling.  A rite of passage.  Everyone looks up to you in their own little way…  Whether that way being undying hatred, loads of respect, or simply fear.  You become something of folklore while you're away.  A story passed around and down over and over and told around campfires.  Then, when you make a grand return…  If you're not up to your own standard, people simply turn their backs on you.  You're taken for granted, where anyone with a speckly of ego wants a piece of you to, at the very least, catapult their career from mediocrity.

Take my most significant downfalls, as of late.  ALIAS.  Mark Flynn.  Burn me at the stake, why don't you?  Two men that went on, one that's still, holding this fine federation nearly under their thumb…  Just as I did once.  But I know that this isn't happening because Bobby Bourbon thinks he smells blood.  I know that he didn't go all-in on this because he thinks that I'm in a weakened state.  That's why I've always been a Bourbon-man.  Bobby Bourbon always did things for the better of the XWF.  Whether it was finally taking off his mask and letting the world see that beautiful, plump face of his.  Whether it was winning the Universal Championship and losing it to the new Lady King of the XWF moments later.  If we're following any type of precedence here, I know Bobby Bourbon chose it this way for the betterment of the XWF once again.

The 24/7 Briefcase hasn't meant much to me in a while, but this is exactly how it should be.  I was against the thought at first...  Why ruin our perfectly good battle with something more than our own pride and respect in the pot?  When I out-fight Bobby Bourbon, when I rise up after taking a dozen of his beloved Bobby-Bombs, when I defeat him…  I will climb the ladder and claim the prize that he's left for me.  Because this will be for the betterment of the XWF.  As much of a glutton Bobby Bourbon seems,, he's extremely wasteful with all of the opportunities.  For the first time in a while, he's passing the bomb before it blows up in his face.  That's all the briefcase is in his hands, a ticking time bomb...  The second he gets a hair up his ass he'll be getting kicked in the head by Corey Smith and wasting the damn thing.

This isn't about that though, right?  This is about Bobby Bourbon versus Doctor Louis D'Ville...  A headline all on its own.  A battle that hasn't even happened, yet has somehow already leaked on into the world.  Even if Bobby's a screw up, even if he's picking himself up more than he's not, even if him and Ned Kaye keep going back and forth when he should mop the floor with him every time...  The Universe is going to shudder when we lock-up.  Buildings will crumble.  Babies will cry.  This is a contest that will forever change the landscape of the XWF and will be MY ladder back to the peak....  I've never fallen too far from the top, you know, so it won't take much for me to pull myself back up there again.  Everyone should just consider themselves on notice and look forward to another session very soon... 


And...  I just want Bobby Bourbon to remember, when this is all said and done, he wanted this.  Not me.]]>

"I am the color red in a world full of black and white."
- Bray Wyatt


It was a dark and stormy night.


Only a single light loomed above the old train station, illuminating just part of the platform and railroad tracks.  The rest of the world was left in complete darkness, making this place truly seem to be in the middle of absolute nowhere.  Inside, a faint smell of sulfur would scratch at your senses, without a sign of any fire or anything previously burning.  Sitting by themselves, scattered throughout the small room across several benches were the few lost souls waiting to board the next train when it arrived.  They sat quietly, ticket-in-hand, with null, blank expressions painted on their faces, and their heads hung low.

The silence was deafening until the faint whistle of an oncoming locomotive interrupted it.  Looking confused like the sound had woken them up from a deep sleep, they began checking around their seats for something, perhaps luggage, but had nothing but the ticket in their grasp and the clothes on their back.

The whistle came again, twice this time, and much louder.  Those who seemed lost rose from their seats and slowly, one-by-one, began to head towards the exit to the platform.  Before they reached the door, it swung open and there stood the good doctor.  Chomping down on a cigar, he looked through the soon-to-be passengers and ignored them, as they did him, and walked by them all to the ticket booth.

One please.

Doc lifted a single finger signaling "one" and managed to squeeze out a faint grin.  The place felt dreadful and, even for him, it was hard to find a smile.  The man in the booth had no expression, just like the others who were lost, and leaned in to slide the ticket across the desktop.

"Running… late?"  He said in a low, drawn out, monotone voice.

Not at all.

The doctor reached for the ticket.

In fact, it appears I've arrived just in time.

He snatched it up and exited stage right out with the rest to the platform.  The whistle blew again and its large, round headlight could be seen approaching them.  A bright orb floating in the darkness coming closer and closer.  When the train finally came to a halt, it didn't look very long at all.  There was the engine, which steam rolled and hissed out the sides of when it stopped, just a single passenger car, and a caboose at the end.  It was a typical looking choo-choo, for sure, a little old-fashioned, but aside from that there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about it.  Once aboard, the doctor took a seat in a booth by himself and stared out into the nothingness outside.

The trip already seemed like it was taking forever, but time meant nothing.  In this place, the clocks did not tick.  The sun did not rise.  The world did not turn.  None of this was news to the doctor.  This wasn't his first trip, after all, nor his second, or tenth.  It was once so routine that he's honestly lost count.  Was.  Lately, not so much.  He's visited the void aplenty, but hasn't crossed the plane as the train is taking him for quite some time.  Many years, in fact.

As the train trekked across this dark track, the doctor pondered deeply about his next session.  Not the one with Bobby Bourbon.  No.  Not yet.  This session is not with a patient, but with more of a business associate, for lack of a better term.  It wasn't long, or maybe it was, before the doctor took his gaze from the window and looked across from him to see that he'd been suddenly joined in the booth by someone else.

Mister B?  What a surprise!

Doc smiled and let out a quick chuckle.


[Image: Q8PxFu9.png]


Mister B sat with his hands together on the table, smiling back at the doctor.

"Is it?"

But, of course!  he chuckled again.  What brings you?  Were you perhaps sent as an escort?

"Eh.  Not quite."

Doc finally snuffed out the cigar he'd been gnawing on the entire trip.  He looked up to Mister B with a confused look.

You've come to…

"Think of this as a pre-meeting."

With you?

"With me."

Doc can't help but laugh out loud a little.  The Right-Hand-Man paying him a visit on his way there was amusing.  And annoying.

And what is it we're supposed to accomplish with this pre-meeting?

Mister B cracked his knuckles and sat back in the booth.

"First of all, find out what the fuck your deal is."

I beg your pardon?

"You've been in and out of existence for a long time now.  We know.  It's been the same thing.  You remember you made a deal, right?"

Doc thought about it for a moment.

What was it this was supposed to accomplish?

Mister B bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"Alright, we'll do it the hard way."

He snapped his fingers and all of the other passengers stood up and started screaming.  Doc looked at Mister B, who's eyes remained closed, and to the passengers in the car as their skin started burning off.

You missed.

Mister B's eyes opened and he smiled.  The passengers kept screaming, but all rushed the doctor at once.  He leapt out of the way from his seat as one leaped and crashed into the booth.  As another charged him Doc hit the ground and let another fly by.  Two others attacked him on the ground, but he easily weaseled his way out from under them.  As he reached his feet, another jumped on his back and tried to wrangle him back down.  Doc flipped the skinless passenger off of his back into another and kicked them across the train car.  There was a stand-off with three others, Mister B stood up and watched closely.

"You see, wizard…  Your numbers have been down for quite some time now and it's noticeable to say the least.  It's important to know that your time is worth His these days."

Doc quick glanced over to Mister B and with a scoff.

And He sent you to be the judge, did he?  With them?  Puppets?

Mister B walked between them waving his hand.  The three skinless passengers left standing fell lifeless to the ground.

"I could find out for myself."

He wasted no time and attacked Doc.  He started with a couple of high kicks which the first caught Doc, but he blocked the rest.  Mister B went with spin kicks and front kicks and all kinds of kicks like some crazy Karate mofo, but Doc's defense managed to block most of the blows.  And, of course, in a big fight scene they have a big conversation about everything, too.

"You've got a lot to prove these days, wizard."

Doc dodged a punch and tried one of his own which was dodged, as well.

Haven't I proven myself enough?  Was my stranglehold so long ago that no one remembers?

Mister B went for a strike which landed him in just that.  A stranglehold.  Doc, with his hand tightly wrapped around Mister B's throat, lifted him and threw him across the car.

Mister B landed on his feet and charged again with a leaping high kick which landed in Doc's chest sending him flying the other way.  He crashed against the wall and slumped down onto the floor.

"Ha!  Defeated?"

Doc quickly got to his feet and shook it off.  The two met in the middle again and began exchanging and blocking blows.  Mister B began to land a couple more than old Doc.

"You've gotten weak with your old age, you know."

Doc blocked another high kick and this time grabbed a hold of Mister B's leg and held it

I'm as strong as I ever was, Mister B.

then slung him into a booth!

And you're older than I am, pissant.

"Peasant?!"

Mister B flipped back up to his feet and charged the doctor, but Doc met him with his own double front donkey kick to the face which sent him flying right back where he came from.  Doc jumped back to his feet and shot a snot from his nose and approached the downed Mister B.

I said PISS–

Before Doc could finish, Mister B shot a fire blast that sent down flying and crashing into an adjacent window!  It smashed and created a vacuum in the car, sucking out loose papers and appliances that were lying around!  It was so loud that they had to scream at each other.

"I'm a Prince you fucking asshole!"

It wasn't so strong to keep Doc from fighting it.  He dug in his heels and pushed himself across the car to where Mister B was sliding across the floor towards him.

I SAID PISSAAAAAAANT!!!

Doc opened up, ready to catch him and probably kill him, when he *POOFED* out of existence!  Something hard or somewhat heavy must've made its way towards the window, because the window smashed again causing the vacuum to go a lot harder!  Doc grabbed hold of one of the benches just as he started to be taken away!  He floated in the air for a few moments before the train whistle blew again.  The vacuum became less and less until his feet were on the ground again and the train felt it was coming to a stop.

What a jerk.

Doc thought out loud.  It wasn't so much the intrusion of his trip, but that bastard's nonsense.  If he wanted to fight, it wouldn't have been the first time.  Doc and He met a long, long time ago and Mister B was kind of a package deal with the whole thing.

This "meeting" that Mister B was taunting him about wasn't exactly an appointment.  Nothing was set up if that's what we're talking about.  It's been a long time, but after all this time why wouldn't he be welcome?  And these facts made Mister B's case even more bullshit.  He'll hear about it, for sure.  The doctor didn't have time for these interruptions.

As the train finally came to a halt, the side doors opened up into a bustling lobby connected to a large office area.  He approached the first open kiosk and found a cheerful gremlin looking creature behind it.

Good day.

"Good day to you!  Welcome!"

I have a meeting to attend to and I was hoping you could assist me.[doc]

"Oh, that's not really my department…  This is the check-in…  What are you exactly up to and maybe I can steer you the right way?"

[doc]Well, I have a meeting upstairs.

"Enough said!  Follow that yellow painted line there to the Main Desk.  They'll take care of you."

Why thank-you!  You've been extremely helpful!

"Go to Hell!  Hehe!  Get it?"

Doc shot a finger gun and winked at the goblin thing before heading the other direction, following the yellow line to the main desk.  When he arrived, he waited in line until his turn when he found another goblin-looking creature behind the desk through a small window.

"What do you want?"

It said without looking up.  Doc could barely understand its raspy, nasty, gargling voice.

Hm?

Doc cupped his ear and leaned in.  The mean little creature rolled some papers around and let the same mess leave his mouth a second time.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Doc chuckled and leaned on the desk.

I have–

"Hands off the desk!"

You're a mean little bugger, aren't you?

The goblin stared up at Doc with a snarl, emphasizing his underbite.

I have an appointment.

The thing zips around on the computer real quick.  So quick it seemed like he was faking it.

"I don't see anything here.  Was it the 2 o'clock?"

N-

"Gotcha!  Time doesn't mean shit here.  Take a number and we'll call it when it's time."

I–

Before Doc had any chance for rebuttal, the goblin slammed the window in his face.  To his right, he saw the ticket dispenser and pulled one out.

2238

He looked up at the ticker above the desk and watched it just tick up to 238.  Sighing, he pulled a cigar out from his pocket and went to light it when the window opened again.

"And no smoking!"

The window slammed shut again.

Hell, indeed.

Doc shoved the cigar back into his pocket for later.  He shoved his ticket into another pocket and left the area, thinking he had some time to burn.  The train had gone, not that there was any other place to go at this time, so he strolled away from the lobby area and towards a small resting area with a bar.

This all better be worth it in the end.  I didn't just come here for this obviously; there's big XWF business to attend to!  And this better actually be where it's supposed to be this time, unlike that moon BS for Leap of Faith…  Anyway…  Bobby Bourbon and I finally have a chance for our Magnum Opus.  After years of being in the same room together, Bobby finally decides to come over and talk to me.  How charming.  It won't be the first time we've been in the ring together, though, not at all.  Twice we've met in tag team combat, maybe more..  two stick out to me… with different partners, in far different times.  But!  We've never actually had the opportunity to lock horns, one-on-one.  Mono e mono.  Doctor to patient.

I suppose it's the best time for Bobby Bourbon to take his shot.  Some people would call this kicking a man when he's down, but I don't see it that way.  Bobby Bourbon has been an opportunist for as long as I can remember…  He's just not very good at it.  We've all seen enough things blow up in his face and he look the fool in the end.  You can't blame him for seeing another opportunity and trying to grab it.  What all of you see is someone that's supposed to be ruling the roost take a loss, after a loss, after another loss.  Old Doc just isn't the same as he used to be.  And EACH time I've told you all that things are the same as they've always been.  I'm just as strong, just as dangerous, and just as good.

There's downsides to being a legend, ya know?  You become a threshold.  A ceiling.  A rite of passage.  Everyone looks up to you in their own little way…  Whether that way being undying hatred, loads of respect, or simply fear.  You become something of folklore while you're away.  A story passed around and down over and over and told around campfires.  Then, when you make a grand return…  If you're not up to your own standard, people simply turn their backs on you.  You're taken for granted, where anyone with a speckly of ego wants a piece of you to, at the very least, catapult their career from mediocrity.

Take my most significant downfalls, as of late.  ALIAS.  Mark Flynn.  Burn me at the stake, why don't you?  Two men that went on, one that's still, holding this fine federation nearly under their thumb…  Just as I did once.  But I know that this isn't happening because Bobby Bourbon thinks he smells blood.  I know that he didn't go all-in on this because he thinks that I'm in a weakened state.  That's why I've always been a Bourbon-man.  Bobby Bourbon always did things for the better of the XWF.  Whether it was finally taking off his mask and letting the world see that beautiful, plump face of his.  Whether it was winning the Universal Championship and losing it to the new Lady King of the XWF moments later.  If we're following any type of precedence here, I know Bobby Bourbon chose it this way for the betterment of the XWF once again.

The 24/7 Briefcase hasn't meant much to me in a while, but this is exactly how it should be.  I was against the thought at first...  Why ruin our perfectly good battle with something more than our own pride and respect in the pot?  When I out-fight Bobby Bourbon, when I rise up after taking a dozen of his beloved Bobby-Bombs, when I defeat him…  I will climb the ladder and claim the prize that he's left for me.  Because this will be for the betterment of the XWF.  As much of a glutton Bobby Bourbon seems,, he's extremely wasteful with all of the opportunities.  For the first time in a while, he's passing the bomb before it blows up in his face.  That's all the briefcase is in his hands, a ticking time bomb...  The second he gets a hair up his ass he'll be getting kicked in the head by Corey Smith and wasting the damn thing.

This isn't about that though, right?  This is about Bobby Bourbon versus Doctor Louis D'Ville...  A headline all on its own.  A battle that hasn't even happened, yet has somehow already leaked on into the world.  Even if Bobby's a screw up, even if he's picking himself up more than he's not, even if him and Ned Kaye keep going back and forth when he should mop the floor with him every time...  The Universe is going to shudder when we lock-up.  Buildings will crumble.  Babies will cry.  This is a contest that will forever change the landscape of the XWF and will be MY ladder back to the peak....  I've never fallen too far from the top, you know, so it won't take much for me to pull myself back up there again.  Everyone should just consider themselves on notice and look forward to another session very soon... 


And...  I just want Bobby Bourbon to remember, when this is all said and done, he wanted this.  Not me.]]> <![CDATA[My Reflection in You]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46879 Sat, 16 Sep 2023 23:58:49 -0700 Ned Kaye]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46879
Catalyst to Change
Part V

My Reflection in You



4/2 - Specimen has conflicted feelings on family and community. Intensely grateful for connection, but immensely distrustful of its longevity. Hard to tell if the latter is slightly self-imposed. Must research further.

Eventful mornings, paradoxically, often don’t feel as such. Rarely does one emerge from the chasm of slumber awaiting an alarming or off-putting circumstance. It was something Ned had learned when he was younger, waking up with his fiance missing in the spot she usually occupied in the early moments of the dawn. That unsettling, still air that highlighted the hidden, intense revelation that would be thrust upon him in the matter of a few hours. Every now and then, he dreamt of that morning, barely gaining consciousness and yet the miniscule details that were etched into his mind from that moment onward. The slight rhythm of the fan making it appear lopsided. The ways the carpet seemed to remember his fiance’s last footsteps as she left their room and drove off in the middle of the night for the final drive she would ever have in her life.

Ned woke up. The sweat on his skin kissed the cool blast from the air conditioning unit to his side as his eyes instinctively went to check for Darcy. He reached out, his vision somewhat blurred until refocusing, his eyes gazing upon her as she snoozed away, snoring loudly, even for her. The grip he held on her hand was gentle, yet firm as he took a deep breath, remembering what day it was. He had to go see an old friend he hadn’t in some time. He felt a twisting in his stomach as he pulled himself up to sit on the side of the bed, uncertain whether it was a lingering effect of his vertigo or merely the discomfort in leaving Darcy while she slept once more. They rarely seemed to share the same time together since Ned had begun his campaign to make a true difference in the XWF. Yet, with every moment he was needed due to training with Isaiah or some crazed Mark Flynn scheme, it was a few hours that the woman who dragged Ned out of a dark period in his life sat alone. They still loved each other, they were certain of it, but the honeymoon phase could only last so long before it began to wane.

It was a new moon kind of morning.

After quietly getting dressed, nearly falling on his face from the dizzying effects of vertigo, he planted a small kiss on Darcy’s forehead before walking out into the hallway of her apartment building, locking the door behind him.


“Do you always look like a fresh bag of shit these days or is it a look you’re setting up for 2024?” Theo asked, swirling a small glass with some amber-colored liquor within. It wouldn’t be the office of Theo Pryce without a high priced drink Ned preferred not to know by name, a desk both overflowing with papers and oddly organized, and a healthy amount of snark. Despite his comment, Theo handed Ned a glass of the same set, filled with his finest tap water.

“I was kind of hoping I’d just get a bit more sleep and it would figure itself out,” Ned admitted as he took a swig. They hadn’t spoken much since Saga fell apart, but Theo, the complex man he happened to be, never really lost touch with Ned. It was hard to determine specifically what he saw in Kaye, but it felt enough like a friend as to not prompt the question.

“This is you with more sleep?” Theo questioned, returning to some paperwork as he shifted the subject slightly, “Perhaps you should consider easing your schedule. I don’t know that any one man has the kind of energy to keep up with Mark Flynn.”

“Mark Flynn does.”

His eyes shooting upwards, Theo’s half-amused glare said it all.

“Point taken, but he and Isaiah need me available. Maybe not all the time, but I can’t just let them fend for themselves,” the assertion prompted another pause from Pryce.

“Oh dear. Then they might actually have to act like adults.”

Ned sighed, rolling his eyes and throwing a hand up, “it’s not them being childish! We’re talking about some great potential and really, honestly good people who needed that trust from someone. Stripping it away from them is just asking for disaster.”

“I respect how you’re trying to hold yourself as a leader, however I think you’re wanting too much from them, Ned,” Theo filed another piece of paperwork away, awarding himself with a sip.

“Am I? Isn’t it the bare minimum to want them to be held to higher standards and give them an opportunity to be better?”

“Yes, it is, but is that really what you’re doing? At what point have you decided that everyone’s failures are yours to solve? How are they going to become better people if every time they have an opportunity to, here comes Ned Kaye sliding in to make sure no one has to fuck up too hard? I’m glad you’re taking initiative, but you can barely even show up for this, a meeting you wanted to have, awake. You can only give them so much before they have to foot a bill of their own.”

“And when is that, Theo?” Ned pondered, his tone a tad pointed.

“Eventually,” he answered, not bothering to look up from his next form to fill. Suddenly, Ned felt a jolt in his pocket, noticing an uneasy text from Darcy. It wasn’t much, but it was clear that he needed to call immediately. The ringing felt like it took an eternity, but… finally she answered.

“Hey,” She spoke in an almost somber tone.

“Hey,” Ned’s voice was slightly panicked, his mind racing at the many things it could be, his mind catastrophizing until Darce’s voice broke his thoughts up easily.

“Look, it’s not bad. I know you’re doing that whole “out-of-hand” thinking thing, but it’s just… a lot right now,” she took a deep breath, trying to decide exactly how to say what came next.

“Ned… I think I’m pregnant.”

His hand shook somewhat, his face turning pale at her words as tears filled his eyes slightly, the mixture of joy and anxiety swirling as he tried to get any coherent thought together. But none came. On an eventful morning, he could have come up with something to say. Something witty or inspiring or clever or… anything.

But today didn’t feel like an eventful morning. So he merely smiled and wept.




“They say Hell is other people. But for Chris? Hell is other people looking away.”

“I want to tell you a story. One day, when I was still working the indies, I was working with an older vet who had a foot out the door at this point, but he went out there and he wrestled his heart out. Keep in mind, we weren't being paid more than maybe a hundred and fifty bucks, but he emptied his tank and barely got a win over someone closer to my age. Now, the guy didn't have much in the way of fans and the man he beat was considerably more popular and was a local on top of that, so this tired elder statesman is just being showered in boos and trash from the crowd. Nasty scene; a bottle ends up bruising his already hurt leg, so he's barely capable of even walking. And as he's hobbling backstage, clearly in no position to wrestle on this day or any other day, he passes me by, gives this wide smirk despite being in immense pain, points back to the curtain and says a single sentence that has stuck with me ever since.”

“One day, they'll stop showing up, but I won't.”

“I wish I could tell you that man's name. That I etched it down in stone so I could never forget the man who made clear the passion of those I have the privilege of calling peers hold. That I knew whether or not he was still kicking. I don’t. But I remember his message more clearly than I do most faces: that we don’t do this just to hear the roar of approval. We do this because of something deep in the depths of our being. We do it for us. I can say that about everyone I have ever stood across from except for Chris Page.”

“See, for as much as he thinks I’m some pandering, foolish kid, the fact is that I’ll be wrestling long after my fans are done with me. Wrestling is as natural as breathing for me. Chris, despite his talent and accolades, has no such love for this business. He walked into the XWF to face me, won a close match, lost and retreated to his island so that he could resume worshiping at the altar of his own hubris. And when he finally comes back so I can get my hands on him? He goes on this spiel about how he doesn’t hide behind masks for long, as if that was surprising.”

“You mean to tell me that Chris Page, the man who wrestled three nights at Relentless and still managed to walk out five times on a six match card doesn’t like to hide his face very often? You mean to tell me a man who slaps his name on a dozen upcoming talents, the man who latched himself to Robert Main, one of the best to ever step into a ring, only to derail his career and make it all about himself wants to be seen in the spotlight as quickly as possible? Who are you kidding, Chris? The fact is, I’ve had you pegged for ages. You can’t stand the idea that you’re not the best. If the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was making people think he didn’t exist, the greatest trick Page ever pulled was doing the same thing a dozen times over and making others think it was new behavior. The man who tries to put his thumb down on talent he doesn’t personally see value in. The man puts his fangs on the biggest star he can find and sucks everything out of them until they can’t even find it in themselves to be the person they once were. The man who builds new ponds to be the biggest fish in. How many decades has that rung true, Chris?”

“An ego as wide as the pacific, as fragile as porcelain. Why do you think Page cheats? He doesn’t have to, he certainly has the talent, but honor is a luxury not afforded to the vain. It doesn’t matter whether you cheer or boo him, he just needs to hear you there. And deep, deep down, he thinks if he isn’t the portrait of himself that he’s painted, you won’t show up. The sad fact is Page thinks as little of me as he does his actual fans. You exist to give him legitimacy and that’s it. Show’s over. You’ll pay for your overpriced, bad seat and you’ll like it. And extends to everyone in CCPE and WGWF. If you asked him, heart-to-heart, he doesn’t think a single one of you could sell a ticket if you were working concessions, but you help put eyes on his name. It makes me fucking sick to see him take talented, fantastic, high-calibre wrestlers, announcers, and fans and use them as little more than a fleshlight for his ego. If you’re coming in here thinking this is XWF vs. WGWF, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no real beef with the people who give everything week after week to this sport only to have it exploited by a megalomaniac with bad people skills and a chip on his shoulder. This is all about me versus Chris. About two incompatible philosophies about what professional wrestling means.”

“If I was like Chris Page, during Isaiah’s Universal Title match, he would’ve been wearing a Ned Kaye t-shirt and I’d take up half his entrance and spend every second at ringside jawjacking at every lull in the action. Just another way to get my face and name out there, King be damned. In the eyes of Page, lifting up talent is plucking them up and looming over them like a hangover everytime the lights get a little too bright. I guided someone I saw a lot of myself in and did my best to try and give him a better option going forward. Hell, it’s an ongoing process. Mark Flynn has become a better person in my presence. No one has even become a better wrestler around Chris Page. BoB stuffed him in a locker, Robert nearly died trusting him, and Peter Vaughn went from wearing belts to warming benches. That is the legacy of when Page gets his hands on something. He finds a hot candle, slobbers on his fingers, and snuffs it out.”

“Except for me. He was convinced I was just going to go away. A flame he could smother and move on. A kid with some guts but little else. But no matter how hard he tried to press his fingertips together, I kept burning. Because I’ll keep showing up, but you won’t. I don’t do this for, to spite, or because of you. At Relentless, when we open night three with a grudge match not seen since yourself and Robert, the world will watch in awe as the man you could never derail or defeat past a single match finally defies the expectations you so desperately tried to set in stone. I’ve heard every disparaging comment you can imagine in my life. They said I couldn’t make it here, I clawed my way to this match while you sat in gorilla for a different company. They said I’d never be a star, but even with three consecutive losses under my belt, I was still a frontrunner for the Universal Championship. They say I will always live in the shadow of greater wrestlers before my time and I am about to prove every last one of them wrong! I’m going to put you through a picture perfect deathmatch for every old man or young kid who gave everything to this business while you sapped their energy, best years, and dollars from them! There will be a mark on your body for every brave person whom gave more and themself to this sport only to watch you trot over the business they love like it exists for your sake! They call you Mr. Relentless? Let them! They said no one could kick out of the Bobbybomb. It will never be said again. They put your photo up with big, bold letters every moment you step on screen? Fine by me! The logos are expensive, but the talk is cheap and they’re about to learn the only saying they’ll need after I demolish your ego, reputation, and record in the most violent match they’ll see in their lifetimes. And what will that be?”

“They say Hell is other people. Not for Chris Page.”

“For him, it’s just one.”]]>
Catalyst to Change
Part V

My Reflection in You



4/2 - Specimen has conflicted feelings on family and community. Intensely grateful for connection, but immensely distrustful of its longevity. Hard to tell if the latter is slightly self-imposed. Must research further.

Eventful mornings, paradoxically, often don’t feel as such. Rarely does one emerge from the chasm of slumber awaiting an alarming or off-putting circumstance. It was something Ned had learned when he was younger, waking up with his fiance missing in the spot she usually occupied in the early moments of the dawn. That unsettling, still air that highlighted the hidden, intense revelation that would be thrust upon him in the matter of a few hours. Every now and then, he dreamt of that morning, barely gaining consciousness and yet the miniscule details that were etched into his mind from that moment onward. The slight rhythm of the fan making it appear lopsided. The ways the carpet seemed to remember his fiance’s last footsteps as she left their room and drove off in the middle of the night for the final drive she would ever have in her life.

Ned woke up. The sweat on his skin kissed the cool blast from the air conditioning unit to his side as his eyes instinctively went to check for Darcy. He reached out, his vision somewhat blurred until refocusing, his eyes gazing upon her as she snoozed away, snoring loudly, even for her. The grip he held on her hand was gentle, yet firm as he took a deep breath, remembering what day it was. He had to go see an old friend he hadn’t in some time. He felt a twisting in his stomach as he pulled himself up to sit on the side of the bed, uncertain whether it was a lingering effect of his vertigo or merely the discomfort in leaving Darcy while she slept once more. They rarely seemed to share the same time together since Ned had begun his campaign to make a true difference in the XWF. Yet, with every moment he was needed due to training with Isaiah or some crazed Mark Flynn scheme, it was a few hours that the woman who dragged Ned out of a dark period in his life sat alone. They still loved each other, they were certain of it, but the honeymoon phase could only last so long before it began to wane.

It was a new moon kind of morning.

After quietly getting dressed, nearly falling on his face from the dizzying effects of vertigo, he planted a small kiss on Darcy’s forehead before walking out into the hallway of her apartment building, locking the door behind him.


“Do you always look like a fresh bag of shit these days or is it a look you’re setting up for 2024?” Theo asked, swirling a small glass with some amber-colored liquor within. It wouldn’t be the office of Theo Pryce without a high priced drink Ned preferred not to know by name, a desk both overflowing with papers and oddly organized, and a healthy amount of snark. Despite his comment, Theo handed Ned a glass of the same set, filled with his finest tap water.

“I was kind of hoping I’d just get a bit more sleep and it would figure itself out,” Ned admitted as he took a swig. They hadn’t spoken much since Saga fell apart, but Theo, the complex man he happened to be, never really lost touch with Ned. It was hard to determine specifically what he saw in Kaye, but it felt enough like a friend as to not prompt the question.

“This is you with more sleep?” Theo questioned, returning to some paperwork as he shifted the subject slightly, “Perhaps you should consider easing your schedule. I don’t know that any one man has the kind of energy to keep up with Mark Flynn.”

“Mark Flynn does.”

His eyes shooting upwards, Theo’s half-amused glare said it all.

“Point taken, but he and Isaiah need me available. Maybe not all the time, but I can’t just let them fend for themselves,” the assertion prompted another pause from Pryce.

“Oh dear. Then they might actually have to act like adults.”

Ned sighed, rolling his eyes and throwing a hand up, “it’s not them being childish! We’re talking about some great potential and really, honestly good people who needed that trust from someone. Stripping it away from them is just asking for disaster.”

“I respect how you’re trying to hold yourself as a leader, however I think you’re wanting too much from them, Ned,” Theo filed another piece of paperwork away, awarding himself with a sip.

“Am I? Isn’t it the bare minimum to want them to be held to higher standards and give them an opportunity to be better?”

“Yes, it is, but is that really what you’re doing? At what point have you decided that everyone’s failures are yours to solve? How are they going to become better people if every time they have an opportunity to, here comes Ned Kaye sliding in to make sure no one has to fuck up too hard? I’m glad you’re taking initiative, but you can barely even show up for this, a meeting you wanted to have, awake. You can only give them so much before they have to foot a bill of their own.”

“And when is that, Theo?” Ned pondered, his tone a tad pointed.

“Eventually,” he answered, not bothering to look up from his next form to fill. Suddenly, Ned felt a jolt in his pocket, noticing an uneasy text from Darcy. It wasn’t much, but it was clear that he needed to call immediately. The ringing felt like it took an eternity, but… finally she answered.

“Hey,” She spoke in an almost somber tone.

“Hey,” Ned’s voice was slightly panicked, his mind racing at the many things it could be, his mind catastrophizing until Darce’s voice broke his thoughts up easily.

“Look, it’s not bad. I know you’re doing that whole “out-of-hand” thinking thing, but it’s just… a lot right now,” she took a deep breath, trying to decide exactly how to say what came next.

“Ned… I think I’m pregnant.”

His hand shook somewhat, his face turning pale at her words as tears filled his eyes slightly, the mixture of joy and anxiety swirling as he tried to get any coherent thought together. But none came. On an eventful morning, he could have come up with something to say. Something witty or inspiring or clever or… anything.

But today didn’t feel like an eventful morning. So he merely smiled and wept.




“They say Hell is other people. But for Chris? Hell is other people looking away.”

“I want to tell you a story. One day, when I was still working the indies, I was working with an older vet who had a foot out the door at this point, but he went out there and he wrestled his heart out. Keep in mind, we weren't being paid more than maybe a hundred and fifty bucks, but he emptied his tank and barely got a win over someone closer to my age. Now, the guy didn't have much in the way of fans and the man he beat was considerably more popular and was a local on top of that, so this tired elder statesman is just being showered in boos and trash from the crowd. Nasty scene; a bottle ends up bruising his already hurt leg, so he's barely capable of even walking. And as he's hobbling backstage, clearly in no position to wrestle on this day or any other day, he passes me by, gives this wide smirk despite being in immense pain, points back to the curtain and says a single sentence that has stuck with me ever since.”

“One day, they'll stop showing up, but I won't.”

“I wish I could tell you that man's name. That I etched it down in stone so I could never forget the man who made clear the passion of those I have the privilege of calling peers hold. That I knew whether or not he was still kicking. I don’t. But I remember his message more clearly than I do most faces: that we don’t do this just to hear the roar of approval. We do this because of something deep in the depths of our being. We do it for us. I can say that about everyone I have ever stood across from except for Chris Page.”

“See, for as much as he thinks I’m some pandering, foolish kid, the fact is that I’ll be wrestling long after my fans are done with me. Wrestling is as natural as breathing for me. Chris, despite his talent and accolades, has no such love for this business. He walked into the XWF to face me, won a close match, lost and retreated to his island so that he could resume worshiping at the altar of his own hubris. And when he finally comes back so I can get my hands on him? He goes on this spiel about how he doesn’t hide behind masks for long, as if that was surprising.”

“You mean to tell me that Chris Page, the man who wrestled three nights at Relentless and still managed to walk out five times on a six match card doesn’t like to hide his face very often? You mean to tell me a man who slaps his name on a dozen upcoming talents, the man who latched himself to Robert Main, one of the best to ever step into a ring, only to derail his career and make it all about himself wants to be seen in the spotlight as quickly as possible? Who are you kidding, Chris? The fact is, I’ve had you pegged for ages. You can’t stand the idea that you’re not the best. If the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was making people think he didn’t exist, the greatest trick Page ever pulled was doing the same thing a dozen times over and making others think it was new behavior. The man who tries to put his thumb down on talent he doesn’t personally see value in. The man puts his fangs on the biggest star he can find and sucks everything out of them until they can’t even find it in themselves to be the person they once were. The man who builds new ponds to be the biggest fish in. How many decades has that rung true, Chris?”

“An ego as wide as the pacific, as fragile as porcelain. Why do you think Page cheats? He doesn’t have to, he certainly has the talent, but honor is a luxury not afforded to the vain. It doesn’t matter whether you cheer or boo him, he just needs to hear you there. And deep, deep down, he thinks if he isn’t the portrait of himself that he’s painted, you won’t show up. The sad fact is Page thinks as little of me as he does his actual fans. You exist to give him legitimacy and that’s it. Show’s over. You’ll pay for your overpriced, bad seat and you’ll like it. And extends to everyone in CCPE and WGWF. If you asked him, heart-to-heart, he doesn’t think a single one of you could sell a ticket if you were working concessions, but you help put eyes on his name. It makes me fucking sick to see him take talented, fantastic, high-calibre wrestlers, announcers, and fans and use them as little more than a fleshlight for his ego. If you’re coming in here thinking this is XWF vs. WGWF, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no real beef with the people who give everything week after week to this sport only to have it exploited by a megalomaniac with bad people skills and a chip on his shoulder. This is all about me versus Chris. About two incompatible philosophies about what professional wrestling means.”

“If I was like Chris Page, during Isaiah’s Universal Title match, he would’ve been wearing a Ned Kaye t-shirt and I’d take up half his entrance and spend every second at ringside jawjacking at every lull in the action. Just another way to get my face and name out there, King be damned. In the eyes of Page, lifting up talent is plucking them up and looming over them like a hangover everytime the lights get a little too bright. I guided someone I saw a lot of myself in and did my best to try and give him a better option going forward. Hell, it’s an ongoing process. Mark Flynn has become a better person in my presence. No one has even become a better wrestler around Chris Page. BoB stuffed him in a locker, Robert nearly died trusting him, and Peter Vaughn went from wearing belts to warming benches. That is the legacy of when Page gets his hands on something. He finds a hot candle, slobbers on his fingers, and snuffs it out.”

“Except for me. He was convinced I was just going to go away. A flame he could smother and move on. A kid with some guts but little else. But no matter how hard he tried to press his fingertips together, I kept burning. Because I’ll keep showing up, but you won’t. I don’t do this for, to spite, or because of you. At Relentless, when we open night three with a grudge match not seen since yourself and Robert, the world will watch in awe as the man you could never derail or defeat past a single match finally defies the expectations you so desperately tried to set in stone. I’ve heard every disparaging comment you can imagine in my life. They said I couldn’t make it here, I clawed my way to this match while you sat in gorilla for a different company. They said I’d never be a star, but even with three consecutive losses under my belt, I was still a frontrunner for the Universal Championship. They say I will always live in the shadow of greater wrestlers before my time and I am about to prove every last one of them wrong! I’m going to put you through a picture perfect deathmatch for every old man or young kid who gave everything to this business while you sapped their energy, best years, and dollars from them! There will be a mark on your body for every brave person whom gave more and themself to this sport only to watch you trot over the business they love like it exists for your sake! They call you Mr. Relentless? Let them! They said no one could kick out of the Bobbybomb. It will never be said again. They put your photo up with big, bold letters every moment you step on screen? Fine by me! The logos are expensive, but the talk is cheap and they’re about to learn the only saying they’ll need after I demolish your ego, reputation, and record in the most violent match they’ll see in their lifetimes. And what will that be?”

“They say Hell is other people. Not for Chris Page.”

“For him, it’s just one.”]]> <![CDATA[Flying High............... EVENTUALLY]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46877 Sat, 16 Sep 2023 19:29:41 -0700 Big D]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46877 "The flight is gonna be delayed just a LIIIIIIIIIIIIITTLE bit longer."

"You have GOT to be fucking kidding me," I thought, already having been on this God forsaken plane for 6 hours, now.

"What was that?" the flight attendant asked from her seat.

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" I asked, sarcastically, rolling my eyes at the 'fasten seatbelt' sign that'd been on for the last hour or so. "Forgive me, we've only been sittin' here since the dawn of freakin' time!"

Her face puckered up, but what the hell was she going to do? Afterall, we were on an active runway, and if she wasn't gonna let poor little Muhammad behind me take a dump, she certainly wasn't going to get up, herself; not without being a hypocrite.

"What the hell's the problem, anyway?"

There weren't too many options left. We'd already been delayed because of a leak they couldn't check for BEFORE we got on, weather, the captain having diarhea, his co-pilot finding out he's gay, the flight attendant forgetting her morning coffee, and whatever the current issue was. Worst part is, I had every plan on taking the B.O.B.mobile to Relentless, but Crash Rodriguez lived up to his name and crashed into an outdoor wrestling ring at an outlaw mudshow during a quality hangout B.O.B.sesh. As if that wasn't bad enough, he'd just been doing donuts while shooting his red mac-10 out the window, nicking the entire two member audience in doing so. The impact flipped the car on it's side, denting the shit out of the thing, yet leaving it drivable. Unfortunately Bobby, in trying to fix the situation, dropped the car a little too hard, shattering the glass where the Pope once stood. Needless to say, that was the end of THAT night.

"Welllllllllllll?!" I annoyingly asked, receiving a death glare for my trouble."What's wrong NOW?! You need another round of Starbucks?"

At this point she was sticking her tongue out. "You have NO idea............" Annoyed but, nevertheless, wanting an answer for herself, the stewardess picked up the phone and rang for the captain. After a quick back and forth, she hung up and let me know. "A bird pooped on the windshield."

I couldn't believe it. "A bird. Pooped. On the windshield?.............."

"That's what he said."

"I'm in no mood for 'That's What They Said' jokes!" I retorted, before turning to my Xtreme Championship, buckled safely in the seat next to me, and talking to it like I was Charlie Nickles. "Guess we better see what's up!"

Without hesitation, I unbuckled my belt(as well as Xtremey's) and began heading for the cockpit, all the while being scolded by the useless attendant. "Active runway! ACTIVE RUNWAY!!!" And, just like that, about fifteen other people got up and formed a line at the bathroom, little Muhammad included.

I confidently kicked the cockpit door open, Xtreme Title slung over my shoulder. "What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"

At first, the captain and his co-pilot seemed startled but, upon realizing it was a member of the prestigious B.O.B. organization, they were quick to fill me in.

"Well, D," the co-pilot began like we were old friends. "A bird diarhead on the windshield worse than Captain Jones in that airport bathroom."

"And again on the plane!" Captain Jones chuckled, unphased by the inconvenience of the entire situation.

I looked up, seeing a tiny white streak running down the middle of a spot that hindered neither of their sight. "That?!" They both nodded. "And how long does it take to clean that?"

"Just gotta get taxi'd off the runway and wait for a crew to come squeegee it," Captain Jones informed me as if this happened everyday. "Soooooooooo, probably an hour or two."

"No, nnnnno," I sputtered out, holding back a bit due to the sheer fact they both knew who I was(a more common accurance since becoming B.O.B.) "I have places to be, and people to fight, why can't I just go out there and take care of it?"

"............ because we're on an active runway," co-pilot Ken basically drrrrred at me.

"Annnnnnnnnd?" I responded, gesturing to myself to prove a point. "I'm not supposed to be here, and yet I AM!"

Their jaws dropped. "Oh my God............ he's right." Captain Jones got up and walked me over to the door to the outside. "Fuck the FAA! We've already broken one regulation, might as well break 'em all! Who wants to do a shot with Ole Cap'n Jones?"

"YAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!"

Everybody finally let loose. While I climbed along the side of the plane, doing my best Spider-Man impression, the rest of the cabin got lit with the flight crew. And boy could Captain Jones party! As I wiped the shit away with the last tampon from the flight attendant's purse(without her knowledge), I could see multiple women running a dick suckin' marathon on Captain, and even a few men for Ken! All I could do was shake my head at them for being little rascals, before making my way back inside.

After taking some time to regroup and get resituated, we were about ready for takeoff. However, right before we could actually take off, Captain Jones got an urgent message from flight control, which he relayed to us over the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, there's been an incident on the runway with another plane behind us in line. All aircraft are to remain grounded for the time being." With his bad news delivered, Captain Jones switched back into party mode, entering the cabin with a half empty bottle of Patron and 5 small glasses in each hand. "Now........ who wants to fly MY plane?!"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

"Noooooooooooooooooo!" I groaned in succession with them.

"See what you did?" the attendant, who hadn't left her spot the entire time, bitched. She then began to shift, uncomfortably, in her seat. "God I hope we take off soon!"

I looked from her to Captain Jones, who flipped a full glass of Patron off his boner into his co-pilot's mouth, admittedly, perfectly.

"You sure about that?"


Despite now wearing his underwear as a hat, Captain Jones was eventually given the green light. "And we're gerrrrrrrrrd to grrrrrrrrrrr!" the captain slurred over the PA system, only to stop upon receiving more news from radio control. "What's that? Oh, no shit? That's fucked up! How'd he get a gun on board? Enrique? I told you! I tolllllllllld you that son of a bitch was a no good................" Realizing his every word was being broadcast to everyone on board, Captain Jones cleared his throat and continued like a professional. "Uhhhhhhhh, okay, I will let everyone know. Thank you." After a brief pause, the captain let the flight controller know what he thought of him. "Dick................... oh, you're still here? I was talking about Ken. 'God, what a dick!' Yeaokay, thank you."

The captain turned his attention back to us. "So, FAA regulations state that, because of the incident, I'm supposed to let anybody off the plane that wants off. Does anybody want to do that?"

I held my hands together, praying some douchebag wouldn't ruin my flight anymore than it already had been. Sure enough, some overweight buffoon who couldn't even be courteous enough to pay for an extra seat for his fat ass(like I did for my Title!) struggled to his feet and declared to the cabin, "I would like to get offfffff!" He looked like the guy who gave Meg mumps in Family Guy, you know, when the show was actually funny.

Captain Jones', who'd been leaning against the open cockpit door, shoulders sunk and his head dipped in disappointment, a sentiment shared by myself and the rest of my flightmates. Tired of this game, I stood up and pointed at the captain.

"Did I just hear you say the FAA is telling you what to do?" My words seemed to light a bit of a fire under him. "Do you not remember what we say about about F. A. A.?"

"Fuck 'em," Captain Jones whispered with a nod, before yelling it, again, aloud. "FUCK 'EMMMMMMMMMM!"

"YAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!"

"Why don't you give that guy a Dan Slam and I'll get this thing a-movin'?"

"You got it, captain!" I replied with a thumbs up, turning around and grabbing ahold of tubby.

"But....... my feeliiiiiiiiiings!!!"

BAM!!!!! DAN SLAM!!!

"Feel THAT!" I taunted, receiving more cheers from everyone on board, even the flight attendant! With that, I took my seat for a final time and prepared for take off.

"You know, it's funny, I never even checked to see where Relentless even is this year!" I laughed to myself. "Wonder where the hell it could be?................"


[Image: change-kh4efg.png]


[Image: 261fbde7-3f63-4514-98c3-f000611ee4ba_text.gif]


"No. Fucking. Way."

After all that debauchery, though, we probably deserved it.




"Tommy Wish............. no wait, sorry, John Black........... it's hard to tell the difference sometimes. And that's not a race thing, so don't cancel me; all I'm saying is, those two are basically attached at the hip! The name T.H.U.G.s means more as a whole than either Tommy or John does alone. Remember when I was World Champion? You know, that belt Duke's using as his top prize over on Madness? That doesn't happen without me! And both JB and Wish were apart of that............. well, not APART per se, but they were there together! When neither one of them could take that Title from me by themselves, they had to team up on me in what was essentially a Handicap Triple Threat Match; and even then they didn't beat me! They couldn't get it done when I was teaming with Nedweight, let alone on my own."

"I'm not alone anymore, John, I have thugs of my own, now. And the best part is, they haven't had to help me win a match, or deal with my personal beef; all they've had to do was be there. No one straight told me to go after the Xtreme Championship, but those Bobby Bourbon pep talks certainly served as inspiration to go out there and get something fuckin' done! And if I ain't proof of that, look at TK! Nobody EVER expected that guy to hold a single belt, and now he's fighting for THE Championship! The man who sold me a TV Title shot for a record number of X-Bux is one win away from being the face of the fuckin' company! And something tells me no amount of dollars, real or fake, will buy that belt off of him................ and rightfully so! We're all there. Bobby has a briefcase, TK has a shot, I have a belt, and Crash can do whatever the hell he puts his mind to; as long as it's nowhere near the B.O.B.mobile!"

"I've never been this close to the top, JB, and I'll be damned if I let you rob me of this high like some kind of narc! I respect you John, but not enough to admit you can beat me. I think I've seen you wrestle more than anybody else in the roster, whether as a competitor or a spectator. I like what you do. You're true to yourself and refuse to let society change who you are."

"It's just not enough."

"When they say nice guys finish last, John, they weren't fucking kidding. You can tell yourself over and over again that it's going to be different but, in the end, it never is. Take it from a former nice guy; you can only hold the door for a woman so many times before realizing she'd rather you let it smack her in the face on the way in. Now, I'm not saying you're a nice guy, hell, I still remember the beatings you and Tommy put on me; I'm just saying complacency doesn't usually lead to success............ not unless you're ALREADY experiencing said success; in which case, changing would not be the smartest choice."

I looked the camera up and down, pretending it was John Black with his lone Xtreme Title reign, and Tag Team Title run on Madness that I never even knew existed.

"Oh that is SO you!" I remarked with sarcasm. "I hate to say it, John, but you're clearly the weak T.H.U.G. Not only is Tommy better than you, he's also had to carry your ass to what little success you've actually had! And, I'm sorry,  but a Madness Title? A MADNESS Title?! And a Tag Team one at that! You might as well wrestle on Anarchy with all the other hacks who can't cut it on Warfare; oh wait, you do! Well, maybe you ARE stepping out of your comfort zone, afterall, facing me is certainly more of a challenge than anything Vinnie or Duke have goin' for ya. Vinnie still runs Anarchy, right? I haven't been bored enough to check out that shitshow; I'm honestly surprised Lane didn't pull the plug once MeFisto became a Champion!"

"Lesser men have done more than you, John. And I know it eats at you............. it used to eat at me, too. But then I went out and made a name for myself. Titles, gimmicks, big matches, it's all about engraving your name on the proverbial bathroom wall for alllllllllll to see; to the point where they CAN'T look away! I used to call myself the greatest mid-carder of all-time, but then I realized what an insult that was. It was an insult to me, it was an insult to you. I'm a star. My position in B.O.B. proves it, and so does my position on the card. Just a couple weeks ago, I was opening Warfare; now I'm one match away from being THE Main Event! I walk into Relentless with the second most prestigious belt XWF has to offer, and I have NO intention of leaving without it. I've already done that once, NEVER AGAIN! Unfortunately for you, John, you aren't even half the talent that Fuzz was.............. and considering he himself was barely half a talent, that makes you...................... some sort of fraction! And what a small fraction you must be when you add, on top of that, the fact you're still HALF of a Tag Team! Do the math, John, and let me know what you come up with because I, for one, am VERY curious!"

"Now, if you don't mind, I gotta go not Kickout of pin attempts some more, and rub one out. That's how little I think of this match; I'm gonna spark a blunt and masturbate instead of training for it. Why would I need to? I'm already Champion. I'm already better than you. And I'm already B.O.B............ at the end of the day, as well as the pay-per-view, THAT will be the D-efinition of success."

I held the Xtreme Title up to the camera, in order for JB to get a good look.

"You see this? The closest you're EVER going to get to this belt, again, is when the referee gives you the chance to touch it before I brutalize you! So, enjoy 'holding' it while you can  because, after Relentless, you'll NEVER be anywhere near it again................. not without harassing me backstage like some kind of pussy!"]]> "The flight is gonna be delayed just a LIIIIIIIIIIIIITTLE bit longer."

"You have GOT to be fucking kidding me," I thought, already having been on this God forsaken plane for 6 hours, now.

"What was that?" the flight attendant asked from her seat.

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" I asked, sarcastically, rolling my eyes at the 'fasten seatbelt' sign that'd been on for the last hour or so. "Forgive me, we've only been sittin' here since the dawn of freakin' time!"

Her face puckered up, but what the hell was she going to do? Afterall, we were on an active runway, and if she wasn't gonna let poor little Muhammad behind me take a dump, she certainly wasn't going to get up, herself; not without being a hypocrite.

"What the hell's the problem, anyway?"

There weren't too many options left. We'd already been delayed because of a leak they couldn't check for BEFORE we got on, weather, the captain having diarhea, his co-pilot finding out he's gay, the flight attendant forgetting her morning coffee, and whatever the current issue was. Worst part is, I had every plan on taking the B.O.B.mobile to Relentless, but Crash Rodriguez lived up to his name and crashed into an outdoor wrestling ring at an outlaw mudshow during a quality hangout B.O.B.sesh. As if that wasn't bad enough, he'd just been doing donuts while shooting his red mac-10 out the window, nicking the entire two member audience in doing so. The impact flipped the car on it's side, denting the shit out of the thing, yet leaving it drivable. Unfortunately Bobby, in trying to fix the situation, dropped the car a little too hard, shattering the glass where the Pope once stood. Needless to say, that was the end of THAT night.

"Welllllllllllll?!" I annoyingly asked, receiving a death glare for my trouble."What's wrong NOW?! You need another round of Starbucks?"

At this point she was sticking her tongue out. "You have NO idea............" Annoyed but, nevertheless, wanting an answer for herself, the stewardess picked up the phone and rang for the captain. After a quick back and forth, she hung up and let me know. "A bird pooped on the windshield."

I couldn't believe it. "A bird. Pooped. On the windshield?.............."

"That's what he said."

"I'm in no mood for 'That's What They Said' jokes!" I retorted, before turning to my Xtreme Championship, buckled safely in the seat next to me, and talking to it like I was Charlie Nickles. "Guess we better see what's up!"

Without hesitation, I unbuckled my belt(as well as Xtremey's) and began heading for the cockpit, all the while being scolded by the useless attendant. "Active runway! ACTIVE RUNWAY!!!" And, just like that, about fifteen other people got up and formed a line at the bathroom, little Muhammad included.

I confidently kicked the cockpit door open, Xtreme Title slung over my shoulder. "What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"

At first, the captain and his co-pilot seemed startled but, upon realizing it was a member of the prestigious B.O.B. organization, they were quick to fill me in.

"Well, D," the co-pilot began like we were old friends. "A bird diarhead on the windshield worse than Captain Jones in that airport bathroom."

"And again on the plane!" Captain Jones chuckled, unphased by the inconvenience of the entire situation.

I looked up, seeing a tiny white streak running down the middle of a spot that hindered neither of their sight. "That?!" They both nodded. "And how long does it take to clean that?"

"Just gotta get taxi'd off the runway and wait for a crew to come squeegee it," Captain Jones informed me as if this happened everyday. "Soooooooooo, probably an hour or two."

"No, nnnnno," I sputtered out, holding back a bit due to the sheer fact they both knew who I was(a more common accurance since becoming B.O.B.) "I have places to be, and people to fight, why can't I just go out there and take care of it?"

"............ because we're on an active runway," co-pilot Ken basically drrrrred at me.

"Annnnnnnnnd?" I responded, gesturing to myself to prove a point. "I'm not supposed to be here, and yet I AM!"

Their jaws dropped. "Oh my God............ he's right." Captain Jones got up and walked me over to the door to the outside. "Fuck the FAA! We've already broken one regulation, might as well break 'em all! Who wants to do a shot with Ole Cap'n Jones?"

"YAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!"

Everybody finally let loose. While I climbed along the side of the plane, doing my best Spider-Man impression, the rest of the cabin got lit with the flight crew. And boy could Captain Jones party! As I wiped the shit away with the last tampon from the flight attendant's purse(without her knowledge), I could see multiple women running a dick suckin' marathon on Captain, and even a few men for Ken! All I could do was shake my head at them for being little rascals, before making my way back inside.

After taking some time to regroup and get resituated, we were about ready for takeoff. However, right before we could actually take off, Captain Jones got an urgent message from flight control, which he relayed to us over the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, there's been an incident on the runway with another plane behind us in line. All aircraft are to remain grounded for the time being." With his bad news delivered, Captain Jones switched back into party mode, entering the cabin with a half empty bottle of Patron and 5 small glasses in each hand. "Now........ who wants to fly MY plane?!"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

"Noooooooooooooooooo!" I groaned in succession with them.

"See what you did?" the attendant, who hadn't left her spot the entire time, bitched. She then began to shift, uncomfortably, in her seat. "God I hope we take off soon!"

I looked from her to Captain Jones, who flipped a full glass of Patron off his boner into his co-pilot's mouth, admittedly, perfectly.

"You sure about that?"


Despite now wearing his underwear as a hat, Captain Jones was eventually given the green light. "And we're gerrrrrrrrrd to grrrrrrrrrrr!" the captain slurred over the PA system, only to stop upon receiving more news from radio control. "What's that? Oh, no shit? That's fucked up! How'd he get a gun on board? Enrique? I told you! I tolllllllllld you that son of a bitch was a no good................" Realizing his every word was being broadcast to everyone on board, Captain Jones cleared his throat and continued like a professional. "Uhhhhhhhh, okay, I will let everyone know. Thank you." After a brief pause, the captain let the flight controller know what he thought of him. "Dick................... oh, you're still here? I was talking about Ken. 'God, what a dick!' Yeaokay, thank you."

The captain turned his attention back to us. "So, FAA regulations state that, because of the incident, I'm supposed to let anybody off the plane that wants off. Does anybody want to do that?"

I held my hands together, praying some douchebag wouldn't ruin my flight anymore than it already had been. Sure enough, some overweight buffoon who couldn't even be courteous enough to pay for an extra seat for his fat ass(like I did for my Title!) struggled to his feet and declared to the cabin, "I would like to get offfffff!" He looked like the guy who gave Meg mumps in Family Guy, you know, when the show was actually funny.

Captain Jones', who'd been leaning against the open cockpit door, shoulders sunk and his head dipped in disappointment, a sentiment shared by myself and the rest of my flightmates. Tired of this game, I stood up and pointed at the captain.

"Did I just hear you say the FAA is telling you what to do?" My words seemed to light a bit of a fire under him. "Do you not remember what we say about about F. A. A.?"

"Fuck 'em," Captain Jones whispered with a nod, before yelling it, again, aloud. "FUCK 'EMMMMMMMMMM!"

"YAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!"

"Why don't you give that guy a Dan Slam and I'll get this thing a-movin'?"

"You got it, captain!" I replied with a thumbs up, turning around and grabbing ahold of tubby.

"But....... my feeliiiiiiiiiings!!!"

BAM!!!!! DAN SLAM!!!

"Feel THAT!" I taunted, receiving more cheers from everyone on board, even the flight attendant! With that, I took my seat for a final time and prepared for take off.

"You know, it's funny, I never even checked to see where Relentless even is this year!" I laughed to myself. "Wonder where the hell it could be?................"


[Image: change-kh4efg.png]


[Image: 261fbde7-3f63-4514-98c3-f000611ee4ba_text.gif]


"No. Fucking. Way."

After all that debauchery, though, we probably deserved it.




"Tommy Wish............. no wait, sorry, John Black........... it's hard to tell the difference sometimes. And that's not a race thing, so don't cancel me; all I'm saying is, those two are basically attached at the hip! The name T.H.U.G.s means more as a whole than either Tommy or John does alone. Remember when I was World Champion? You know, that belt Duke's using as his top prize over on Madness? That doesn't happen without me! And both JB and Wish were apart of that............. well, not APART per se, but they were there together! When neither one of them could take that Title from me by themselves, they had to team up on me in what was essentially a Handicap Triple Threat Match; and even then they didn't beat me! They couldn't get it done when I was teaming with Nedweight, let alone on my own."

"I'm not alone anymore, John, I have thugs of my own, now. And the best part is, they haven't had to help me win a match, or deal with my personal beef; all they've had to do was be there. No one straight told me to go after the Xtreme Championship, but those Bobby Bourbon pep talks certainly served as inspiration to go out there and get something fuckin' done! And if I ain't proof of that, look at TK! Nobody EVER expected that guy to hold a single belt, and now he's fighting for THE Championship! The man who sold me a TV Title shot for a record number of X-Bux is one win away from being the face of the fuckin' company! And something tells me no amount of dollars, real or fake, will buy that belt off of him................ and rightfully so! We're all there. Bobby has a briefcase, TK has a shot, I have a belt, and Crash can do whatever the hell he puts his mind to; as long as it's nowhere near the B.O.B.mobile!"

"I've never been this close to the top, JB, and I'll be damned if I let you rob me of this high like some kind of narc! I respect you John, but not enough to admit you can beat me. I think I've seen you wrestle more than anybody else in the roster, whether as a competitor or a spectator. I like what you do. You're true to yourself and refuse to let society change who you are."

"It's just not enough."

"When they say nice guys finish last, John, they weren't fucking kidding. You can tell yourself over and over again that it's going to be different but, in the end, it never is. Take it from a former nice guy; you can only hold the door for a woman so many times before realizing she'd rather you let it smack her in the face on the way in. Now, I'm not saying you're a nice guy, hell, I still remember the beatings you and Tommy put on me; I'm just saying complacency doesn't usually lead to success............ not unless you're ALREADY experiencing said success; in which case, changing would not be the smartest choice."

I looked the camera up and down, pretending it was John Black with his lone Xtreme Title reign, and Tag Team Title run on Madness that I never even knew existed.

"Oh that is SO you!" I remarked with sarcasm. "I hate to say it, John, but you're clearly the weak T.H.U.G. Not only is Tommy better than you, he's also had to carry your ass to what little success you've actually had! And, I'm sorry,  but a Madness Title? A MADNESS Title?! And a Tag Team one at that! You might as well wrestle on Anarchy with all the other hacks who can't cut it on Warfare; oh wait, you do! Well, maybe you ARE stepping out of your comfort zone, afterall, facing me is certainly more of a challenge than anything Vinnie or Duke have goin' for ya. Vinnie still runs Anarchy, right? I haven't been bored enough to check out that shitshow; I'm honestly surprised Lane didn't pull the plug once MeFisto became a Champion!"

"Lesser men have done more than you, John. And I know it eats at you............. it used to eat at me, too. But then I went out and made a name for myself. Titles, gimmicks, big matches, it's all about engraving your name on the proverbial bathroom wall for alllllllllll to see; to the point where they CAN'T look away! I used to call myself the greatest mid-carder of all-time, but then I realized what an insult that was. It was an insult to me, it was an insult to you. I'm a star. My position in B.O.B. proves it, and so does my position on the card. Just a couple weeks ago, I was opening Warfare; now I'm one match away from being THE Main Event! I walk into Relentless with the second most prestigious belt XWF has to offer, and I have NO intention of leaving without it. I've already done that once, NEVER AGAIN! Unfortunately for you, John, you aren't even half the talent that Fuzz was.............. and considering he himself was barely half a talent, that makes you...................... some sort of fraction! And what a small fraction you must be when you add, on top of that, the fact you're still HALF of a Tag Team! Do the math, John, and let me know what you come up with because I, for one, am VERY curious!"

"Now, if you don't mind, I gotta go not Kickout of pin attempts some more, and rub one out. That's how little I think of this match; I'm gonna spark a blunt and masturbate instead of training for it. Why would I need to? I'm already Champion. I'm already better than you. And I'm already B.O.B............ at the end of the day, as well as the pay-per-view, THAT will be the D-efinition of success."

I held the Xtreme Title up to the camera, in order for JB to get a good look.

"You see this? The closest you're EVER going to get to this belt, again, is when the referee gives you the chance to touch it before I brutalize you! So, enjoy 'holding' it while you can  because, after Relentless, you'll NEVER be anywhere near it again................. not without harassing me backstage like some kind of pussy!"]]> <![CDATA[An X-Treme Soul Chase (rp1)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46875 Fri, 15 Sep 2023 22:28:31 -0700 John_Black]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46875


[We open to a montage of all three members of THUGS each holding the X-Treme championship. It also included JB losing it against Goth at some PPV, then it shows with the returning BOB D winning the belt, also cut with his old friend Cage Coleman mix in with his brief reign with the belt. Then it cuts to static, and it shows grainy footage of a triple threat that involved thugs with former Big D.]

[Then we see JB standing outside of a church of BoB somewhere in the slums near Baltimore, then we see him looking at the decrypted, filthy exterior of the building. But a beam of light shows from the inside, and it opens with a woman in all red ala Doja Cat’s alter ego Scarlet with a replica belt of the X-Treme championship on her waist. She disappears into the church, and he follows the smoke.]

???: Cum Inside…

JB: What?

[As he enters the church, he see’s broken pews, a fucked alter with the BoB image on the wall over the cross that had “NC-Sept 17” painted in blood. Then he stood near the altar and she ended up standing where the podium was and she raised the belt up above her head. Then blood started to spray over her.]

JB: What the fuck is goin on?

???: Don’t you want blood in your hands? I know you want some blood!

JB: I don’t want no damn blood…

???: Don’t lie, you want blood.

JB: What the fu—

[Then a stuffed doll of Goth appears out of nowhere, with bloody stuffins showing out of its body. Then it started to point to the belt, and it randomly started to scream. Then the doll exploded in blood all over the altar, then JB was trying to escape but the door was stuck and locked, as she laughed.]

JB: What the fuck you want from me!?!?

???: Listen to me, you need to give your soul to me… I can give you what you want. I know you want that X-Treme championship back, by any means necessary.

JB: True… but what’s the cost?

???: You’re soul JB, just like how Reggie sold his soul to Lucy for his reign with the belt… how T had to sell his soul to get the belt… you need to confide in me, Jonathan Blackstone!


[JB then eyes widen up as she summons a BOB/Big D hybrid who stands in the shadows of the church. JB then was shaken, as the hybrid comes towards him, then he confronts it as the monster thing pushes him. It even mocks him for not being a champion, which pushed JB to the edge where he wanted to pull out his .45 pistol, but she stops him from doing anything.]

???: LISTEN TO ME, GIVE ME YOUR SOUL THEN YOU CAN KILL THIS IMAGINARY MONSTER IN FRONT OF YOU!

[Then the BOB/Big D hybrid monster starts to attack JB on the pews. He then even tries to slam him on the ground, but he does a Front Chancery on its neck, and cranked it up to where it was screaming in agony. Then she transforms into Machina (don’t ask how), and she pleas for him to stop hurting  him.]

???: Papi, please let him go! He means no harm!

JB: Dafaq?

[He let the hybrid D monster off the hold as he looked into “Machina” who then snickers and puts a knife to his throat.]

???: You fool! I told you to join me in your desire to get your chance at redemption… but you failed at that chance. So now you gotta di–

[Then the doors open to the pews and we see that JB was asleep at some random church where the session was pretty long. After the service was over, he was awakened by his ten year old nephew, who was told by his mother to do so.]

Hubert: Hey uncle John, my mom told me to wake you up.

JB: Oh thanks for that, it was pretty deep but spiritually boring.

[Then the mother, who looked like Tariji P Hensen in her sunday’s finest, got Hubert and JB out of the pews to head into the hallway to head downstairs for some refreshments. As they got there, JB went outside to be alone. Then his mother, who in turn is JB’s long lost cousin, comes out to see what’s going on with him.]

Vivan: John, what’s going on with you this Sunday? You aren’t this tired to be nodding off with the preacher speaking.

JB: Ehhh… I guess I was jet lagged to hell. You know me, and my whole wrestling shit.

Vivan: Well JB, you need to be able to juggle your professional life and personal life, it seems you are too deep into that life. I know your mother wouldn’t appreciate you sleepin in church.

JB: Man no need to bring her up, you know it’s been ten years since she passed away.

[JB then walks away from Vivan to his car, then she rushes to him as he was about to open his car door. Then he sees his nephew who chased him down, trying to make him not go.]

Hubert: Uncle John, please don’t leave! I want to talk to you more!

[JB then looks at Vivan and Hubert, then they convince him to stay with them at the church for refreshment. From there, JB and his half family end up going to Ihop to eat some brunch he covered for as it faded off.]

[Image: doja-cat-demons.gif]

“Man, things changed for me, I guess I am soo out of my fam life that I fell asleep in church. I don’t know why, but when I kept on seeing that demon woman thing, she kept on telling me to sell my soul in order to get what I want. I know that I am up against BoB D in Hell itself, and while the temptation is there to take it, I know in my heart that I am too strong to fall into the whole thing. I mean, yeah the idea of sellin my soul for the fame and notoriety of being a two time X-Treme champion.

To be honest, when I first obtained the belt I knew it wouldn’t last long. I guess I am not X-Treme I thought I was, hell when I had to lose it to Goth before he fucked off elsewhere, I wasn’t shocked just upset with not being able to pull a long enough run for a briefcase that would guarantee me a shot any any strap I want on my own terms (whithin reasons); but that’s some old shit now, and its time for me to move on from that failed run.

Now, I ain't sellin my soul to no devil, because I am a person who wouldn’t turn the other cheek for anybody. My mama didn’t raise no fool, so I anit going to back down without a fight. I know BoB D is probably no fool either, but him getting props for a damn T Shirt is where I think that his own priorities are straight in the trash, I know when he came back he wanted to be so down for BoB which doesn’t shock me.

Big D, yeah I ain't callin you BoB D, I know when you showed up you tried to do the right thing for the XWF but you sold your ass out for a group that would have hogtied you on a cross to be carried off into the woodchipper. Now, here you are going against what you stand for and now you are just a part of a band that isn’t even touring like that. You are the Neil Turbon of the group that would replace you with someone else much better.

I know I'm affiliated with them, but it’s a different case where you don’t see me changing my name to them like some kinda hoe. I know you want to show loyalty, hustle and respect to that name but… all I see is a bitch in yoo. A bitch is a bitch if you know how to catch one up, and my friend you are one of them.

While you do have the honor of being affiliated with BoB and the X-Treme championship, that doesn’t mean jack to me. All I want to do is basically fight you, and get back that belt that I lost before to someone who up and bailed out in its dark horse to somewhere else. So D, i will say this, may the best man win and pray to god that your soul will loom in limbo and wander off to god knows where, while I take that belt off you and wear it with pride.

I know pride is one of the most deadly sins, but you know…

Ah fuck it, D, may the best X-Treme soul sellout win down below the earth’s core, my G.”]]>


[We open to a montage of all three members of THUGS each holding the X-Treme championship. It also included JB losing it against Goth at some PPV, then it shows with the returning BOB D winning the belt, also cut with his old friend Cage Coleman mix in with his brief reign with the belt. Then it cuts to static, and it shows grainy footage of a triple threat that involved thugs with former Big D.]

[Then we see JB standing outside of a church of BoB somewhere in the slums near Baltimore, then we see him looking at the decrypted, filthy exterior of the building. But a beam of light shows from the inside, and it opens with a woman in all red ala Doja Cat’s alter ego Scarlet with a replica belt of the X-Treme championship on her waist. She disappears into the church, and he follows the smoke.]

???: Cum Inside…

JB: What?

[As he enters the church, he see’s broken pews, a fucked alter with the BoB image on the wall over the cross that had “NC-Sept 17” painted in blood. Then he stood near the altar and she ended up standing where the podium was and she raised the belt up above her head. Then blood started to spray over her.]

JB: What the fuck is goin on?

???: Don’t you want blood in your hands? I know you want some blood!

JB: I don’t want no damn blood…

???: Don’t lie, you want blood.

JB: What the fu—

[Then a stuffed doll of Goth appears out of nowhere, with bloody stuffins showing out of its body. Then it started to point to the belt, and it randomly started to scream. Then the doll exploded in blood all over the altar, then JB was trying to escape but the door was stuck and locked, as she laughed.]

JB: What the fuck you want from me!?!?

???: Listen to me, you need to give your soul to me… I can give you what you want. I know you want that X-Treme championship back, by any means necessary.

JB: True… but what’s the cost?

???: You’re soul JB, just like how Reggie sold his soul to Lucy for his reign with the belt… how T had to sell his soul to get the belt… you need to confide in me, Jonathan Blackstone!


[JB then eyes widen up as she summons a BOB/Big D hybrid who stands in the shadows of the church. JB then was shaken, as the hybrid comes towards him, then he confronts it as the monster thing pushes him. It even mocks him for not being a champion, which pushed JB to the edge where he wanted to pull out his .45 pistol, but she stops him from doing anything.]

???: LISTEN TO ME, GIVE ME YOUR SOUL THEN YOU CAN KILL THIS IMAGINARY MONSTER IN FRONT OF YOU!

[Then the BOB/Big D hybrid monster starts to attack JB on the pews. He then even tries to slam him on the ground, but he does a Front Chancery on its neck, and cranked it up to where it was screaming in agony. Then she transforms into Machina (don’t ask how), and she pleas for him to stop hurting  him.]

???: Papi, please let him go! He means no harm!

JB: Dafaq?

[He let the hybrid D monster off the hold as he looked into “Machina” who then snickers and puts a knife to his throat.]

???: You fool! I told you to join me in your desire to get your chance at redemption… but you failed at that chance. So now you gotta di–

[Then the doors open to the pews and we see that JB was asleep at some random church where the session was pretty long. After the service was over, he was awakened by his ten year old nephew, who was told by his mother to do so.]

Hubert: Hey uncle John, my mom told me to wake you up.

JB: Oh thanks for that, it was pretty deep but spiritually boring.

[Then the mother, who looked like Tariji P Hensen in her sunday’s finest, got Hubert and JB out of the pews to head into the hallway to head downstairs for some refreshments. As they got there, JB went outside to be alone. Then his mother, who in turn is JB’s long lost cousin, comes out to see what’s going on with him.]

Vivan: John, what’s going on with you this Sunday? You aren’t this tired to be nodding off with the preacher speaking.

JB: Ehhh… I guess I was jet lagged to hell. You know me, and my whole wrestling shit.

Vivan: Well JB, you need to be able to juggle your professional life and personal life, it seems you are too deep into that life. I know your mother wouldn’t appreciate you sleepin in church.

JB: Man no need to bring her up, you know it’s been ten years since she passed away.

[JB then walks away from Vivan to his car, then she rushes to him as he was about to open his car door. Then he sees his nephew who chased him down, trying to make him not go.]

Hubert: Uncle John, please don’t leave! I want to talk to you more!

[JB then looks at Vivan and Hubert, then they convince him to stay with them at the church for refreshment. From there, JB and his half family end up going to Ihop to eat some brunch he covered for as it faded off.]

[Image: doja-cat-demons.gif]

“Man, things changed for me, I guess I am soo out of my fam life that I fell asleep in church. I don’t know why, but when I kept on seeing that demon woman thing, she kept on telling me to sell my soul in order to get what I want. I know that I am up against BoB D in Hell itself, and while the temptation is there to take it, I know in my heart that I am too strong to fall into the whole thing. I mean, yeah the idea of sellin my soul for the fame and notoriety of being a two time X-Treme champion.

To be honest, when I first obtained the belt I knew it wouldn’t last long. I guess I am not X-Treme I thought I was, hell when I had to lose it to Goth before he fucked off elsewhere, I wasn’t shocked just upset with not being able to pull a long enough run for a briefcase that would guarantee me a shot any any strap I want on my own terms (whithin reasons); but that’s some old shit now, and its time for me to move on from that failed run.

Now, I ain't sellin my soul to no devil, because I am a person who wouldn’t turn the other cheek for anybody. My mama didn’t raise no fool, so I anit going to back down without a fight. I know BoB D is probably no fool either, but him getting props for a damn T Shirt is where I think that his own priorities are straight in the trash, I know when he came back he wanted to be so down for BoB which doesn’t shock me.

Big D, yeah I ain't callin you BoB D, I know when you showed up you tried to do the right thing for the XWF but you sold your ass out for a group that would have hogtied you on a cross to be carried off into the woodchipper. Now, here you are going against what you stand for and now you are just a part of a band that isn’t even touring like that. You are the Neil Turbon of the group that would replace you with someone else much better.

I know I'm affiliated with them, but it’s a different case where you don’t see me changing my name to them like some kinda hoe. I know you want to show loyalty, hustle and respect to that name but… all I see is a bitch in yoo. A bitch is a bitch if you know how to catch one up, and my friend you are one of them.

While you do have the honor of being affiliated with BoB and the X-Treme championship, that doesn’t mean jack to me. All I want to do is basically fight you, and get back that belt that I lost before to someone who up and bailed out in its dark horse to somewhere else. So D, i will say this, may the best man win and pray to god that your soul will loom in limbo and wander off to god knows where, while I take that belt off you and wear it with pride.

I know pride is one of the most deadly sins, but you know…

Ah fuck it, D, may the best X-Treme soul sellout win down below the earth’s core, my G.”]]> <![CDATA[Killing Time]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46864 Thu, 14 Sep 2023 15:04:50 -0700 Bobby Bourbon]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=46864 Bobby Bourbon, much like the rest of the competitors in the XWF, needs to prepare himself for what lies ahead at Relentless. His best friend and brother in arms, Thunder Knuckles, has already found his passage to Hell. Bobby is seated at his desk, drumming his fingers, lost in thought. Across from him, seated on a couch, is Genevieve Tote, Bobby’s image consultant.

So, your plan was to fall on a rake and break your neck?

Yes, Miss Tote, that’s correct.

That seems like an incredibly risky proposition, Mr. Bourbon, what if you don’t die and you just become a quadriplegic?

Risk is my middle name.

I thought you said your middle name was ‘danger’.

Bobby stops drumming his fingers.

I changed it.

Miss Tote takes note.

So you can’t do that now because that’s how your tag team partner went to Hell?

Correct.

Mr. Bourbon, about that, you seem very relaxed over the fact your friend just died.

Meh, it’s not the first time, it’s not even our first trip to the Abyss.

Miss Tote takes note.

Mr. Bourbon, the funeral services are later today. I understand that you may be in denial because of the sheer grief.

Pssht.

Bobby gives the most infamous bilabial fricative in XWF history.

I’m not, I’m telling you, it’s not a big deal. I’m pretty sure I died earlier this year myself, look at me, running around and doing stuff. TK’ll be just fine and come back from Hell.

So if you’re afraid of copycatting your friend, Mr. Bourbon, what are you going to do now to get to Hell?

I don’t know! I’ve never thought about offing myself before, I’m not a wuss. Do you have any thoughts?

Are you asking me how I think you should die?

No, Miss Tote, we both agree I should die in battle and go to Valhalla. The problem is that’s not where Relentless is, I’ll miss the whole event, or wind up in some other company’s show or something.

Die in battle?

Yes, Miss Tote. After I have slain my enemies, had them driven before me, and heard the lamentations of their women.

If your enemies are slain how are you supposed to die in battle?

Bobby shakes his head.

Look, that doesn’t matter, Miss Tote. What matters is a cool way I can kill myself that’ll really hype my match at Relentless and get the fans in attendance behind me.

Mr. Bourbon, what fans are going to be in attendance there?

Bobby shrugs. Not like Shawn Warstein.

Well, you know, probably a few rock stars, probably a few guys I used to work with here in the XWF, demons and whatnot. I checked Ticketmaster and they didn’t have a listing or anything. Probably quite a few of my most diehard fans have formed a kickass suicide cult to see my match.

What do you think of that idea, Miss Tote?

A suicide cult?

Hell yeah.

I don’t think that would be good for your image whatsoever.

So, what you’re saying is..

Miss Tote takes a quick sharp breath.

Your stocks would plummet.

Oh, nevermind that noise then! You know what, I have an idea!

Bobby stands up. He climbs atop the desk and takes off his belt.

Mr. Bourbon, I don’t think removing your pants is really appropriate right now.

I’m keeping my pants on.

Bobby loops the belt back through the buckle and puts it around his neck. He then takes the loose end of the belt and threads the pull chain from the ceiling fan through one of the punch holes and ties a knot around it, attaching the belt to the fan. Bobby then looks at Genevieve.

You sure you don’t want to go?

I’m sure, Mr. Bourbon, thank you for offering to take me to Hell though.

Okay! Later!

Mr. Bourbon, I don’t think..

Bobby jumps off the desk. The belt goes taught, and as he falls to the floor landing on his feet, the fan is ripped from the ceiling, crashing into Bobby’s desk. Bobby’s eyes go wide with surprise that his attempt at suicide failed.

Damn it!

Mr. Bourbon, you don’t want to do that, people will think you died from autoerotic asphyxiation, like David Carradine.

Or Robin Williams.

I wish you’d stop insisting that Robin Williams died from autoerotic asphyxiation.

Robin Williams wasn’t a wuss, Miss Tote. He was Popeye.

Miss Tote takes note.

Also, remind me to call the ceiling fan people.

That’s the fifth one you’ve broken this month, Mr. Bourbon. First you tried to get the fan to go backwards to pull the heat up so the room would be cooler. Then you wanted to test how good the glue you got was. Then you wanted to test how good the duct tape was to see if it would be better than glue. Then you glued and duct taped airplanes to it so you could feel more like King Kong.

King Kong ain’t got shit on me.

By the by, what day is it?

It’s not even halfway through the month.

Huh.

New record!

Bobby gives us all a fistpump of personal joy at the fact he’s on track to break his fan more times in a month than ever before.

Miss Tote, I’m not going to hang myself with a belt.

Thank God.

Thank the Bastardly Father, you mean.

Miss Tote takes note. As she does, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, and Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, enter Bobby’s office. They both look at the fan, destroyed and laying on Bobby’s desk.

Bro, that’s the fifth one this month!

Nice!

Right?

Cyberjaw and Diamondback give each other a high five.

So, what’s up?

Well, bro, we heard you’re trying to come up with a cool way to kill yourself to go to Relentless. We had the rake set up and ready, but we came up with another plan.

Awesome! What is it?

Okay, we worked long and hard on this.

First, you stand on a special stage we set up in Times Square.

Classy, I love it.

Okay, so you stand on this special stage. Then, you shoot yourself in the head.

Sounds kinda basic, I don’t want to just Private Pyle myself.

Just wait.

Yeah. After the gunshot, you’ll most likely fall to your knees, just like in Mortal Kombat.

Go on.

As you do, spikes will rise up from the stage and impale your legs, pinning you to the stage.

Yep, that’s when the hinges on the stage give way, and you hang upside down.

Then an axe attached to a hydraulic arm will start swinging into your back to make sure you’re dead.

Bobby rubs his chin.

I don’t know.

Seems kinda basic. I’m really just shooting myself then making sure the mess is harder to clean up after.

Mr. Bourbon, this is all very morbid.

Bobby smirks. He pulls his phone out and shows Genevieve a picture of Morbid Angel.

No, this is Morbid.

Miss Tote takes note. Cyberjaw interjects.

Bro, if you don’t like that, I guess we could come up with more ideas.

Yeah, we thought about making a slip and slide that leads into a shark tank.

I was on Shark Tank. Those sons of bitches balked at my inflatable razor and on investing in BourbCo. Suckers. My stocks are at ten cents a share now!

Eleven cents, Mr. Bourbon, according to the latest news.

See! What a bunch of rubes.

Alright, bro.

You two get back to work. I’m going to take a walk and see if I spot something cool to kill myself with.

Bobby takes a step forward. As he does, the belt around his neck goes taught again and the fan crashes to the floor, knocking over Bobby’s laptop to the floor as well.

Dammit!

That’s the third laptop this month.

Call the laptop guy too.

I’m not your secretary, Mr. Bourbon.

Right. Apologies, Miss Tote. Cyberjaw, you call the ceiling fan guy, Diamondback, get me another laptop.

Gotcha.

Cyberjaw and Diamondback leave. Bobby reaches down and struggles with the pull cord from the fan he attached to his belt before finally just ripping the pull cord off of the demolished appliance. Bobby puts his belt back on. He leaves his office, and Genevieve follows him. Bobby walks through the busy Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts, where students train in wrestling, learn to be world class chefs, drink Dunkin Donuts coffee, and whatever goofy thing is in the last corner that always seems to change. Some nerd will look into it. Ask the nerd what it was. Bobby continues his pace and walks out of the dojo onto the streets of Alexandria, Virginia. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down the block, spotting a construction site.

I wonder if they have a steamroller.

You want to run yourself over with a steamroller?

That sounds cool, as long as it starts with my head. Feet first sounds awful.

Well, they do have a crane you can jump off of.

No, Miss Tote. I already won Leap of Faith this year, jumping off of something tall is passé.

Miss Tote takes note. Bobby wanders down to the construction yard as Miss Tote follows. He approaches the gate to the worksite and just wanders into the yard. A foreman steps forward.

[Image: 3e995c93-b71b-4464-a5fd-c5247d681508-Tha...23_02R.jpg]

Hey, what are you doing, it’s dangerous for you to be here!

Danger is my middle name!

You changed it.

Dammit.

Would you say it’s risky for me to be here?

Yes!

Risk is my middle name!

Get out of here buddy, you might kill yourself.

Cool!

No, I’m going to call the cops, and you’re creating an OSHA violation.

Oh, damn. My bad! Miss Tote, let’s go.

Bobby hustles off the worksite.

Sorry!

Yeah, whatever.

Bobby walks back down the block towards the dojo.

You don’t want to do anything against OSHA?

No way, Miss Tote. The International Supervillain Union would revoke my charter. They take work safety very seriously.

Miss Tote takes note. Bobby pauses and looks up. He squints, and his jaw drops. He turns back to Genevieve.

Planes!

You want to jump out of an airplane, Mr. Bourbon? I thought you said jumping from high places was old hat.

No, Miss Tote!

I’m going to crash a plane!

Mr. Bourbon, 9/11 was just a few days ago..

And can you think of a better homage to the heroes we lost that day?

Genevieve’s eyes go wide as she looks at her brand new iPad.

I’ll see if I can get you lessons.

Nuts to that, just rent a plane for me to fly, I’ll cook up a fake license in no time.

If you crash into someone or something important it might impact your stock value, Mr. Bourbon.

Oh, heh, I know exactly what I want to crash into that would be absolutely friggin’ epic.

That’s somewhat discomforting, Mr. Bourbon.

Nah, watch, this’ll be really, really cool.

Just get me a plane.

Do you want a specific kind of plane?

Huh.

Well, not a jet. Can you get a biplane?



At an average funeral parlor somewhere, we see the services are underway for none other than Thunder Knuckles. B.O.B. D, Crash Rodriguez, and Dolly Waters are in attendance, as is Jimmy, TK’s manservant. Nobody else. Bobby steps forward to a podium, prepared to give a eulogy to TK.

The Ladder.

Old man, I know you have a spin on it all your own, and you can give us the razzle dazzle about it however you want.

When I got into the XWF, you were at the top, and I wasn’t even allowed to touch it.

Then, year after year, I worked, rung by rung, each stained with the blood of those who stood before me.

Each stained with my blood.

Looking to knock you down from the ladder.

Imagine, to my surprise, however, when you didn’t stay on top of it.

Where did you go from the top of the ladder, Louis?

I mean, I wanted to be the one who beat you, decisively, but Alias and Flynn already beat me to the punch on that one.

I guess you’ll be getting the Ned Kaye rub from all of this, huh?

And I know, you’ve always said it, you were a Bourbon man.

That sounds nice and all, but think long and hard on this one, what have you ever done for me?

Of course you can explain why you haven’t done anything, or how you’ve really done this or that and how I should be grateful, but ultimately that’s pointless bullshit for you to spew.

And they aren’t listening anymore.

Those people who used to fear you, old man, those people who used to revere you, those people who put you on that pedestal, who saw a ladder and thought you had to be on top of it are gone.

You were left to prop yourself up.

You failed. Spectacularly.

And you know what, Louis?

It’s alright to fail.

It’s okay.

I would know.

Nobody, and I defy you to name someone who has, but nobody has failed harder than Bobby Bourbon has.

But, hey, win some, lose some. I learned better.

I learned from my failures.

I went out and corrected said failures.

I lost to some doofus at my birthday party, as such, I planted him in the mat with a Bobbybomb.

I lost to Ned Kaye, as such, I planted him in the mat with several Bobbybombs.

I lost to Mark Flynn countless times.

Don’t be a nerd, we know there’s an actual number.

But I lost to Mark countless times, until I didn’t and I took the Universal Championship away from him.

When’s the last time someone asked you what it’s like to be a champion?

I mean, hell, I got my get back on Mark, what was stopping you?

You were.

I remember when we all pledged fealty to you, calling you King B.O.B. after you gloriously won a March Madness tournament.

Where were you when I won that tournament? Were you repeating in your own head how cool it sounded to say you were a Bourbon Man?

No, you were still recoiling from a loss to Alias that fucked with your fragile little mind, and I can not understate that enough..

Fragile and small minded you be.

We didn’t have some frilly, pomp and circumstance bullshit when I became King. You never came forward and once acted like a man, let alone a Bourbon man, and give me any kind of credence for what I accomplished. Instead I went to work and fought Xavier Lux. I went to work and fought Flynn and Criminal for the Tag Titles.

Where were you, Louis? Blinked off that ladder yet again.

Because the top spot that was designed for you got destroyed.

And I fucking destroyed it.

I wrecked it rung by god damned rung.

I was going to war with APEX, pissing in Raven’s cheerios, and living rent free in the head of Chris Chaos.

You were, what, waving at people at the XWF headquarters?

I led a revolution throughout the industry, bouncing around companies with a legion so menacing you had to get in on the action as its king.

While I was doing that, though, what were you up to?

Your mystique, your aura, your whole everything, old man, is smoke and fucking mirrors and if you’re not aware of that, you’ll learn.

September 24th, old man, and that place you always like to pretend is your domain, where I guess you do your insidious laundry, water your evil little plants, maybe sit in your nefarious recliner and watch old reruns of Alfred Hitchcock will be where you encounter the horror show.

The REAL horror show.

It’s where something fierce, and nasty, and mean, comes to call and brings you the reckoning you’ve earned.

You can sit in your empty throne, the people lauding you long gone, still all too lost in your own mind, your head so far up your ass you can’t tell shit from shit, all because you started to believe too much in your own fucking hype.

And it’s all you have left anymore.

I mean, hey, you did beat Charlie.

So did Sarah Lacklan.

Big whoop.

You were the Universal Champion in an era so bygone that there are actual fans who weren’t alive when you were the champ.

Big deal. I did it, and people remember my championship runs and throw it in my face daily.

Flat the fuck out, it’s iron that tempers iron, Louis, and you’ve lavished in cotton balls and cashmere while I’ve been out being ground by the steel.

While you talked, I walked.

Where you watched, I conquered.

When you postured, I proved it.

So by all means, tell us you’re coming back as the old Lou.

The only reason you were ever untouchable is because whenever anyone reached out, you were somewhere else.

Bring on your days as whatever silly rendition you think has a snowball’s chance in hell of stopping the inevitable.

Louis D’Ville getting Bobbybombed.

There has never been a time or a place where you’ve been better than me.

So sing us your fucking eulogy and paint us the sunset you’ll ride off into next.

Because I will see you in Hell, and if you think it’s your domain, much like I have the XWF and other wrestling companies, it is mine to conquer. If any fool deem themselves the true ruler there, I will correct them.

Violently.

Jimmy raises his hand.

Um, are you going to talk about Thunder Knuckles?

Nah, he’ll be alright. Unless Corey stops sounding like a namby pamby.]]> Bobby Bourbon, much like the rest of the competitors in the XWF, needs to prepare himself for what lies ahead at Relentless. His best friend and brother in arms, Thunder Knuckles, has already found his passage to Hell. Bobby is seated at his desk, drumming his fingers, lost in thought. Across from him, seated on a couch, is Genevieve Tote, Bobby’s image consultant.

So, your plan was to fall on a rake and break your neck?

Yes, Miss Tote, that’s correct.

That seems like an incredibly risky proposition, Mr. Bourbon, what if you don’t die and you just become a quadriplegic?

Risk is my middle name.

I thought you said your middle name was ‘danger’.

Bobby stops drumming his fingers.

I changed it.

Miss Tote takes note.

So you can’t do that now because that’s how your tag team partner went to Hell?

Correct.

Mr. Bourbon, about that, you seem very relaxed over the fact your friend just died.

Meh, it’s not the first time, it’s not even our first trip to the Abyss.

Miss Tote takes note.

Mr. Bourbon, the funeral services are later today. I understand that you may be in denial because of the sheer grief.

Pssht.

Bobby gives the most infamous bilabial fricative in XWF history.

I’m not, I’m telling you, it’s not a big deal. I’m pretty sure I died earlier this year myself, look at me, running around and doing stuff. TK’ll be just fine and come back from Hell.

So if you’re afraid of copycatting your friend, Mr. Bourbon, what are you going to do now to get to Hell?

I don’t know! I’ve never thought about offing myself before, I’m not a wuss. Do you have any thoughts?

Are you asking me how I think you should die?

No, Miss Tote, we both agree I should die in battle and go to Valhalla. The problem is that’s not where Relentless is, I’ll miss the whole event, or wind up in some other company’s show or something.

Die in battle?

Yes, Miss Tote. After I have slain my enemies, had them driven before me, and heard the lamentations of their women.

If your enemies are slain how are you supposed to die in battle?

Bobby shakes his head.

Look, that doesn’t matter, Miss Tote. What matters is a cool way I can kill myself that’ll really hype my match at Relentless and get the fans in attendance behind me.

Mr. Bourbon, what fans are going to be in attendance there?

Bobby shrugs. Not like Shawn Warstein.

Well, you know, probably a few rock stars, probably a few guys I used to work with here in the XWF, demons and whatnot. I checked Ticketmaster and they didn’t have a listing or anything. Probably quite a few of my most diehard fans have formed a kickass suicide cult to see my match.

What do you think of that idea, Miss Tote?

A suicide cult?

Hell yeah.

I don’t think that would be good for your image whatsoever.

So, what you’re saying is..

Miss Tote takes a quick sharp breath.

Your stocks would plummet.

Oh, nevermind that noise then! You know what, I have an idea!

Bobby stands up. He climbs atop the desk and takes off his belt.

Mr. Bourbon, I don’t think removing your pants is really appropriate right now.

I’m keeping my pants on.

Bobby loops the belt back through the buckle and puts it around his neck. He then takes the loose end of the belt and threads the pull chain from the ceiling fan through one of the punch holes and ties a knot around it, attaching the belt to the fan. Bobby then looks at Genevieve.

You sure you don’t want to go?

I’m sure, Mr. Bourbon, thank you for offering to take me to Hell though.

Okay! Later!

Mr. Bourbon, I don’t think..

Bobby jumps off the desk. The belt goes taught, and as he falls to the floor landing on his feet, the fan is ripped from the ceiling, crashing into Bobby’s desk. Bobby’s eyes go wide with surprise that his attempt at suicide failed.

Damn it!

Mr. Bourbon, you don’t want to do that, people will think you died from autoerotic asphyxiation, like David Carradine.

Or Robin Williams.

I wish you’d stop insisting that Robin Williams died from autoerotic asphyxiation.

Robin Williams wasn’t a wuss, Miss Tote. He was Popeye.

Miss Tote takes note.

Also, remind me to call the ceiling fan people.

That’s the fifth one you’ve broken this month, Mr. Bourbon. First you tried to get the fan to go backwards to pull the heat up so the room would be cooler. Then you wanted to test how good the glue you got was. Then you wanted to test how good the duct tape was to see if it would be better than glue. Then you glued and duct taped airplanes to it so you could feel more like King Kong.

King Kong ain’t got shit on me.

By the by, what day is it?

It’s not even halfway through the month.

Huh.

New record!

Bobby gives us all a fistpump of personal joy at the fact he’s on track to break his fan more times in a month than ever before.

Miss Tote, I’m not going to hang myself with a belt.

Thank God.

Thank the Bastardly Father, you mean.

Miss Tote takes note. As she does, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, and Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, enter Bobby’s office. They both look at the fan, destroyed and laying on Bobby’s desk.

Bro, that’s the fifth one this month!

Nice!

Right?

Cyberjaw and Diamondback give each other a high five.

So, what’s up?

Well, bro, we heard you’re trying to come up with a cool way to kill yourself to go to Relentless. We had the rake set up and ready, but we came up with another plan.

Awesome! What is it?

Okay, we worked long and hard on this.

First, you stand on a special stage we set up in Times Square.

Classy, I love it.

Okay, so you stand on this special stage. Then, you shoot yourself in the head.

Sounds kinda basic, I don’t want to just Private Pyle myself.

Just wait.

Yeah. After the gunshot, you’ll most likely fall to your knees, just like in Mortal Kombat.

Go on.

As you do, spikes will rise up from the stage and impale your legs, pinning you to the stage.

Yep, that’s when the hinges on the stage give way, and you hang upside down.

Then an axe attached to a hydraulic arm will start swinging into your back to make sure you’re dead.

Bobby rubs his chin.

I don’t know.

Seems kinda basic. I’m really just shooting myself then making sure the mess is harder to clean up after.

Mr. Bourbon, this is all very morbid.

Bobby smirks. He pulls his phone out and shows Genevieve a picture of Morbid Angel.

No, this is Morbid.

Miss Tote takes note. Cyberjaw interjects.

Bro, if you don’t like that, I guess we could come up with more ideas.

Yeah, we thought about making a slip and slide that leads into a shark tank.

I was on Shark Tank. Those sons of bitches balked at my inflatable razor and on investing in BourbCo. Suckers. My stocks are at ten cents a share now!

Eleven cents, Mr. Bourbon, according to the latest news.

See! What a bunch of rubes.

Alright, bro.

You two get back to work. I’m going to take a walk and see if I spot something cool to kill myself with.

Bobby takes a step forward. As he does, the belt around his neck goes taught again and the fan crashes to the floor, knocking over Bobby’s laptop to the floor as well.

Dammit!

That’s the third laptop this month.

Call the laptop guy too.

I’m not your secretary, Mr. Bourbon.

Right. Apologies, Miss Tote. Cyberjaw, you call the ceiling fan guy, Diamondback, get me another laptop.

Gotcha.

Cyberjaw and Diamondback leave. Bobby reaches down and struggles with the pull cord from the fan he attached to his belt before finally just ripping the pull cord off of the demolished appliance. Bobby puts his belt back on. He leaves his office, and Genevieve follows him. Bobby walks through the busy Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts, where students train in wrestling, learn to be world class chefs, drink Dunkin Donuts coffee, and whatever goofy thing is in the last corner that always seems to change. Some nerd will look into it. Ask the nerd what it was. Bobby continues his pace and walks out of the dojo onto the streets of Alexandria, Virginia. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down the block, spotting a construction site.

I wonder if they have a steamroller.

You want to run yourself over with a steamroller?

That sounds cool, as long as it starts with my head. Feet first sounds awful.

Well, they do have a crane you can jump off of.

No, Miss Tote. I already won Leap of Faith this year, jumping off of something tall is passé.

Miss Tote takes note. Bobby wanders down to the construction yard as Miss Tote follows. He approaches the gate to the worksite and just wanders into the yard. A foreman steps forward.

[Image: 3e995c93-b71b-4464-a5fd-c5247d681508-Tha...23_02R.jpg]

Hey, what are you doing, it’s dangerous for you to be here!

Danger is my middle name!

You changed it.

Dammit.

Would you say it’s risky for me to be here?

Yes!

Risk is my middle name!

Get out of here buddy, you might kill yourself.

Cool!

No, I’m going to call the cops, and you’re creating an OSHA violation.

Oh, damn. My bad! Miss Tote, let’s go.

Bobby hustles off the worksite.

Sorry!

Yeah, whatever.

Bobby walks back down the block towards the dojo.

You don’t want to do anything against OSHA?

No way, Miss Tote. The International Supervillain Union would revoke my charter. They take work safety very seriously.

Miss Tote takes note. Bobby pauses and looks up. He squints, and his jaw drops. He turns back to Genevieve.

Planes!

You want to jump out of an airplane, Mr. Bourbon? I thought you said jumping from high places was old hat.

No, Miss Tote!

I’m going to crash a plane!

Mr. Bourbon, 9/11 was just a few days ago..

And can you think of a better homage to the heroes we lost that day?

Genevieve’s eyes go wide as she looks at her brand new iPad.

I’ll see if I can get you lessons.

Nuts to that, just rent a plane for me to fly, I’ll cook up a fake license in no time.

If you crash into someone or something important it might impact your stock value, Mr. Bourbon.

Oh, heh, I know exactly what I want to crash into that would be absolutely friggin’ epic.

That’s somewhat discomforting, Mr. Bourbon.

Nah, watch, this’ll be really, really cool.

Just get me a plane.

Do you want a specific kind of plane?

Huh.

Well, not a jet. Can you get a biplane?



At an average funeral parlor somewhere, we see the services are underway for none other than Thunder Knuckles. B.O.B. D, Crash Rodriguez, and Dolly Waters are in attendance, as is Jimmy, TK’s manservant. Nobody else. Bobby steps forward to a podium, prepared to give a eulogy to TK.

The Ladder.

Old man, I know you have a spin on it all your own, and you can give us the razzle dazzle about it however you want.

When I got into the XWF, you were at the top, and I wasn’t even allowed to touch it.

Then, year after year, I worked, rung by rung, each stained with the blood of those who stood before me.

Each stained with my blood.

Looking to knock you down from the ladder.

Imagine, to my surprise, however, when you didn’t stay on top of it.

Where did you go from the top of the ladder, Louis?

I mean, I wanted to be the one who beat you, decisively, but Alias and Flynn already beat me to the punch on that one.

I guess you’ll be getting the Ned Kaye rub from all of this, huh?

And I know, you’ve always said it, you were a Bourbon man.

That sounds nice and all, but think long and hard on this one, what have you ever done for me?

Of course you can explain why you haven’t done anything, or how you’ve really done this or that and how I should be grateful, but ultimately that’s pointless bullshit for you to spew.

And they aren’t listening anymore.

Those people who used to fear you, old man, those people who used to revere you, those people who put you on that pedestal, who saw a ladder and thought you had to be on top of it are gone.

You were left to prop yourself up.

You failed. Spectacularly.

And you know what, Louis?

It’s alright to fail.

It’s okay.

I would know.

Nobody, and I defy you to name someone who has, but nobody has failed harder than Bobby Bourbon has.

But, hey, win some, lose some. I learned better.

I learned from my failures.

I went out and corrected said failures.

I lost to some doofus at my birthday party, as such, I planted him in the mat with a Bobbybomb.

I lost to Ned Kaye, as such, I planted him in the mat with several Bobbybombs.

I lost to Mark Flynn countless times.

Don’t be a nerd, we know there’s an actual number.

But I lost to Mark countless times, until I didn’t and I took the Universal Championship away from him.

When’s the last time someone asked you what it’s like to be a champion?

I mean, hell, I got my get back on Mark, what was stopping you?

You were.

I remember when we all pledged fealty to you, calling you King B.O.B. after you gloriously won a March Madness tournament.

Where were you when I won that tournament? Were you repeating in your own head how cool it sounded to say you were a Bourbon Man?

No, you were still recoiling from a loss to Alias that fucked with your fragile little mind, and I can not understate that enough..

Fragile and small minded you be.

We didn’t have some frilly, pomp and circumstance bullshit when I became King. You never came forward and once acted like a man, let alone a Bourbon man, and give me any kind of credence for what I accomplished. Instead I went to work and fought Xavier Lux. I went to work and fought Flynn and Criminal for the Tag Titles.

Where were you, Louis? Blinked off that ladder yet again.

Because the top spot that was designed for you got destroyed.

And I fucking destroyed it.

I wrecked it rung by god damned rung.

I was going to war with APEX, pissing in Raven’s cheerios, and living rent free in the head of Chris Chaos.

You were, what, waving at people at the XWF headquarters?

I led a revolution throughout the industry, bouncing around companies with a legion so menacing you had to get in on the action as its king.

While I was doing that, though, what were you up to?

Your mystique, your aura, your whole everything, old man, is smoke and fucking mirrors and if you’re not aware of that, you’ll learn.

September 24th, old man, and that place you always like to pretend is your domain, where I guess you do your insidious laundry, water your evil little plants, maybe sit in your nefarious recliner and watch old reruns of Alfred Hitchcock will be where you encounter the horror show.

The REAL horror show.

It’s where something fierce, and nasty, and mean, comes to call and brings you the reckoning you’ve earned.

You can sit in your empty throne, the people lauding you long gone, still all too lost in your own mind, your head so far up your ass you can’t tell shit from shit, all because you started to believe too much in your own fucking hype.

And it’s all you have left anymore.

I mean, hey, you did beat Charlie.

So did Sarah Lacklan.

Big whoop.

You were the Universal Champion in an era so bygone that there are actual fans who weren’t alive when you were the champ.

Big deal. I did it, and people remember my championship runs and throw it in my face daily.

Flat the fuck out, it’s iron that tempers iron, Louis, and you’ve lavished in cotton balls and cashmere while I’ve been out being ground by the steel.

While you talked, I walked.

Where you watched, I conquered.

When you postured, I proved it.

So by all means, tell us you’re coming back as the old Lou.

The only reason you were ever untouchable is because whenever anyone reached out, you were somewhere else.

Bring on your days as whatever silly rendition you think has a snowball’s chance in hell of stopping the inevitable.

Louis D’Ville getting Bobbybombed.

There has never been a time or a place where you’ve been better than me.

So sing us your fucking eulogy and paint us the sunset you’ll ride off into next.

Because I will see you in Hell, and if you think it’s your domain, much like I have the XWF and other wrestling companies, it is mine to conquer. If any fool deem themselves the true ruler there, I will correct them.

Violently.

Jimmy raises his hand.

Um, are you going to talk about Thunder Knuckles?

Nah, he’ll be alright. Unless Corey stops sounding like a namby pamby.]]>