X-treme Wrestling Federation - 24/7 Heavy Metalweight Championship

You Think This Shit's Funny?

Tue, 19 Jan 2021 14:01:18 -0800

Do you think this shit is funny, Jacko? Fuck are you doing?

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently. He sees Charlie roll Mr. Black up out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Charlie Goes Bollywood!

Fri, 15 Jan 2021 12:44:04 -0800

While in an alternative universe Charlie was busy pinning Tula, across the world, there was duel over who's the real Tunak Of XWF, and we see four versions of our dear head Charlie in various outfits, that would make girl Delfin Clutch her cat . As they all duel, one of them ended up getting a sword that was a crucifix and waved it in the air. Then all three men stopped.

नहीं, मैं XWF का असली तुनक हूँ!

नहीं, मैं XWF का असली तुनक हूँ!

After they argued over who's the real Tunak of XWF, then they see this one girl who passes them by, who held a belt on her shoulder. Then all three men clammer around her, and even one manages to have her hand pinned on their face. She then slaps the कटहल out of all three men.

मुझे आपके साथ कुछ भी नहीं करना है, आप मुझे परेशान नहीं कर सकते!

Then one of them gives her some money, which she declines. Then they all chase her down and break into song..

मैं आपके बेल्ट के लिए आपके लिए कुछ भी करूंगा

मैं खुद को राना नदी में जला दूंगा!

मैं अपने आप को एक मैला ढोऊंगा और आपको कवर करूंगा

मुझे तुम्हारा शीर्षक इतना बुरा चाहिए मैं तुम्हारी गांड खा जाऊंगा

मैं आपके पिन के एक टुकड़े के लिए बाहर बैठूंगा[

As they contiune to chase her, she ends upin area she didn't want to be in. She ended up where there were guys who looked like Jim Jimson... with Doplhpin as thier swords. They take the girl, and they take her to a room, where there was posters of डॉल्फिन मरो मरो and एक, एक डॉल्फिन को मार डालो, एक प्रकार की मछली की मूर्ति बनाने के लिए, तीन कष्टप्रद हो all over the place. Then it immeditly jumpin cuts to grainy footage of the Charlie gang beating upin the Jim Jimson gang. We see cuts that even Bob Backlund wouldn't want to SEE on his spare time.

Here's some of these delights..

After the Jim and Charlie gang stopped fighting, they look at the girl who just runs off into street where she gotten herself Jacknifed by one of the muggers who holds her down. Then all of the Jim and Charlie gang started dancing and singing once more..

हम दुनिया के विजेता नहीं हैं

हम जीवन के अपने तरीके से हारे हैं क्योंकि हम रोशनी देखते हैं

हम सिर्फ अपने आप को अस्पष्ट में घुसा रहे हैं

जैसे-जैसे हम अपने आप को अपने ही दुख का एक झटके में प्राप्त करते हैं

हम DDS हम सिर्फ अपने तरीके से हारे हुए हैं एक हम दोनों के लिए दो तीनों के लिए नहीं!

Then it cuts to see JB looking at this film, and being disgusted by what he looked at. Then he turns off the tv, and heads out of the room to see what's up. Then he peeked inside a room where Charlie himself was still pinning Tula, who at this point just was out of it. Then he looks at them, and wanted to join in the party, but waved it off.

"Nah, as much as I would loved to pin Tula... I don't think it'll be worth getting involved with this.... maybe, it's ritual or a sacrifice for those who been under the foot of the Left Hand.. idk.... but nah."

JB then walks away as he see's nobody counting the fall...

======hours later====

John grabs Charlie off Tula, and he goes for the pin of his own on Charlie. The a ref came in quick to count, but JB breaks it off and he places him back on Tula, which the ref refused to count.

"Count the fall man, Charlie needs to prove his 24/7 nuts to these fans he got."

"Nope, i'm not apart of the Federweight hall.. i'm only in the HWM hall, it doesn't fall on my jurisdiction. So you want me to count this shit or what?"

"Alright fine... just looking out for XWF's own resident overachiever."

JB then drags Charlie off of Tula once again, and he goes for a simple roll up as the ref started to count the fall...

1..

2..

#2: Me

Sun, 10 Jan 2021 13:06:35 -0800

“So tell me about yourself. What’s your story?” Steve Sayors shuffles in his chair as he crosses his right leg over his left. The cuff of his slacks catches as his legs settle, pulling up a little to reveal a sock emblazoned with the My Little Pony logo. His glasses sit half an inch lower than the bridge of his nose, at risk of falling off at a moment’s notice. The lenses are either perfectly clear, or non-existent. It’s hard for me to tell in this amber light, dulled further drawn blinds. It’s even harder to predict based on Steve’s penchant for fads that can’t be constrained by time, space, or how it actually makes him appear. Either way, he stares at me expectantly through the eyeholes in the frames.

I crouch atop an identical chair, perfectly equidistant to Steve’s from a white speck of lint on the hardwood floor upon which I fix my gaze. The piss-yellow acetate fabric on the quasi-ancient chairs has been worn down over the years to the point where certain sections of the covering are now a mere hair’s width. In these sections, the cumulative build-up of microbial growth and spilt fluids of both bodily and inorganic origin, has darkened the upholstery by several shades. Every time Steve or I move, samples of the chairs’ memories are released into the air of the low-budget hotel room we are socially distanced within.

I flick my eyes up towards Steve’s face, and then back down at the titillating lint. It’s easier to focus down there.

My body temperature rises for just a millisecond as the realisation sinks in that Steve doesn’t remember me. My cheeks flush, my heartrate quickens, and I feel a surge of both anger and embarrassment. The sensation rises from my abdomen and washes over my chest, neck, and face. It’s over as quick as it began, but the imprint on my psyche lingers.

Steve is a part of the foundations – a keystone. He’s been the sole percussionist in an evolving symphony of over one thousand different moving parts and has remained in that position even as the conductor changed: Brown; ; Warstein; Raven; Shank; right up to today. Always diligent, never credited. Steve Sayors may be the only person who holds any memory of the time a teenage boy named George squatted down in his mother’s basement, pants around his ankles, and birthed the XWF twenty-one years ago. If Steve’s ambition were greater, he could offer so much insight and wisdom to the world. Instead, he sits in a crumbling, damp hotel room, across from a neurotic,
shaggy dog of a man seeking refuge from the rain.

Just one in a thousand, I tell myself. That’s all I am. A guy who wrestled a couple of matches before fading into the background – a shadow of the more successful ‘others’.

“Did you hear me?” He asks, oblivious to the cockroach that flits across a crack in the painted ceiling just above his head. My eyes flicker again as I grunt a response. Steve scrunches his lips and looks up at the production team that partners him today. As my eyes rest upon the speck of lint once more, I see a shrug in my peripheral.

A gentle breeze steadily seeps through a gap in the imperfectly sealed windows. It catches the lint and shuffles it closer to a nail in the floorboards. The lint is temporary, like me. The nail, permanent. What would I have to do to be the nail? What would I have to do to be a part of the structure, and not a fleeting guest? Is that even something that I want?

Once… a decade ago maybe? Maybe more?

And now? Right now?

“My story…” I mutter, barely audible. I raise my head, hoping to find a spot over Steve’s right shoulder that I can substitute for the coquettish lint. I’ve used this technique before – it’s not comfortable, but I was told that it would make my audience feel more comfortable. I’ve been learning a lot about the evolutionary benefits that interpersonal relationships provided our ancestors. So far, I’ve yet to see the practical benefits, but what could it hurt to try?

…

I shouldn’t have asked.

Steve moved again in his seat. I should have noticed. I should have heard! I usually would have, But this time…

My eyes meet Steve’s. I look right through those stupid frames of his and see the desperate, cowardly joke that he really is.

Oh shit…

No!

I was doing so well!

I can still stop it. I’ve prepared for this! I can still fucking stop it!

Just breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

No more lies! Not today. Not ever again.

…

Not fucking likely.

The corners of my mouth turn upwards and the blue in my eyes seems to lighten.

…

Fight the change! Fight the chang…

…

“My story…” I chirp. “Oh dearie, my story is one of wonder and amazement, full of astonishing tales of majesty and myth. Where to begin?”

-------------------------------------------

1B: Who I was

Perhaps… just a week ago.

A psychiatric hospital ward in Melbourne, Australia.

There I was, just playing cards in the common room with The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur…

“I’m sorry? The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur?”

“No interruptions, Steve! You’re being rude.”

As I was saying, I was just minding my business playing cards. When suddenly, my life changed forever!

On the vintage television cube in the corner, Sarah Lacklan speared Charlie Nickels through flaming tables at the end of the final day of XWF Relentless. After a few seconds, the screen flickered, and once more Lacklan speared Nickels through the flaming tables. This pattern continued to repeat over and over, just as it has done any time the TV has been turned on for the past month or so.

The TV was always fucking on. 8am to 8pm, every single day. I sometimes wondered if that as another form of therapy. Is there a psychological benefit to repeatedly watching useless cunts be useless? Maybe it bores the crazy out of people.

Ol’ Wacky Wally Watson had had enough. I can’t say that I blamed him. If anybody had been exposed to the ‘bore the crazy out of them’ technique, it was Wally. The poor sod was made to sit and watch 20 years of Centurion promos on repeat. 20 years, can you believe it? All that time, and still not a sign of character growth in sight.

“Actually, Centurion has significantly evolved…”

“I said no interruptions! Gosh, you’re worse than Chris Wallace.”

Wally was sitting with the Bobby Brothers; named for their shared first name rather than surname. Brothers from different mothers if you will. Bobby Book had was a lean man of average height, with dirty long hair that reached right down to the backs of his knees. Bobby Boot, on the other hand, was short and rotund. A short but full black beard, speckled with grey, covered his swollen cheeks and much of his neck.

“I was thinking…” Bobby Book began, as he stared longingly at a chive he had just plucked from his teeth. “What if plants are the ones who are actually farming us?”

Bobby Boot silently expressed his interest through a cocked eyebrow and a twitch in the right side of his mouth.

“I mean, think about it,” Book continued. “They provide us with oxygen to keep us alive, until eventually our bodies are put into the ground for the plants to consume us.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Wally objected. “Why wouldn’t the plants just kill us straight away? Why keep us alive at all?”

“I don’t know, man,” Book shrugged. “It’s their world, we just live in it.”

All Boot could do is pick his nose and eat it. For Wally, however, that was the breaking point. He slammed his hands on the table and rose to his feet. Everyone in the room turned their heads. Everyone except The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur of course.

“Uh… sure.”

“Last warning! No more interruptions, soy-boy.”

Wally began ranting and raving about torture and inhumane living conditions. At the time, I really didn’t understand what he was talking about. The lovely doctors were keeping us safe. I thought everyone understood and agreed about that. Outside of here, men named after birds would beat you up inside a cage. This was my lived experience. For a decade now, I had been safe here. Safe from Jimmy-Jam the Raven Man and all the other nasties. I couldn’t understand why Wally would want to leave. I guess that’s why I called him wacky.

Quickly, the doctor Angels swooped in on Ol’ Wacky Wally. They gave him a Love injection and he went off to his happy place. It was a pretty routine day, all in all. However, for reasons I still can’t explain, something seemed off. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur nodded knowingly as the doctors escorted Wally out of the room.
I still remember the screech of the chair legs as I pushed it back from the table. By now, the other residents had gone back to their usual business of eating boogers and proselytising about our vegetative overlords. That was the usual process, you see. We were used to it. Now I don’t want to paint the picture that shooting Love juice into a resident was a regular occurrence, just every second day or so. I thought that was totally acceptable.

What was different about today was me. I approached the door that Wally exited through and spoke calmly – very calmly – to a beautiful man with a wonky, warty, nose.

“Is Wally okay?” I asked, innocently. At least so I thought. I had never asked a question like that before, though, so I guess I don’t know how it really came across. It must have been my fault that Wonky Wart raised his eyebrows at his tag team partners on the other side of the room.

It all happened so quickly from there. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur was gone, and I felt the warmth of the Love being shot into my veins. It swept through me, flushing out all the bad and ugly. The next thing that I remember is awakening in chains, with a mask strapped to my face. I heard Wonky Wart tell a plump, elderly Angel that I had been cussing and cursing and swearing and spitting. Gnashing and biting and thrashing and hitting.

That didn’t sound quite right. I was filled up with Love. Why would I be so icky if the Love were pumping through my body?

It had to be true though. Why else would they have caged me up like a dog? Stripped of all my freedoms to cough and splutter on the old and the weak. Stripped of my right to spread whatever disease I want, to whoever I want. I must have deserved it.

Wonky Wart nodded to the Angel doctor and headed off down the hallway, leaving me alone with my saviour. His heavy footsteps echoed back and forth off the grey walls, making every step sound like six. For her part, the Angel turned to me and spoke with the heavenly voice of someone who has smoked a pack a day for the past forty years.

“Don’t worry, this will all be over soon,” she promised. Ripping my white shirt open from the Velcro that held it together, she applied a peppermint-scented lubricant to each off my three nipples. Following that, an electrode was attached to two of them leaving the third exposed to the cold air, tingling every time the Angel’s Violet Beauregarde-body displaced the molecules near it. She walked over to the far side of the room where a comically oversized, rusted iron switch was positioned.

“This will all be over soon,” she repeated, as she flicked the switch. Volts of electricity surged through my body and the entire room came alive with a neon blue glow. The sound of Zeus’s lightning-filled scrotum slapping against Hera’s dimpled butt-cheeks echoed across the Australian sky. The solitary window burst, spraying a shower of glass and the cobwebs that covered it into the room. The spider that called the web home does several somersaults and lands gracefully in a damp patch of the concrete floor before stumbling away to the safety of a crevice in the corner. The brick wall itself follows the window, blasting inwards as if Mjolnir itself was hurled through it in a confusing mash-up of ancient polytheist pantheons. Somewhere between the fourth arachnid McTwist and a completely undamaged single brick hit my Angel right between her eyes causing a lifelong personality change that will have ongoing ramifications for human rights in the Cabinda exclave of Angola (more on that never), my kinky shackles were shaken loose.

There I stood, with the sun sneaking in through the hole in the wall and empowering me through all three nipples like a perineum being bathed. Through the hole in the wall, I saw The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur beckoning me.

That clever bastard. I knew he would find a way out. I always suspected he would throw a hydrotherapy foundation through the wall or something like that. I never thought he would channel Xolotl himself. I mean, he has a cow’s head, not a dog’s. It makes no friggin’ sense.

But who am I to doubt the gods?

I stepped through the hole in the wall.

This was freedom.

Freedom from the box I was put in. Freedom from the fascists restrictions that I’ve been kept in for far too long now.

In one last act of defiance, I ripped the mask from my face and cast it aside. It clattered against the outer brick façade of the building, scaring the crap out of my spider friend’s family who were still clinging on for dear life.

I stood there, an outlaw. Guns on my hip and a desert whistle in my head.

-------------------------------------------

1C: I can’t figure out who the fuck I am or what my purpose in life is. I just keep making shit up.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on…” Steve harshly snaps. I rapidly blink several times. “What does any of this have to do with why I’m here?”

“What do you mean?” My eyes open wide, turning the lakes of my irises into seas. I roll up a joint while I carry on doing what I do best.

“I thought I was coming here to interview someone about the upcoming XWF High Stakes battle royal,” he explains. “All I’ve gotten is a bunch of jibber-jabber about ancient gods, third nipples, and pink minotaurs.”

“Salmon,” I correct him. Accuracy is important.

“What?”

“You said pink. It’s The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur,” I clarify. “He’s very important to this whole story, but we can get to that later if you want. I just thought going through everything in a clear, logical structure would be easier for the viewer at home, but hey, if you want to jump all over the place, then let’s do it your way.”

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. I know what he’s thinking, I’ve seen this look before. He wants to wrap this up as quick as possible.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, hoping he won’t just ask for my story again. It feels like we’ve already been through that a bit.

“You’re entering the High Stakes battle royal,” Steve begins. “Nobody knows who you are, nobody knows what to expect, what do you have to offer that puts you above everyone else?”

“Nobody knows who I am!” I exclaim. There’s that reminder again. “I’ve actually been here before. I’ve fought for the World Title on Pay-Per-View, and nobody knows who I am!”

I throw my hands up in the air.

“Okay, okay, okay! I was a flash in the pan at best. But that’s a good thing! Don’t you see that?”

“Uh… no?” Steve puzzledly replies.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” I despair. “You’ve got less big picture capacity than the Amazonian acai palm. Sheesh, it’s no wonder that the lianas will rule us all Bobby Book knows what he’s talking about.”

“…What?”

“I already know what everyone is going to say about me!” I ignore Steve’s confusion. “They’re going to call me crazy, weird, delusional, all of those lovely adjectives! They won’t believe my stories; they won’t believe my promises. Every single grub that signs up for the battle royal is going to look at me through the vanilla lens of modernity and expect that everything that’s old is bad, and everything that’s unknown couldn’t possibly be the gravest threat in the universe to their sense of self. I see what people don’t see about themselves. Every single word, every single name that people throw in my direction is going to be a reflection of them, not a representation of the true me.

When push comes to shove, here’s what’s going to happen: douchebag after douchebag will come into that ring. They’ll zig left, but I won’t zig right. I’ll go left to and punch them in their fucking throat. I’m here to make every single person confront their own pathetic realities, and I’m going to do it head on.

I just can’t wait to find out who I get to do the Lambada with.

Any further questions?”

“Uh… no. I think that about does it,” Steve says, seeing his exit, and taking it without even signing off. I seethe while he and his crew pack up their equipment.

Steve’s thinking about me the same way that all the other savages are.

I think people are going to need to see for themselves in order to believe.

-------------------------------------------

1D: The real me

“I don’t care if any of that makes sense. Fuck each and every one of you in your fat fucking asses.

“So tell me about yourself. What’s your story?” Steve Sayors shuffles in his chair as he crosses his right leg over his left. The cuff of his slacks catches as his legs settle, pulling up a little to reveal a sock emblazoned with the My Little Pony logo. His glasses sit half an inch lower than the bridge of his nose, at risk of falling off at a moment’s notice. The lenses are either perfectly clear, or non-existent. It’s hard for me to tell in this amber light, dulled further drawn blinds. It’s even harder to predict based on Steve’s penchant for fads that can’t be constrained by time, space, or how it actually makes him appear. Either way, he stares at me expectantly through the eyeholes in the frames.

I crouch atop an identical chair, perfectly equidistant to Steve’s from a white speck of lint on the hardwood floor upon which I fix my gaze. The piss-yellow acetate fabric on the quasi-ancient chairs has been worn down over the years to the point where certain sections of the covering are now a mere hair’s width. In these sections, the cumulative build-up of microbial growth and spilt fluids of both bodily and inorganic origin, has darkened the upholstery by several shades. Every time Steve or I move, samples of the chairs’ memories are released into the air of the low-budget hotel room we are socially distanced within.

I flick my eyes up towards Steve’s face, and then back down at the titillating lint. It’s easier to focus down there.

My body temperature rises for just a millisecond as the realisation sinks in that Steve doesn’t remember me. My cheeks flush, my heartrate quickens, and I feel a surge of both anger and embarrassment. The sensation rises from my abdomen and washes over my chest, neck, and face. It’s over as quick as it began, but the imprint on my psyche lingers.

Steve is a part of the foundations – a keystone. He’s been the sole percussionist in an evolving symphony of over one thousand different moving parts and has remained in that position even as the conductor changed: Brown; ; Warstein; Raven; Shank; right up to today. Always diligent, never credited. Steve Sayors may be the only person who holds any memory of the time a teenage boy named George squatted down in his mother’s basement, pants around his ankles, and birthed the XWF twenty-one years ago. If Steve’s ambition were greater, he could offer so much insight and wisdom to the world. Instead, he sits in a crumbling, damp hotel room, across from a neurotic,
shaggy dog of a man seeking refuge from the rain.

Just one in a thousand, I tell myself. That’s all I am. A guy who wrestled a couple of matches before fading into the background – a shadow of the more successful ‘others’.

“Did you hear me?” He asks, oblivious to the cockroach that flits across a crack in the painted ceiling just above his head. My eyes flicker again as I grunt a response. Steve scrunches his lips and looks up at the production team that partners him today. As my eyes rest upon the speck of lint once more, I see a shrug in my peripheral.

A gentle breeze steadily seeps through a gap in the imperfectly sealed windows. It catches the lint and shuffles it closer to a nail in the floorboards. The lint is temporary, like me. The nail, permanent. What would I have to do to be the nail? What would I have to do to be a part of the structure, and not a fleeting guest? Is that even something that I want?

Once… a decade ago maybe? Maybe more?

And now? Right now?

“My story…” I mutter, barely audible. I raise my head, hoping to find a spot over Steve’s right shoulder that I can substitute for the coquettish lint. I’ve used this technique before – it’s not comfortable, but I was told that it would make my audience feel more comfortable. I’ve been learning a lot about the evolutionary benefits that interpersonal relationships provided our ancestors. So far, I’ve yet to see the practical benefits, but what could it hurt to try?

…

I shouldn’t have asked.

Steve moved again in his seat. I should have noticed. I should have heard! I usually would have, But this time…

My eyes meet Steve’s. I look right through those stupid frames of his and see the desperate, cowardly joke that he really is.

Oh shit…

No!

I was doing so well!

I can still stop it. I’ve prepared for this! I can still fucking stop it!

Just breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

No more lies! Not today. Not ever again.

…

Not fucking likely.

The corners of my mouth turn upwards and the blue pin my eyes seems to lightpin.

…

Fight the change! Fight the chang…

…

“My story…” I chirp. “Oh dearie, my story is one of wonder and amazement, full of astonishing tales of majesty and myth. Where to begin?”

-------------------------------------------

1B: Who I was

Perhaps… just a week ago.

A psychiatric hospital ward in Melbourne, Australia.

There I was, just playing cards in the common room with The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur…

“I’m sorry? The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur?”

“No interruptions, Steve! You’re being rude.”

As I was saying, I was just minding my business playing cards. When suddenly, my life changed forever!

On the vintage television cube in the corner, Sarah Lacklan speared Charlie Nickels through flaming tables at the end of the final day of XWF Relentless. After a few seconds, the screen flickered, and once more Lacklan speared Nickels through the flaming tables. This pattern continued to repeat over and over, just as it has done any time the TV has been turned on for the past month or so.

The TV was always fucking on. 8am to 8pm, every single day. I sometimes wondered if that as another form of therapy. Is there a psychological benefit to repeatedly watching useless cunts be useless? Maybe it bores the crazy out of people.

Ol’ Wacky Wally Watson had had enough. I can’t say that I blamed him. If anybody had been exposed to the ‘bore the crazy out of them’ technique, it was Wally. The poor sod was made to sit and watch 20 years of Centurion promos on repeat. 20 years, can you believe it? All that time, and still not a sign of character growth in sight.

“Actually, Centurion has significantly evolved…”

“I said no interruptions! Gosh, you’re worse than Chris Wallace.”

Wally was sitting with the Bobby Brothers; named for their shared first name rather than surname. Brothers from different mothers if you will. Bobby Book had was a lean man of average height, with dirty long hair that reached right down to the backs of his knees. Bobby Boot, on the other hand, was short and rotund. A short but full black beard, speckled with grey, covered his swollen cheeks and much of his neck.

“I was thinking…” Bobby Book began, as he stared longingly at a chive he had just plucked from his teeth. “What if plants are the ones who are actually farming us?”

Bobby Boot silently expressed his interest through a cocked eyebrow and a twitch in the right side of his mouth.

“I mean, think about it,” Book continued. “They provide us with oxygen to keep us alive, until eventually our bodies are put into the ground for the plants to consume us.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Wally objected. “Why wouldn’t the plants just kill us straight away? Why keep us alive at all?”

“I don’t know, man,” Book shrugged. “It’s their world, we just live in it.”

All Boot could do is pick his nose and eat it. For Wally, however, that was the breaking point. He slammed his hands on the table and rose to his feet. Everyone in the room turned their heads. Everyone except The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur of course.

“Uh… sure.”

“Last warning! No more interruptions, soy-boy.”

Wally began ranting and raving about torture and inhumane living conditions. At the time, I really didn’t understand what he was talking about. The lovely doctors were keeping us safe. I thought everyone understood and agreed about that. Outside of here, men named after birds would beat you up inside a cage. This was my lived experience. For a decade now, I had been safe here. Safe from Jimmy-Jam the Raven Man and all the other nasties. I couldn’t understand why Wally would want to leave. I guess that’s why I called him wacky.

Quickly, the doctor Angels swooped in on Ol’ Wacky Wally. They gave him a Love pinjection and he went off to his happy place. It was a pretty routine day, all in all. However, for reasons I still can’t explain, something seemed off. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur nodded knowingly as the doctors escorted Wally out of the room.
I still remember the screech of the chair legs as I pushed it back from the table. By now, the other residents had gone back to their usual business of eating boogers and proselytising about our vegetative overlords. That was the usual process, you see. We were used to it. Now I don’t want to paint the picture that shooting Love juice into a resident was a regular occurrence, just every second day or so. I thought that was totally acceptable.

What was different about today was me. I approached the door that Wally exited through and spoke calmly – very calmly – to a beautiful man with a wonky, warty, nose.

“Is Wally okay?” I asked, innocently. At least so I thought. I had never asked a question like that before, though, so I guess I don’t know how it really came across. It must have been my fault that Wonky Wart raised his eyebrows at his tag team partners on the other side of the room.

It all happened so quickly from there. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur was gone, and I felt the warmth of the Love being shot into my veins. It swept through me, flushing out all the bad and ugly. The next thing that I remember is awakening in chains, with a mask strapped to my face. I heard Wonky Wart tell a plump, elderly Angel that I had been cussing and cursing and swearing and spitting. Gnashing and biting and thrashing and hitting.

That didn’t sound quite right. I was filled up with Love. Why would I be so icky if the Love were pumping through my body?

It had to be true though. Why else would they have caged me up like a dog? Stripped of all my freedoms to cough and splutter on the old and the weak. Stripped of my right to spread whatever disease I want, to whoever I want. I must have deserved it.

Wonky Wart nodded to the Angel doctor and headed off down the hallway, leaving me alone with my saviour. His heavy footsteps echoed back and forth off the grey walls, making every step sound like six. For her part, the Angel turned to me and spoke with the heavenly voice of someone who has smoked a pack a day for the past forty years.

“Don’t worry, this will all be over soon,” she promised. Ripping my white shirt open from the Velcro that held it together, she applied a peppermint-scented lubricant to each off my three nipples. Following that, an electrode was attached to two of them leaving the third exposed to the cold air, tingling every time the Angel’s Violet Beauregarde-body displaced the molecules near it. She walked over to the far side of the room where a comically oversized, rusted iron switch was positioned.

“This will all be over soon,” she repeated, as she flicked the switch. Volts of electricity surged through my body and the entire room came alive with a neon blue glow. The sound of Zeus’s lightning-filled scrotum slapping against Hera’s dimpled butt-cheeks echoed across the Australian sky. The solitary window burst, spraying a shower of glass and the cobwebs that covered it into the room. The spider that called the web home does several somersaults and lands gracefully in a damp patch of the concrete floor before stumbling away to the safety of a crevice in the corner. The brick wall itself follows the window, blasting inwards as if Mjolnir itself was hurled through it in a confusing mash-up of ancient polytheist pantheons. Somewhere between the fourth arachnid McTwist and a completely undamaged single brick hit my Angel right between her eyes causing a lifelong personality change that will have ongoing ramifications for human rights in the Cabinda exclave of Angola (more on that never), my kinky shackles were shaken loose.

There I stood, with the sun sneaking in through the hole in the wall and empowering me through all three nipples like a perineum being bathed. Through the hole in the wall, I saw The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur beckoning me.

That clever bastard. I knew he would find a way out. I always suspected he would throw a hydrotherapy foundation through the wall or something like that. I never thought he would channel Xolotl himself. I mean, he has a cow’s head, not a dog’s. It makes no friggin’ sense.

But who am I to doubt the gods?

I stepped through the hole in the wall.

This was freedom.

Freedom from the box I was put in. Freedom from the fascists restrictions that I’ve been kept in for far too long now.

In one last act of defiance, I ripped the mask from my face and cast it aside. It clattered against the outer brick façade of the building, scaring the crap out of my spider friend’s family who were still clinging on for dear life.

I stood there, an outlaw. Guns on my hip and a desert whistle in my head.

-------------------------------------------

1C: I can’t figure out who the fuck I am or what my purpose in life is. I just keep making shit up.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on…” Steve harshly snaps. I rapidly blink several times. “What does any of this have to do with why I’m here?”

“What do you mean?” My eyes open wide, turning the lakes of my irises into seas.

“I thought I was coming here to interview someone about the upcoming XWF High Stakes battle royal,” he explains. “All I’ve gotten is a bunch of jibber-jabber about ancient gods, third nipples, and pink minotaurs.”

“Salmon,” I correct him. Accuracy is important.

“What?”

“You said pink. It’s The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur,” I clarify. “He’s very important to this whole story, but we can get to that later if you want. I just thought going through everything in a clear, logical structure would be easier for the viewer at home, but hey, if you want to jump all over the place, then let’s do it your way.”

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. I know what he’s thinking, I’ve seen this look before. He wants to wrap this up as quick as possible.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, hoping he won’t just ask for my story again. It feels like we’ve already been through that a bit.

“You’re entering the High Stakes battle royal,” Steve begins. “Nobody knows who you are, nobody knows what to expect, what do you have to offer that puts you above everyone else?”

“Nobody knows who I am!” I exclaim. There’s that reminder again. “I’ve actually been here before. I’ve fought for the World Title on Pay-Per-View, and nobody knows who I am!”

I throw my hands up in the air.

“Okay, okay, okay! I was a flash in the pan at best. But that’s a good thing! Don’t you see that?”

“Uh… no?” Steve puzzledly replies.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” I despair. “You’ve got less big picture capacity than the Amazonian acai palm. Sheesh, it’s no wonder that the lianas will rule us all Bobby Book knows what he’s talking about.”

“…What?”

“I already know what everyone is going to say about me!” I ignore Steve’s confusion. “They’re going to call me crazy, weird, delusional, all of those lovely adjectives! They won’t believe my stories; they won’t believe my promises. Every single grub that signs up for the battle royal is going to look at me through the vanilla lens of modernity and expect that everything that’s old is bad, and everything that’s unknown couldn’t possibly be the gravest threat in the universe to their sense of self. I see what people don’t see about themselves. Every single word, every single name that people throw in my direction is going to be a reflection of them, not a representation of the true me.

When push comes to shove, here’s what’s going to happen: douchebag after douchebag will come into that ring. They’ll zig left, but I won’t zig right. I’ll go left to and punch them in their fucking throat. I’m here to make every single person confront their own pathetic realities, and I’m going to do it head on.

I just can’t wait to find out who I get to do the Lambada with.

Any further questions?”

“Uh… no. I think that about does it,” Steve says, seeing his exit, and taking it without even signing off. I seethe while he and his crew pack up their equipment.

Steve’s thinking about me the same way that all the other savages are.

I think people are going to need to see for themselves in order to believe.

-------------------------------------------

1D: The real me

“I don’t care if any of that makes sense. Fuck each and every one of you in your fat fucking asses.

“So tell me about yourself. What’s your story?” Steve Sayors shuffles in his chair as he crosses his right leg over his left. The cuff of his slacks catches as his legs settle, pulling up a little to reveal a sock emblazoned with the My Little Pony logo. His glasses sit half an inch lower than the bridge of his nose, at risk of falling off at a moment’s notice. The lenses are either perfectly clear, or non-existent. It’s hard for me to tell in this amber light, dulled further drawn blinds. It’s even harder to predict based on Steve’s penchant for fads that can’t be constrained by time, space, or how it actually makes him appear. Either way, he stares at me expectantly through the eyeholes in the frames.

I crouch atop an identical chair, perfectly equidistant to Steve’s from a white speck of lint on the hardwood floor upon which I fix my gaze. The piss-yellow acetate fabric on the quasi-ancient chairs has been worn down over the years to the point where certain sections of the covering are now a mere hair’s width. In these sections, the cumulative build-up of microbial growth and spilt fluids of both bodily and inorganic origin, has darkened the upholstery by several shades. Every time Steve or I move, samples of the chairs’ memories are released into the air of the low-budget hotel room we are socially distanced within.

I flick my eyes up towards Steve’s face, and then back down at the lint pinned to the ground. It’s easier to focus down there.

My body temperature rises for just a millisecond as the realisation sinks in that Steve doesn’t remember me. My cheeks flush, my heartrate quickens, and I feel a surge of both anger and embarrassment. The sensation rises from my abdomen and washes over my chest, neck, and face. It’s over as quick as it began, but the imprint on my psyche lingers.

Steve is a part of the foundations – a keystone. He’s been the sole percussionist in an evolving symphony of over one thousand different moving parts and has remained in that position even as the conductor changed: Brown; ; Warstein; Raven; Shank; right up to today. Always diligent, never credited. Steve Sayors may be the only person who holds any memory of the time a teenage boy named George squatted down in his mother’s basement, pants around his ankles, and birthed the XWF twenty-one years ago. If Steve’s ambition were greater, he could offer so much insight and wisdom to the world. Instead, he sits in a crumbling, damp hotel room, across from a neurotic,
shaggy dog of a man seeking refuge from the rain.

Just one in a thousand, I tell myself. That’s all I am. A guy who wrestled a couple of matches before fading into the background – a shadow of the more successful ‘others’.

“Did you hear me?” He asks, oblivious to the cockroach that flits across a crack in the painted ceiling just above his head. My eyes flicker again as I grunt a response. Steve scrunches his lips and looks up at the production team that partners him today. As my eyes rest upon the speck of lint once more, I see a shrug in my peripheral.

A gentle breeze steadily seeps through a gap in the imperfectly sealed windows. It catches the lint and shuffles it closer to a nail in the floorboards. The lint is temporary, like me. The nail, permanent. What would I have to do to be the nail? What would I have to do to be a part of the structure, and not a fleeting guest? Is that even something that I want?

Once… a decade ago maybe? Maybe more?

And now? Right now?

“My story…” I mutter, barely audible. I raise my head, hoping to find a spot over Steve’s right shoulder that I can substitute for the coquettish lint. I’ve used this technique before – it’s not comfortable, but I was told that it would make my audience feel more comfortable. I’ve been learning a lot about the evolutionary benefits that interpersonal relationships provided our ancestors. So far, I’ve yet to see the practical benefits, but what could it hurt to try?

…

I shouldn’t have asked.

Steve moved again in his seat. I should have noticed. I should have heard! I usually would have, But this time…

My eyes meet Steve’s. I look right through those stupid frames of his and see the desperate, cowardly joke that he really is.

Oh shit…

No!

I was doing so well!

I can still stop it. I’ve prepared for this! I can still fucking stop it!

Just breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

No more lies! Not today. Not ever again.

…

Not fucking likely.

The corners of my mouth turn upwards and the blue in my eyes seems to lighten.

…

Fight the change! Fight the chang…

…

“My story…” I chirp as Charlie pins me. “Oh dearie, my story is one of wonder and amazement, full of astonishing tales of majesty and myth. Where to begin?”

-------------------------------------------

1B: Who I was

Perhaps… just a week ago.

A psychiatric hospital ward in Melbourne, Australia.

There I was, just playing cards in the common room with The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur…

“I’m sorry? The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur?”

“No interruptions, Steve! You’re being rude.”

As I was saying, I was just minding my business playing cards. When suddenly, my life changed forever!

On the vintage television cube in the corner, Sarah Lacklan speared Charlie Nickels through flaming tables at the end of the final day of XWF Relentless. After a few seconds, the screen flickered, and once more Lacklan speared Nickels through the flaming tables. This pattern continued to repeat over and over, just as it has done any time the TV has been turned on for the past month or so.

The TV was always fucking on. 8am to 8pm, every single day. I sometimes wondered if that as another form of therapy. Is there a psychological benefit to repeatedly watching useless cunts be useless? Maybe it bores the crazy out of people.

Ol’ Wacky Wally Watson had had enough. I can’t say that I blamed him. If anybody had been exposed to the ‘bore the crazy out of them’ technique, it was Wally. The poor sod was made to sit and watch 20 years of Centurion promos on repeat. 20 years, can you believe it? All that time, and still not a sign of character growth in sight.

“Actually, Centurion has significantly evolved…”

“I said no interruptions! Gosh, you’re worse than Chris Wallace.”

Wally was sitting with the Bobby Brothers; named for their shared first name rather than surname. Brothers from different mothers if you will. Bobby Book had was a lean man of average height, with dirty long hair that reached right down to the backs of his knees. Bobby Boot, on the other hand, was short and rotund. A short but full black beard, speckled with grey, covered his swollen cheeks and much of his neck.

“I was thinking…” Bobby Book began, as he stared longingly at a chive he had just plucked from his teeth. “What if plants are the ones who are actually farming us?”

Bobby Boot silently expressed his interest through a cocked eyebrow and a twitch in the right side of his mouth.

“I mean, think about it,” Book continued. “They provide us with oxygen to keep us alive, until eventually our bodies are put into the ground for the plants to consume us.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Wally objected. “Why wouldn’t the plants just kill us straight away? Why keep us alive at all?”

“I don’t know, man,” Book shrugged. “It’s their world, we just live in it.”

All Boot could do is pick his nose and eat it. For Wally, however, that was the breaking point. He slammed his hands on the table and rose to his feet. Everyone in the room turned their heads. Everyone except The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur of course.

“Uh… sure.”

“Last warning! No more interruptions, soy-boy.”

Wally began ranting and raving about torture and inhumane living conditions. At the time, I really didn’t understand what he was talking about. The lovely doctors were keeping us safe. I thought everyone understood and agreed about that. Outside of here, men named after birds would beat you up inside a cage. This was my lived experience. For a decade now, I had been safe here. Safe from Jimmy-Jam the Raven Man and all the other nasties. I couldn’t understand why Wally would want to leave. I guess that’s why I called him wacky.

Quickly, the doctor Angels swooped in on Ol’ Wacky Wally. They gave him a Love injection and he went off to his happy place. It was a pretty routine day, all in all. However, for reasons I still can’t explain, something seemed off. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur nodded knowingly as the doctors escorted Wally out of the room.
I still remember the screech of the chair legs as I pushed it back from the table. By now, the other residents had gone back to their usual business of eating boogers and proselytising about our vegetative overlords. That was the usual process, you see. We were used to it. Now I don’t want to paint the picture that shooting Love juice into a resident was a regular occurrence, just every second day or so. I thought that was totally acceptable.

What was different about today was me. I approached the door that Wally exited through and spoke calmly – very calmly – to a beautiful man with a wonky, warty, nose.

“Is Wally okay?” I asked, innocently. At least so I thought. I had never asked a question like that before, though, so I guess I don’t know how it really came across. It must have been my fault that Wonky Wart raised his eyebrows at his tag team partners on the other side of the room.

It all happened so quickly from there. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur was gone, and I felt the warmth of the Love being shot into my veins. It swept through me, flushing out all the bad and ugly. The next thing that I remember is awakening in chains, with a mask strapped to my face. I heard Wonky Wart tell a plump, elderly Angel that I had been cussing and cursing and swearing and spitting. Gnashing and biting and thrashing and hitting.

That didn’t sound quite right. I was filled up with Love. Why would I be so icky if the Love were pumping through my body?

It had to be true though. Why else would they have caged me up like a dog? Stripped of all my freedoms to cough and splutter on the old and the weak. Stripped of my right to spread whatever disease I want, to whoever I want. I must have deserved it.

Wonky Wart nodded to the Angel doctor and headed off down the hallway, leaving me alone with my saviour. His heavy footsteps echoed back and forth off the grey walls, making every step sound like six. For her part, the Angel turned to me and spoke with the heavenly voice of someone who has smoked a pack a day for the past forty years.

“Don’t worry, this will all be over soon,” she promised. Ripping my white shirt open from the Velcro that held it together, she applied a peppermint-scented lubricant to each off my three nipples. Following that, an electrode was attached to two of them leaving the third exposed to the cold air, tingling every time the Angel’s Violet Beauregarde-body displaced the molecules near it. She walked over to the far side of the room where a comically oversized, rusted iron switch was positioned.

“This will all be over soon,” she repeated, as she flicked the switch. Volts of electricity surged through my body and the entire room came alive with a neon blue glow. The sound of Zeus’s lightning-filled scrotum slapping against Hera’s dimpled butt-cheeks echoed across the Australian sky. The solitary window burst, spraying a shower of glass and the cobwebs that covered it into the room. The spider that called the web home does several somersaults and lands gracefully in a damp patch of the concrete floor before stumbling away to the safety of a crevice in the corner. The brick wall itself follows the window, blasting inwards as if Mjolnir itself was hurled through it in a confusing mash-up of ancient polytheist pantheons. Somewhere between the fourth arachnid McTwist and a completely undamaged single brick hit my Angel right between her eyes causing a lifelong personality change that will have ongoing ramifications for human rights in the Cabinda exclave of Angola (more on that never), my kinky shackles were shaken loose.

There I stood, with the sun sneaking in through the hole in the wall and empowering me through all three nipples like a perineum being bathed. Through the hole in the wall, I saw The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur beckoning me.

That clever bastard. I knew he would find a way out. I always suspected he would throw a hydrotherapy foundation through the wall or something like that. I never thought he would channel Xolotl himself. I mean, he has a cow’s head, not a dog’s. It makes no friggin’ sense.

But who am I to doubt the gods?

I stepped through the hole in the wall.

This was freedom.

Freedom from the box I was put in. Freedom from the fascists restrictions that I’ve been kept in for far too long now.

In one last act of defiance, I ripped the mask from my face and cast it aside. It clattered against the outer brick façade of the building, scaring the crap out of my spider friend’s family who were still clinging on for dear life.

I stood there, an outlaw. Guns on my hip and a desert whistle in my head.

-------------------------------------------

1C: I can’t figure out who the fuck I am or what my purpose in life is. I just keep making shit up.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on…” Steve harshly snaps. I rapidly blink several times. “What does any of this have to do with why I’m here?”

“What do you mean?” My eyes open wide, turning the lakes of my irises into seas.

“I thought I was coming here to interview someone about the upcoming XWF High Stakes battle royal,” he explains. “All I’ve gotten is a bunch of jibber-jabber about ancient gods, third nipples, and pink minotaurs.”

“Salmon,” I correct him. Accuracy is important.

“What?”

“You said pink. It’s The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur,” I clarify. “He’s very important to this whole story, but we can get to that later if you want. I just thought going through everything in a clear, logical structure would be easier for the viewer at home, but hey, if you want to jump all over the place, then let’s do it your way.”

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. I know what he’s thinking, I’ve seen this look before. He wants to wrap this up as quick as possible.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, hoping he won’t just ask for my story again. It feels like we’ve already been through that a bit.

“You’re entering the High Stakes battle royal,” Steve begins. “Nobody knows who you are, nobody knows what to expect, what do you have to offer that puts you above everyone else?”

“Nobody knows who I am!” I exclaim. There’s that reminder again. “I’ve actually been here before. I’ve fought for the World Title on Pay-Per-View, and nobody knows who I am!”

I throw my hands up in the air.

“Okay, okay, okay! I was a flash in the pan at best. But that’s a good thing! Don’t you see that?”

“Uh… no?” Steve puzzledly replies.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” I despair. “You’ve got less big picture capacity than the Amazonian acai palm. Sheesh, it’s no wonder that the lianas will rule us all Bobby Book knows what he’s talking about.”

“…What?”

“I already know what everyone is going to say about me!” I ignore Steve’s confusion. “They’re going to call me crazy, weird, delusional, all of those lovely adjectives! They won’t believe my stories; they won’t believe my promises. Every single grub that signs up for the battle royal is going to look at me through the vanilla lens of modernity and expect that everything that’s old is bad, and everything that’s unknown couldn’t possibly be the gravest threat in the universe to their sense of self. I see what people don’t see about themselves. Every single word, every single name that people throw in my direction is going to be a reflection of them, not a representation of the true me.

When push comes to shove, here’s what’s going to happen: douchebag after douchebag will come into that ring. They’ll zig left, but I won’t zig right. I’ll go left to and punch them in their fucking throat. I’m here to make every single person confront their own pathetic realities, and I’m going to do it head on.

I just can’t wait to find out who I get to do the Lambada with.

Any further questions?”

“Uh… no. I think that about does it,” Steve says, pinning his eyes to the exit, and taking it without even signing off. I seethe while he and his crew pack up their equipment.

Steve’s thinking about me the same way that all the other savages are.

I think people are going to need to see for themselves in order to believe."

Oh my god! Then Charlie comes up and pins Alias! Holy shit, crazy moment. A staple of the division, Charlie pins again.

-------------------------------------------

1D: The real me

“I don’t care if any of that makes sense. Fuck each and every one of you in your fat fucking asses.

It's Friday

Fri, 08 Jan 2021 21:18:46 -0800

Like a cunt, Alias slinks in and stuffs his left hand in Marf's mouth.

"Eat The Left Hand!" he shouts, completely forgetting how this title even works.

He pins Marf nonetheless.

Pin

Attempt One.

Tue, 05 Jan 2021 14:52:43 -0800

Hey Marf. You down for some PvP?

I got Tecmo Bowl, but the rule is I get to be the Raiders. Bo Jackson all day.

You lose. Suck it.

Job Guy pins Marf.

Hey Marf, you gotta Fan!

Mon, 21 Dec 2020 10:06:09 -0800

After Marf's historic victory over the soon to be champ (who proclaims his sixth outta two thirds of one reigns), we see Marf in his locker room, and T just happens to be around the area. Then he see's this one chick who stand right in front of Marf's door, she has her and paper with big ol encyclopedia in tow. She then bumps into T by accident.

"EXCUSICE ME SIR!?"

"Oh my bad, didn't mean into bump into you."

She then opens her book of XWF wrestlers, and she kept fip until she found his name.

"You are that pinhead, victory rolling, cruifix wearing... Tommy Wish?"

"Uh.... no, you're thinking another Tommy Wish. He wouldn't be here, talking to you right now, i'm on the hunt for Marfy. He's the one who managed to write an epic novel of somesort, that even nobody else can understand."

Then she kept on looking into her book of wrestlers biopics, then kept looking back and fourth with one glance at the book, two glances Tommy, and three glances at Marf's door. Then suddenly they both hear him open his door, and they sneak off. Tommy then grab her close to speak to her.

"Here what I want you to do... throw on that ref shirt, and count to two... and i'll show you where Tommy is. In fact, that's Tommy who's comin out right now.... .. now!"

"AHHH!!...TOMMY WISH MY TRUE LOVE!!."

Marf then hears them both, and Tommy smacks her book over his head and covers him, and Penelope steals one of the ref shirt and counts...

1...

2...

Never
Could I
Be A Prince

How many staples are positioned in pinboy’s forehead?

Sun, 20 Dec 2020 08:34:48 -0800

Marf stumbles into whatever boring ass place Charlie is hanging out at. He finds Charlie in a weird position, hunched over a rather old looking laptop, watching something that looks like cartoon animal porn. Marf picks up another chair and spikes it over Charlie’s head before tossing him to the ground.

Marf: Oh Charlie, you didn’t think I forgot about ya, did you? The holiday season has been busy yes but I still came by to make time for you old friend. You got me pretty good last time, but I’m back for more and to share more too! Today I want to talk to you about one of my favorite bands, Pink Floyd. You must know them, they’re a staple of pin culture! You look a little more dumbfounded than usual, allow me to enlighten you!

Pink Floyd were an English rock band formed in London in 1965. Gaining a following as a psychedelic pin group, they were distinguished for their extended compositions, sonic experimentation, philosophical lyrics and elaborate live shows, and became a leading band of the progressive rock genre. Pink Floyd were one of the first British psychedelia groups, and are credited with influencing genres such as neo-progressive rock and ambient music.

Pink Floyd were founded by students Syd Barrett, Nick Mason, Roger Waters, and Richard Wright. Under Barrett's leadership, they released two charting singles and a successful debut album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn pin 1967. Guitarist and vocalist David Gilmour joined in December 1967; Barrett left in April 1968 due to deteriorating mental health. Waters became the primary lyricist and thematic leader, devising the concepts behind the band's peak of critical and commercial success with the albums The Dark Side of the Moon pin 1973, Wish You Were Here pin 1975, Animals pin 1977, and The Wall pin 1979. The Waters-written musical film based on The Wall album, Pink Floyd – The Wall pin 1982, won two BAFTA Awards.

Following personal tensions, Wright left Pink Floydp in 1979, followed by Waters in 1985. Gilmour and Mason continued as Pink Floyd, rejoined later by Wright. The band produced two more albums—A Momentary Lapse of Reason pin 1987 and The Division Bell pin 1994—and toured both albums before entering a long period of inactivity. In 2005, all but Barrett reunited for a one-off performance at the global awareness event Live 8. Barrett died in 2006, and Wright in 2008. The last Pink Floyd studio album, The Endless River pin 2014, was based on unreleased material from the Division Bell recording sessions.

By 2013, Pink Floyd had sold more than 250 million records worldwide, making them one of the best-selling music artists of all time. The Dark Side of the Moon and The Wall are among the best-selling albums of all time, and both have been inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame. Four of the band's albums topped US or UK record charts, and hit singles produced include "See Emily Play", "Money", the three-part composition "Another Brick in the Wall", "On the Turning Away" and "High Hopes". The band also composed several film scores. They were inducted into the US Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1996 and the UK Music Hall of Fame in 2005. In 2008, King Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden presented Pink Floyd with the Polar Music Prize for their contribution to modern music.

Roger Waters and Nick Mason met while studying architecture at the London Polytechnic at Regent Street. They first played music together in a group formed by Keith Noble and Clive Metcalfe with Noble's sister Sheilagh. Richard Wright, a fellow architecture student, joined later that year, and the group became a sextet, Sigma 6. Waters played lead guitar, Mason drums, and Wright rhythm guitar since there was rarely an available keyboard. The band performed at private functions and rehearsed in a tearoom in the basement of the Regent Street Polytechnic. They performed songs by the Searchers and material written by their manager and songwriter, fellow student Ken Chapman.

In September 1963, Waters and Mason moved into a flat at 39 Stanhope Gardens near Crouch End in London, owned by Mike Leonard, a part-time tutor at the nearby Hornsey College of Art and the Regent Street Polytechnic. Mason moved out after the 1964 academic year, and guitarist Bob Klose moved in during September 1964, prompting Waters' switch to bass. Sigma 6 went through several names, including the Meggadeaths, the Abdabs and the Screaming Abdabs, Leonard's Lodgers, and the Spectrum Five, before settling on the Tea Set. In 1964, as Metcalfe and Noble left to form their own band, guitarist Syd Barrett joined Klose and Waters at Stanhope Gardens. Barrett, two years younger, had moved to London in 1962 to study at the Camberwell College of Arts. Waters and Barrett were childhood friends; Waters had often visited Barrett and watched him play guitar at Barrett's mother's house. Mason said about Barrett: "In a period when everyone was being cool in a very adolescent, self-conscious way, Syd was unfashionably outgoing; my enduring memory of our first encounter is the fact that he bothered to come up and introduce himself to me."

Noble and Metcalfe left the Tea Set in late 1963, and Klose introduced the band to singer Chris Dennis, a technician with the Royal Air Force. In December 1964, they secured their first recording time, at a studio in West Hampstead, through one of Wright's friends, who let them use some down time free. Wright, who was taking a break from his studies, did not participate in the session. When the RAF assigned Dennis a post in Bahrain in early 1965, Barrett became the band's frontman. Later that year, they became the resident band at the Countdown Club near Kensington High Street in London, where from late night until early morning they played three sets of 90 minutes each. During this period, spurred by the group's need to extend their sets to minimise song repetition, the band realised that "songs could be extended with lengthy solos", wrote Mason. After pressure from his parents and advice from his college tutors, Klose quit the band in mid-1965 and Barrett took over lead guitar. The group first referred to themselves as the Pink Floyd Sound in late 1965. Barrett created the name on the spur of the moment when he discovered that another band, also called the Tea Set, were to perform at one of their gigs. The name is derived from the given names of two blues musicians whose Piedmont blues records Barrett had in his collection, Pink Anderson and Floyd Council.

By 1966, the group's repertoire consisted mainly of rhythm and blues songs and they had begun to receive paid bookings, including a performance at the Marquee Club in December 1966, where Peter Jenner, a lecturer at the London School of Economics, noticed them. Jenner was impressed by the sonic effects Barrett and Wright created, and with his business partner and friend Andrew King became their manager. The pair had little experience in the music industry and used King's inheritance to set up Blackhill Enterprises, purchasing about £1,000 worth of new instruments and equipment for the band. It was around this time that Jenner suggested they drop the "Sound" part of their band name, thus becoming the Pink Floyd. Under Jenner and King's guidance, the group became part of London's underground music scene, playing at venues including All Saints Hall and the Marquee. While performing at the Countdown Club, the band had experimented with long instrumental excursions, and they began to expand them with rudimentary but effective light shows, projected by coloured slides and domestic lights. Jenner and King's social connections helped gain the band prominent coverage in the Financial Times and an article in the Sunday Times which stated: "At the launching of the new magazine IT the other night a pop group called the Pink Floyd played throbbing music while a series of bizarre coloured shapes flashed on a huge screen behind them ... apparently very psychedelic."

In 1966, the band strengthened their business relationship with Blackhill Enterprises, becoming equal partners with Jenner and King and the band members each holding a one-sixth share. By late 1966, their set included fewer R&B standards and more Barrett originals, many of which would be included on their first album. While they had significantly increased the frequency of their performances, the band were still not widely accepted. Following a performance at a Catholic youth club, the owner refused to pay them, claiming that their performance was not music. When their management filed suit in a small claims court against the owner of the youth organisation, a local magistrate upheld the owner's decision. The band was much better received at the UFO Club in London, where they began to build a fan base. Barrett's performances were enthusiastic, "leaping around ... madness ... improvisation ... [inspired] to get past his limitations and into areas that were ... very interesting. Which none of the others could do", wrote biographer Nicholas Schaffner.

In 1967, Pink Floyd began to attract the attention of the music industry. While in negotiations with record companies, IT co-founder and UFO club manager Joe Boyd and Pink Floyd's booking agent Bryan Morrison arranged and funded a recording session at Sound Techniques in West Hampstead. Three days later, Pink Floyd signed with EMI, receiving a £5,000 advance. EMI released the band's first single, "Arnold Layne", with the B-side "Candy and a Currant Bun", on 10 March 1967 on its Columbia label. Both tracks were recorded on 29 January 1967. "Arnold Layne"'s references to cross-dressing led to a ban by several radio stations; however, creative manipulation by the retailers who supplied sales figures to the music business meant that the single peaked in the UK at number 20.

EMI-Columbia released Pink Floyd's second single, "See Emily Play", on 16 June 1967. It fared slightly better than "Arnold Layne", peaking at number 6 in the UK. The band performed on the BBC's Look of the Week, where Waters and Barrett, erudite and engaging, faced tough questioning from Hans Keller. They appeared on the BBC's Top of the Pops, a popular programme that controversially required artists to mime their singing and playing. Though Pink Floyd returned for two more performances, by the third, Barrett had begun to unravel, and around this time the band first noticed significant changes in his behaviour. By early 1967, he was regularly using LSD, and Mason described him as "completely distanced from everything going on".

Morrison and EMI producer Norman Smith negotiated Pink Floyd's first recording contract. As part of the deal, the band agreed to record their first album at EMI Studios in London. Mason recalled that the sessions were trouble-free. Smith disagreed, stating that Barrett was unresponsive to his suggestions and constructive criticism. EMI-Columbia released The Piper at the Gates of Dawn in August 1967. The album peaked at number 6, spending 14 weeks on the UK charts. One month later, it was released under the Tower Records label. Pink Floyd continued to draw large crowds at the UFO Club; however, Barrett's mental breakdown was by then causing serious concern. The group initially hoped that his erratic behaviour would be a passing phase, but some were less optimistic, including Jenner and his assistant, June Child, who commented: "I found [Barrett] in the dressing room and he was so ... gone. Roger Waters and I got him on his feet, we got him out to the stage ... The band started to play and Syd just stood there. He had his guitar around his neck and his arms just hanging down".

Forced to cancel Pink Floyd's appearance at the prestigious National Jazz and Blues Festival, as well as several other shows, King informed the music press that Barrett was suffering from nervous exhaustion. Waters arranged a meeting with psychiatrist R. D. Laing, and though Waters personally drove Barrett to the appointment, Barrett refused to come out of the car. A stay in Formentera with Sam Hutt, a doctor well established in the underground music scene, led to no visible improvement. The band followed a few concert dates in Europe during September with their first tour of the US in October. As the US tour went on, Barrett's condition grew steadily worse. During appearances on the Dick Clark and Pat Boone shows in November, Barrett confounded his hosts by not responding to questions and staring into space. He refused to move his lips when it came time to mime "See Emily Play" on Boone's show. After these embarrassing episodes, King ended their US visit and immediately sent them home to London. Soon after their return, they supported Jimi Hendrix during a tour of England; however, Barrett's depression worsened as the tour continued.

In December 1967, reaching a crisis point with Barrett, Pink Floyd added guitarist David Gilmour as the fifth member. Gilmour already knew Barrett, having studied with him at Cambridge Tech in the early 1960s. The two had performed at lunchtimes together with guitars and harmonicas, and later hitch-hiked and busked their way around the south of France. In 1965, while a member of Joker's Wild, Gilmour had watched the Tea Set. Morrison's assistant, Steve O'Rourke, set Gilmour up in a room at O'Rourke's house with a salary of £30 per week, and in January 1968, Blackhill Enterprises announced Gilmour as the band's newest member, intending to continue with Barrett as a nonperforming songwriter. According to Jenner, the group planned that Gilmour would "cover for [Barrett's] eccentricities". When this proved unworkable, "Syd was just going to write. Just to try to keep him involved." In an expression of his frustration, Barrett, who was expected to write additional hit singles to follow up "Arnold Layne" and "See Emily Play", instead introduced "Have You Got It Yet?" to the band, intentionally changing the structure on each performance so as to make the song impossible to follow and learn. In a January 1968 photo-shoot of the five-man Pink Floyd, the photographs show Barrett looking detached from the others, staring into the distance.

Working with Barrett eventually proved too difficult, and matters came to a conclusion in January while en route to a performance in Southampton when a band member asked if they should collect Barrett. According to Gilmour, the answer was "Nah, let's not bother", signalling the end of Barrett's tenure with Pink Floyd. Waters later said, "He was our friend, but most of the time we now wanted to strangle him."In early March 1968, Pink Floyd met with business partners Jenner and King to discuss the band's future; Barrett agreed to leave.

Jenner and King believed Barrett was the creative genius of the band, and decided to represent him and end their relationship with Pink Floyd. Morrison sold his business to NEMS Enterprises, and O'Rourke became the band's personal manager. Blackhill announced Barrett's departure on 6 April 1968. After Barrett's departure, the burden of lyrical composition and creative direction fell mostly on Waters. Initially, Gilmour mimed to Barrett's voice on the group's European TV appearances; however, while playing on the university circuit, they avoided Barrett songs in favour of Waters and Wright material such as "It Would Be So Nice" and "Careful with That Axe, Eugene".

In 1968, Pink Floyd returned to Abbey Road Studios to record their second album, A Saucerful of Secrets. The album included Barrett's final contribution to their discography, "Jugband Blues". Waters began to develop his own songwriting, contributing "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun", "Let There Be More Light" and "Corporal Clegg". Wright composed "See-Saw" and "Remember a Day". Norman Smith encouraged them to self-produce their music, and they recorded demos of new material at their houses. With Smith's instruction at Abbey Road, they learned how to use the recording studio to realise their artistic vision. However, Smith remained unconvinced by their music, and when Mason struggled to perform his drum part on "Remember a Day", Smith stepped in as his replacement. Wright recalled Smith's attitude about the sessions, "Norman gave up on the second album ... he was forever saying things like, 'You can't do twenty minutes of this ridiculous noise'". As neither Waters nor Mason could read music, to illustrate the structure of the album's title track, they invented their own system of notation. Gilmour later described their method as looking "like an architectural diagram".

Released in June 1968, the album featured a psychedelic cover designed by Storm Thorgerson and Aubrey Powell of Hipgnosis. The first of several Pink Floyd album covers designed by Hipgnosis, it was the second time that EMI permitted one of their groups to contract designers for an album jacket. The release peaked at number 9, spending 11 weeks on the UK chart. Record Mirror gave the album an overall favourable review, but urged listeners to "forget it as background music to a party". John Peel described a live performance of the title track as "like a religious experience", while NME described the song as "long and boring ... little to warrant its monotonous direction". On the day after the album's UK release, Pink Floyd performed at the first ever free concert in Hyde Park. In July 1968, they returned to the US for a second visit. Accompanied by the Soft Machine and the Who, it marked Pink Floyd's first significant tour. In December of that year, they released "Point Me at the Sky"; no more successful than the two singles they had released since "See Emily Play", it would be the band's last until their 1973 release, "Money".

Fascinating, right Charlie? I sure hope you paid real close attention to everything I just said, pinboy. That was a lot of information and knowledge for your peabrain to absorb, pinny mcpinnerson, I hope you don’t start bleeding from your ears or something. I still have much more about Pink Floyd I would love to share with you. But for now, well you look a little tuckered out don’t ya? That’s a lot of learning for such an empty peabrain like yours, I get it. We’ll cut it off here, no problems i never say.

At this point in never ending promo time, Charlie is outcold. When that chair smashed over his head and skewered what little brain cells poor Charlie Nickles had left, it was lights out. Marf looks down at him and shrugs. Marf sticks a middle finger in Charlie’s face before pinning him with his foot.

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whos the champ

Wed, 02 Dec 2020 00:02:54 -0800

Charlie looks around in confusion before slamming both Shawn and Marf to the ground and covering them for the victory. A clip inside an old VCR plays on loop.

Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Charlie pins the champion. Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. Charlie rolls up the champion. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....

Watch your ass, pinboy

Mon, 30 Nov 2020 19:15:00 -0800

Here comes Marf, storming onto the scene completely fuming. Probably insanely nutty to get his precious heavy metalweight title back.

Marf: Where the hell is Shawn and my belt!? Never in practically ever have I let someone clip me like that and get away with it. Now I’m in this awkward position where I have to find you and stick it to ya pal.

Marf turns a corner in the hotel and spots Shawn Wylde getting ice of all things, from the ice machine. Marf approaches from behind and then nails Shawn in the back of the head and then drives him into the ice machine and down to the floor. Marf grabs the ice bucket and belts Shawn across the face, knocking him flat. Marf pins Shawn on his side with a knee and berates him some more.

Marf: Hey Asshole, you didn’t think you were just going to pin me and take my title that easily did ya? Do you know what happened to the last asshole that did that? I spent an hour and half explaining how good Pinocchio was to him. Today I’m going to talk to you about another great movie I love, Pretty In Pink!

Pretty in Pink is a 1986 American teen romantic comedy film about love and social cliques in American high schools in the 1980s. A cult classic, it is commonly identified as a "Brat Pack" film. It was directed by Howard Deutch, produced by Lauren Shuler Donner, and written by John Hughes, who also served as co-executive producepinr. The film was named after a song by the Psychedelic Furs, and the film's soundtrack, which has been acclaimed as among the most brilliant in modern cinema, features a re-pinrecorded version of the song. Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's "If You Leave" became an international hit and charted at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1986.

Crazy right? You better be listening brand new pinboy. Pay close attention now. Pay, I’m not talking a little in talking a lot, pay attention. High school senior Andie Walsh lives with her underemployed working class father Jack in a Chicago suburb. Andie's best friend, the outsider Phil "Duckie" Dale, is in love with her, but is afraid to tell her how he truly feels. In school, Duckie and Andie, along with their friends, are harassed and bullied by the arrogant "richie" kids, specifically Benny Hanson and her boyfriend Steff McKee, who finds Andie attractive and secretively resents having been rejected by her.

While working after school at a record store called TRAX, Andie starts talking about her school's senior prom to her manager Iona, who advises Andie to go, despite not having a date. Blane McDonough, one of the preppy boys and Steff's best friend, starts talking to Andie and eventually asks her out.

On the night of the date, Andie waits for Blane at TRAX, but he is late. Duckie enters and asks Andie to go out with him, but she ignores him. When Blane arrives, Duckie becomes upset and argues with Andie before storming off. Blane brings Andie to Steff's house party, where Andie is mistreated by the rich partygoers. Andie then brings Blane to a local nightclub, where Iona is sitting with Duckie, who is hostile toward Blane. After another argument with Duckie, Andie and Blane walk out of the club. Andie tells Blane that she wants to go home, but refuses to let him bring her there, admitting that she doesn't want him to see where she lives. She eventually allows him to drop her off and he asks her to the prom and they share their first kiss. Andie visits Iona the next day to talk about the date. Meanwhile, Blane, pressured by Steff and his rich friends, begins distancing himself from Andie.

Jack presents Andie with a pink dress that he has bought for her. However, they begin to argue because Jack has been lying about going to a full-time job. Jack breaks down, revealing that he is still bitter and depressed about his wife having left him. At school, Andie confronts Blane for avoiding her and not returning her calls. When asked about the prom, he claims that he had already asked somebody else but had forgotten. Andie calls Blane a liar and tells him that he is ashamed of being seen with her because he knows his rich friends will not approve. Andie runs away as a teary-eyed Blane leaves, with Steff insulting Andie as he passes. Duckie overhears Steff and attacks him in the hallway. The two fight before teachers intervene. Andie goes to Iona, upset about what happened, and asks for Iona's old prom dress.

Using the fabric from Iona's dress and the dress that her father had bought, Andie creates a pink prom dress. When she arrives at the prom, Andie has second thoughts about braving the crowd on her own until she sees Duckie. They reconcile and walk into the ballroom hand in hand. As a drunkpin Steff begins mocking the couple, Blane confronts him and finally realizes that Steff resents Andie because she had turned down his advances. Blane shakes Duckie's hand and apologizes to Andie, telling her that he always believed in her and that he will always love her, kissing her cheek before walking out. Duckie concedes that Blane is not like the other rich kids at school and advises Andie to go after him, joking that he will never take her to another prom if she does not. Duckie then sees a girl smiling at him, signaling him to come over and dance with her. Andie catches up with Blane in the parking lot and they kiss.

Marf shakes the half asleep Shawn before stapling his elbow across the forehead of Wylde. Marf pulls him up before hitting The Sway and spiking Shawn’s head off the floor.

Marf: Sorry pal, I don’t feel like giving you much more about my 4th all time favorite film, Pretty In Pink, than that. Time for the pin. Maybe get your girl Renee to help you push in now through this one...

1...

2.....

Watch your mouth. “Friend”

Sat, 28 Nov 2020 20:49:48 -0800

Shawn kicks open the door of the hotel room and dives onto the unsuspecting Marf. He starts throwing wild punches lefts and rights connecting repeatedly with Marfs fat head. “Where’s your fucking cowboy hat at now dipshit?” Shawn grabs Marf by the hair and rips him out of the hotel room dragging him into the hall and throwing him up against the wall smashing his face against the wall. “I would have gladly waited for tomorrow but you should know something about me NEW FRIEND” Shawn grabs him by the shoulders and picks him up under his armpits from behind in the crucifix position and begins carrying him down the hotel hall. “I don’t take kindly to people talking about my Female Friends.” Shawn comes to the end of the hall where the vending and ice machines are. “And neither does my employer. So this is from both of us.” Shawn crucifix powerbombs the struggling Marf into the vending machine. Several candy bars fall out of the machine onto Marf as well as some Pints of Ben and Jerry’s. “Feel fucking good buddy?” Shawn screams at the top of his lungs. People now looking down the at the scene being made. “I’ll fucking break your legs next time. This is just a warning!” Shawn grabs Marf and drags him into the stairwell wrapping one his legs around the corner railing post and then hopping the rail and spinning around. Shawn grabs both of Marfs legs and loops one over the other then hooks his own leg in position and drops back locking Marf in the sharpshooter around the railing post. Marf screams untill Renee herself finds Shawn hanging upside down from the floor below him. “Shawn!” She screams. “What are you doing!?”
Shawn slowly flips himself over till he’s rightside up looking at Renee, still holding on to Marfs leg “Just teaching this disrespectful gentleman a lesson in manners.” Shawn replies to her. He releases his grip and drops onto the floor in front of her. Puts his arm around her and guides her to the bottom of the steps and out the door. “Ohh real quick” Shawn turns around and runs back up the stair Grabbing the candy bars and Pints of Ben and Jerry’s that fell out of the vending machine. He reaches into the ice machine with both hands and dumps as much as he can into Marfs chest “Cool off a bit.”then steps on his chest pinning him to the ground. A ref that had been watching from the hall runs down to make the count.

1.....
2.........

Beat me with pinecones eh?

Wed, 18 Nov 2020 16:36:33 -0800

Marf pops up, spitting pieces of pinecones out of his mouth. Jim hasn’t gotten too far as Marf goes towards him.

Marf: Jim you dick! I used to be allergic to pinecones what the hell man!?

Jim is too busy hugging the belt to his chest and cherishing his 7th run with the title. One of the straps is flopping to the side as Marf grabs a nearby chair and cracks it across the back of Jim’s head.

Marf: Boo hoo, so I don’t know about pinecones and their storied history. I’m not a nature boy, my thing is movies. Do you like film culture, Jim? I’m a big time buff. Since you were nice enough to share your love of pinecones with me, I’ll share with you about my favorite film and the history behind it! I know the acoustics of the room are weird so listen up in here while I share!

Let me tell you all about Pinocchio. Pinocchio is a cultural icon. He is one of the most re-imagined characters in children's literature. His story has been adapted into many other media, notably the 1940 Disney film Pinocchio. Collodi often used the Italian Tuscan dialect in his book. The name Pinocchio is a combination of the Italian words pino (pine), and occhio (eye); Pino is also an abbreviation of Giuseppino, the diminutive for Giuseppe (the Italian form of Joseph); one of the men who greatly influenced Collodi in his youth was Giuseppe Aiazzi, a prominent Italian manuscript specialist who supervised Collodi at the Libreria Piatti bookshop in Florence. Geppetto, the name of Pinocchio's creator and “father,” is the diminutive for Geppo, the Tuscan pronunciation of ceppo, meaning a log, stump, block, stock or stub.

Pinocchio's characterization varies across interpretations, but several aspects are consistent across all adaptations: Pinocchio is a puppet, Pinocchio's maker is Geppetto and Pinocchio's nose grows when he lies....hey, are you paying attention down there!?

Pinocchio is known for having a short nose that becomes longer when he is under stress, especially while lying. In the original tale, Collodi describes him as a "rascal," "imp," "scapingrace," "disgrace," "ragamuffin," and "confirmed rogue," with even his father, carpenter Gepinpetto, referring to him as a "wretched boy." Upon being born, Pinocchio immediately laughs derisively in his creator's face, whereupon he steals the old man's wig. Pinocchio's bad behavior, rather than being charming or endearing, is meant to serve as a warning. Collodi originally intended the story, which was first published in 1881, to be a tragedy. It concluded with the puppet's execution. Pinocchio's enemies, the Fox and the Cat, bind his arms, pass a noose around his throat, and hang him from the branch of an oak tree.

Jim you better be listening! I respected your dumbass pinecones, it’s like your new staple nobody knew about. Anyone shopping for a bandwagon to jump on should look no further than you sir. That’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it!

Marf kicks poor Jim, who is still dazed from the cheap shot with the chair.

Marf: Pinocchio is a wooden marionette (a puppet that is manipulated with wires) and not a hand puppet (directly controlled from inside by the pupinpeteer's hand). However, the piece of wood from which he is derived is animated, and so Pinocchio moves independently. Basically good, he often gets carried away by bad company and is prone to lying. His nose will become longer and longer once he starts lying to others. Because of these characteristics, he often finds himself in trouble. Pinocchio undergoes transformations during the novel: he promises The Fairy with Turquoise Hair to become a real boy, flees with Candlewick to the Land of Toys, becomes a donkey, joins a circus, and becomes a puppet again. In the last chapter, out of the mouth of The Terrible Dogfish with Geppetto, Pinocchio finally stops being a puppet and becomes a real boy (thanks to the intervention of the Fairy in a dream). In the novel, Pinocchio is often depicted with a pointy hat, a jacket and a pair of colored, knee-length pants. In the Disney version, the appearance is different; the character is dressed in Tyrolean style, with Lederhosen and a hat with a feather.

Pinocchio's nose is his best-known characteristic. It grows in length when he tells a lie; this appears in chapter XVI. Collodi himself, in Note gaie claims how "to hide the truth of a speculum animae (mirror of (pin)the soul) face is added to the true nose another papier-mache nose." There is an inconsistency, however, because his nose grows when it is first carved by Geppetto, without Pinocchio ever lying. The nose appears only a couple of times in the story, but it reveals the Blue Fairy's power over Pinocchio when he acts disobediently. After the boy's struggling and weeping over his deformed nose, the Blue Fairy summons woodpeckers to peck it back to normal.

Some literary analysts have described Pinocchio as an epic hero. Like many Western literary heroes, such as Odysseus, Pinocchio descends into hell; he also experiences rebirth through metamorphosis, a common motif in fantasy literature. Before writing Pinocchio, Collodi wrote a number of didactic children's stories for the then-recently unified Italy, including a series about an unruly boy who undergoes humiliating experiences while traveling the country, titled Viaggio per l'Italia di Giannettino ('Little Johnny's voyage through Italy'). Throughout Pinocchio, Collodi chastises Pinocchio for his lack of moral fiber and his persistent rejection of responsibility and desire for fun.

The structure of the story of Pinocchio follows that of the folktales of peasants who venture out into the world but are naïvely unprepared for what they find, and get into ridiculous situations. At the time of the writing of the book, this was a serious problem, arising partly from the industrialization of Italy, which led to a growing need for reliable labour in the cities; the problem was exacerbated by similar, more or less simultaneous, demands for labour in the industrialization of other countries. One major effect was the emigration of much of the Italian peasantry to cities and to foreign countries such as the United States. The main imperatives demanded of Pinocchio are to work, be good, and study. And in the end Pinocchio's willingness to provide for his father and devote himself to these things transforms him into a real boy with modern comforts.

And there you have it! My favorite movie, from what I remember anyways...

...remember...pin...

Marf places a foot over the downed (and likely bored to death) Jim and raises his arms high into the air.

Marf: Now pin this son of a bitch!

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2.....

7th title run? A detailed analysis of pinecones

Wed, 18 Nov 2020 01:48:38 -0800

Marf wakes up, rolled up in ropes to chair in a dark room, with Jim and a giant catalonian dude just standing there in the corner

Jim Jimson: Hey, so, I decided to kidnap you so I could become the probably not first ever 7 time heavymetalweight champin, but first let me tell you about he greatest vegetable in the world, the pinecone. Did you know that the pinecone is apart of the conifer cone family

Passador: Yep.

Jim Jimson: Nobody asked you, Passador.

Anyway, Marf did you know, that, a cone (in formal botanical usage: strobilus, plural strobili) is an organ on plants in the division Pinophyta (conifers) that contains the reproductive structures. The familiar woody cone is the female cone, which produces seeds. The male cones, which produce pollen, are usually herbaceous and much less conspicuous even at full maturity. The name "cone" derives from the fact that the shape in some species resembles a geometric cone. The individual plates of a cone are known as scales.

The male cone (microstrobilus or pollen cone) is structurally similar across all conifers, differing only in small ways (mostly in scale arrangement) from species to species. Extending out from a central axis are microsporophylls (modified leaves). Under each microsporophyll is one or several microsporangia (pollen sacs).

The female cone (megastrobilus, seed cone, or ovulate cone) contains ovules which, when fertilized by pollen, become seeds. The female cone structure varies more markedly between the different conifer families, and is often crucial for the identification of many species of conifers.

The members of the pine family (pines, spruces, firs, cedars, larches, etc.) have cones that are imbricate (that is, with scales overlapping each other like fish scales). These pine cones, especially the woody female cones, are considered the "archetypal" tree cones.

The female cone has two types of scale: the bract scales, and the seed scales (or ovuliferous scales), one subtended by each bract scale, derived from a highly modified branchlet. On the upper-side base of each seed scale are two ovules that develop into seeds after fertilization by pollen grains. The bract scales develop first, and are conspicuous at the time of pollination; the seed scales develop later to enclose and protect the seeds, with the bract scales often not growing further. The scales open temporarily to receive gametophytes, then close during fertilization and maturation, and then re-open again at maturity to allow the seed to escape. Maturation takes 6–8 months from pollination in most Pinaceae genera, but 12 months in cedars and 18–24 months (rarely more) in most pines. The cones open either by the seed scales flexing back when they dry out, or (in firs, cedars and golden larch) by the cones disintegrating with the seed scales falling off. The cones are conic, cylindrical or ovoid (egg-shaped), and small to very large, from 2–60 cm long and 1–20 cm broad.
Pin-na-rooni
After ripening, the opening of non-serotinous pine cones is associated with their moisture content—cones are open when dry and closed when wet.[1] This assures that the small, wind disseminated seeds will be dispersed during relatively dry weather, and thus, the distance traveled from the parent tree will be enhanced. A pine cone will go through many cycles of opening and closing during its life span, even after seed dispersal is complete.[2] This process occurs with older cones while attached to branches and even after the older cones have fallen to the forest floor. The condition of fallen pine cones is a crude indication of the forest floor's moisture content, which is an important indication of wildfire risk. Closed cones indicate damp conditions while open cones indicate the forest floor is dry.

As a result of this, pine cones have often been used by people in temperate climates to predict dry and wet weather, usually hanging a harvested pine cone from some string outside to measure the humidity of the air.
pin
Araucariaceae cones, oh don't even get me started buddy, Members of the Araucariaceae (Araucaria, Agathis, Wollemia) have the bract and seed scales fully fused, and have only one ovule on each scale.1The cones are spherical or nearly so, and large to very large, 5–30 cm diameter, and mature in 18 months; at maturity, they disintegrate to nip the seeds. In Agathis, the seeds are winged and separate readily from the seed scale, but in the other two genera, the seed is wingless and fused to the scale. How cool is that!

And then you got Podocarpaceae cones, The cones of the Podocarpaceae are similar in function, though not in development, to those of the Taxaceae (q.v. below), being berry-like with the scales highly modified, evolved to attract birds into dispersing the seeds. In most of the genera, two to ten or more scales are fused together into a usually swollen, brightly coloured, soft, edible fleshy aril. Usually only one or two scales at the apex of the cone are fertile, each bearing a single wingless seed, but in Saxegothaea several scales may be fertile. The2fleshy scale complex is 0.5–3 cm long, and the seeds 4–10 mm long. In some genera (e.g. Prumnopitys), the scales are minute and not fleshy, but the seed coat develops a fleshy layer instead, the cone having the appearance of one to three small plums on a central stem. The seeds have a hard coat evolved to resist digestion in the bird's stomach.

Oh and members of the cypress family (cypresses, arborvitae, junipers, redwoods, etc.) differ in that the bract and seed scales are fully fused, with the bract visible as no more than a small lump or spine on the scale. The botanical term galbulus (plural galbuli; from the Latin for a cypress cone) is sometimes used instead of strobilus for members of this family. The female cones have one to 20 ovules on each scale. They often have peltate scales, as opposed to the imbricate cones described above, though some have imbricate scales. The cones are usually small, 0.3–6 cm or 1⁄8–2 3⁄8 inches long, and often spherical or nearly so, like those of Nootka cypress, while others, such as western redcedar and3California incense-cedar, are narrow. The scales are arranged either spirally, or in decussate whorls of two (opposite pairs) or three, rarely four. The genera with spiral scale arrangement were often treated in a separate family (Taxodiaceae) in the past. In most of the genera, the cones[3] are woody and the seeds have two narrow wings (one along each side of the seed), but in three genera (Platycladus, Microbiota and Juniperus), the seeds are wingless, and in Juniperus, the cones are fleshy and berry-like (known as galbuli) honestly, these pinecones suck, they are just shit!

Sciadopityaceae cones they are not just the cones and seeds of Sciadopitys (the only member of the family) are similar to those of some Cupressaceae, but larger, 6–11 cm long; the scales are imbricate and spirally arranged, and have 5-9 ovules on each scale.

Taxaceae and Cephalotaxaceae cones, of course, these pinecones are the real radical pinecones really an insane ass pinecone, they really are a game changer, Members of the yew family and the closely related Cephalotaxaceae have the most highly modified cones of any conifer. There is only one scale in the female cone, with a single poisonous ovule. The scale develops into a soft, brightly coloured sweet, juicy, berry-like aril which partly encloses the deadly seed. The seed alone is poisonous. The whole 'berry' with the seed is eaten by birds, which digest the sugar-rich scale and pass the hard seed undamaged in their droppings, so dispersing the seed far from the parent plant.

And now, Cycadaceae cones, though not included under the conifers, this group of cone-bearing plants retains some types of 'primitive' characteristics. Its leaves unfurl, much like ferns. There are three extant families of Cycads of about 305 species. It reproduces with large cones, and is related to the other conifers in that regard, but it does not have a woody trunk like most cone-bearing families.

Welwitschiaceae cones, like the Cycads, this unique cone-bearing plant is not considered a conifer, but belongs in the Order Welwitschiales. Welwitschia mirabilis is often called a living fossil and is the only species in its genus, which is the only genus in its family, which is the only family in its Order. The male cones are on male plants, and female cones on female plants. After emergence of the two cotyledons, it sets only two more leaves. Those two leaves then continue to grow longer from their base, much like fingernails. This allows it great drought tolerance, which is likely why it has survived in the desert of Namibia, while all other representatives from its order are now extinct.

Wait, are you even listening?

Jim looks back at Marf who is completely asleep

Passador: He fell asleep as soon as you started talking about the differences between male and female pinecones.

Jim Jimson: Well, shit, I guess an idiot like, Marf, just doesn't care about the cool and interesting stuff about life! I'll show him

Jim lies Marf down on the floor and fils in mouth with pinecones

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3

Can Charlie be pinned?

Fri, 13 Nov 2020 20:49:18 -0800

A slightly battered Marf comes bumblping through a door in the weird hallway from before. Past times saw Marf pin his luck on trying the first door on the left and obviously we saw how that went. If that damn Robert Main wasn’t so mean. Never one to dwell for too long, Marf starts looking down the hallway at all the different doors.

Marf: This is getting out of hand. Where the hell am I? This must be some kind of staple of XWF, nothing ever making any damn sense. Off we go to door number two I guess!

Marf eyes the first door on the right this time and cautiously opins it before walking through. Now he finds himself pinned against a wall as the door closes behind him. Marf presses into the wall and slides along the short, thin hallway into a dirty looking master bedroom. There’s all sorts of strange posters pinned to the walls, stains of all kinds everywhere and even a Nathan Fillion pinion on the floor. That’s obviously more important than Charlie Nickles passed out on the unkempt bed. His left arm pinned under his body as he is lid out awkwardly.

Marf spots the unconscious goofus on the bed and smirks. He looks around the room before quietly sneaking up to Charlie. He looks at a variety of junk all over the night stand but manages to snag a crumpled piece of paper. Marf scribbles the word “Pin” onto the paper and nods. He grabs a random stapler from under the bed and leans towards Charlie.

Marf: Sorry Charlie, you gotta eat a pin. No hard feelpins. I’m sure you’ll be fine!

Patience my friend. In time you’ll be happy again. Now take this pin!

Marf places the paper on Charlie’s forehead and then slams the stapler down so it staples the note to the middle of his head. As Charlie cries out in shock Marf makes a cover for a pin. A referee that was conveniently pinned under the bed pops up and makes a count.

1...

2.....

Eee Ur Eee UR

Tue, 27 Oct 2020 21:31:55 -0700

Charlie is at home, chilling with his 2 belts in his hand, he then see's a big ol' boux from amazon. He pulls the boux inside, and pulls a jackknife and pins it on the box to open it to see a...

Charlie falls over on the floor, as she kept shaking it in his face, then JB comes inside the home and see's the festive for the double champion.

"Even though the company won't acknowledge you in the same league as that Delfin Clutcher Main, but as a gift from me..."

Then the girl comes up to JB, and she puts her hand out for the cash, he hands her the cash, but he ended up summoning the sprit of HOGM out of the box, and she floats upin the air and she lands on Charlie's pants and puts them down and under his ankles to expose his schoolboy drawls. Then she magically sucks him off until he closes his eyes and passes out in pure pleasure.

Then JB sits back on his couch watching all this, smoking an angel dust in the cut..

"Man, I hope he doesn't... .-- .- -.- . / ..- .--. / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... .. ... / .--. .-.. . .- ... ..- .-. .- -... .-.. . / .. -. - .-. ..- ... .. ...- . / -. . -.-. - .- .-....get out from his sick dream."

After he finishes his angel dust, he comes out of the couch and uses Barbie Bat and pins him with it as the magical boux lady counts the pin with her ass cheeks...

1 Left Cheek...

2 Right Cheek...

I Wish I Could Chop And Loop These Pins...

Wed, 14 Oct 2020 10:12:55 -0700

We open up to someone's studio basement with records laying all over the floor, and we see JB behind a person who's on the MPC as he's on the turntables. Then we see the MPC person choppin this..

"PIN PIN

DON'T FORGET TO FIND THE PINS BELOW ALL THIS SHIT TOO!"

Then JB scratches..

"Ni- Ni- Pin
Do-dont Fer-forget T-to Fin-*drups* Th-the p-p-pins B-E-LOW ALL TH-THIS S-*drups* TOO"

Then both men nod to one another, and the MPC finds some more saying from this pinhead named Charlie...

"NONE of those things get spelled out here today for this one... epic... HIDDEN PIN moment!"

JB then scratches...

"No-none of-*ricket ricket* of these thin-*plunkin* get-*drups* splle-*wha wha* .. epic *Madea's hellur*... HIDDEN PIN-*bullshit!*"

Then both men dap one another up, and JB leaves the studio, about half an hour later he hears the full mix of Charlie's greatest most pinnicale hits on this unnamed producer tape in his car. Then he see's Charlie walking down the street.

"Charlie, you wanna hear my mixtape?..."

He then comes up the car, and he hears his sayings on the tape. Charlie gets mad and tries to get JB out of the car, and JB drives off. Then he comes back and runs over Charlie by an accidental sense of a crucifix that pinned on him.

"Looks like I ran over a pinonlia alfiler in the street to day, might as well."

JB gets out of the car, and pins Charlie..

1..

2..