PRIME GETS Q’D IN THE A

Nick Stuart: Fans, we’re being told about a…special presentation, which we’re about to air.

Richard Parker: You’d think they’d warn us.

Nick Stuart: Sounds like the team in production just put it together. It’s apparently a series of interviews, conducted by…oh, Christ.

Richard Parker: You mean Hoyt?

Nick Stuart: No, I mean our special guest “journalist” for the evening, Savannah Scandal.

Richard Parker: …oh, Christ.

The feed cuts to black, then fades in to a scene backstage, where Savannah Scandal stands next to the former Five Star Champion, Coral Avalon. A helpful “RECORDED PREVIOUSLY” bug pops up in the corner.

Savannah Scandal: Congratulations on your wife’s pregnancy. Do you know who the father is?

Coral Avalon: Yes.

Coral stares at her. He looks more menacing than usual.

A new scene with a new star…Kennade Starr, in fact.

Savannah Scandal: Why mess around with wrestling when OnlyFans exists?

Kennade Starr: A whole bunch of my StarrShines are fans of PRIME. They’ve been asking on my stream for a while if I’d consider joining. When my StarrShines shine, I shine too! And OnlyFans is trashy. KStarr is not trashy.

Now Savannah is with…Simon Tillier?

Savannah Scandal: Have you ever…

She whispers something in Simon’s ear. His face turns beet red, and he runs away.

Arthur Pleasant.

Savannah Scandal: Those are some wild teeth. Have you ever eaten anyone? Not in a sex way…but, also in a sex way.”

Arthur Pleasant: I’ve never eaten anyone with these teeth. Listen, I fucking got these teeth because they looked fucking cool. My teeth were all shattered to shit from all my death matches in Japan and I felt like I needed something so I could chew bagels again. That’s it. Fuck FLAMBO and this bullshit Teeth Movement. Fans are so stupid!

Pleasant pauses and sighs.

Arthur Pleasant: Okay, listen. As for the second part of that question? There was one time when Muriel Puddings pulled me under the ring and made out with me while she ate a whole ham hock. I mean, I think that was her mouth. For all I know it could’ve been her pussy and she was simultaneously masturbating with a ham hock while feeding me some brown sugar and honey meat flavored muff. I don’t know. All I do know is that I felt violated in ways that would make Law and Order: Special Victims Unit blush. It’s… not my proudest moment. Probably should’ve gone to H.R., huh?

Arthur pauses again.

Arthur Pleasant: Wait, am I allowed to say pussy or is pussy a no-no word now? I can’t keep up wit my what’s P.C. and what’s acceptable. I feel like pussy is somewhere in between. Like it is on the human anatomy. Grrrr. I fucking hate these goddamn things.

Justine Calvin.

Savannah Scandal: So, about those Hayes Hanlon fantasies…

Justine Calvin: Oh for… this shit again?! You asked me this earlier, you daffy hag. The answer hasn’t changed. It’s zero. Which is also the amount of patience I have left for this garbage. Now if you don’t find someone else to annoy I’m going to make good on what I said earlier about the bricks.

Chandler Tsonda. The real one. We think.

Savannah Scandal: We all know you hired that body double so you could finally find out what it’s like to sleep with Chandler Tsonda. Did you live up to the hype?

Chandler Tsonda: Sounds like the type of question that mangy little rat Jake or his patron would be feeding you. You got Doppeltsonda in your earpiece? You know where he is? Nah, you know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll find him. All in due time. Patience is my greatest virtue, tied with all the others. I’m in no rush. What was the question again? 

The Sultan of Style readjusts his athleisure pullover, and regains something resembling composure.

Chandler Tsonda: Obviously, I didn’t hire him to fall in love with him. I read the myth of Narcissus every morning as a cautionary tale and as a way to limit my mirror time to no more than 45 minutes a day. I would NEVER be caught dead falling in love with my own reflection again. Not after the incident…

Only Tsonda knows what his thousand-yard stare after this response means, but surely it’s something normal and good. He snaps to it after a fraught five seconds.

Chandler Tsonda: Make sure to tag me when this story posts. Toodles!

Foster Nackedy.

Savannah Scandal: Foster, have you seen the sex tape with your ex-wife and Abe Lipschitz?

 

Foster Nackedy: No.

Savannah Scandal: Do you want to?

An icy glare.

Anna Daniels.

Savannah Scandal: Does your revenue from the PRIMEporium go more toward funding international drug trade, or Sage Pontiff’s weird sex cult?

Anna Daniels: Neither. Our revenue goes to building an army of murderous screaming goats to counter attack Lady Troy’s sadistic owl brigade and rehabilitation for the poor souls who looked at your mother’s OnlyFans. Some of them are blind now. The people, not the goats.

The Muse’s answer is so laden with sarcasm that it outweighs the merchandise available at the PRIMEporium.

Three Enemigos, possibly chosen at random.

Savannah Scandal: Which one of your group pulls down the most tail?

The Enemigos say nothing, but V and XXIII surreptitiously point at IX.

Sage Pontiff.

Savannah Scandal: What are the best drugs to take before sex?

Sage Pontiff: The best drugs to take before sex?  Communication.  Proximity.  Openness to the greater cosmic vibrational frequency.  Weekend warriors like you see people like me and assume there’s a specific cocktail they can take–a hit of this, a puff of that, a line here and there–to experience the sacred geometry of a sexual partner.  Or partners.  When the truth is it is not the drugs we take, but the intention with which we take them.  It’s not the intake, it’s the vibe.  But people like you, so used to having perfunctory, meaningless experiences…to you, the act is just that.  An act.  You need to expand your mind as well as your understanding of what the soul dance truly means. 

He turns to walk away, then stops short, raising a finger.  He has remembered something.  The Bodhisattva turns back, shaking his head.

Sage Pontiff: You know what?  Molly.  The answer is Molly.  Namaste.

Rocky De Leon.

Savannah Scandal: We all know you love the…more experienced ladies. Who’s the oldest woman you’ve ever fully dicked?

Rocky De Leon: Ninety-seven.

Savannah Scandal: …

There’s a good chance Rocky is smirking underneath that mask.

Referee Jimmy Turnbull.

Savannah Scandal: How much does Ashley Barlow charge to let you watch her take a shower?

Jimmy Turnbull: I–what? No! I would never–look, she’s very–but I wouldn’t–she’s a respected coworker and I don’t–

Jimmy’s floundering is cut off by the booming voice and stomping feet of senior official Timo Bolamba.

“I THOUGHT IT TOLD YOU TO FUCK OFF!”

With a grin, Scandal backs away quickly; she’s halfway down the hall by the time Timo comes into view.

Timo Bolamba: AND FOR THE LAST GODDAMN TIME, I DO NOT HAVE MEGA-HERPES!

In a hallway deep within the belly of the Capital One Arena, we see FLAMBERGE…though that statement isn’t fully representative of the scene. More accurately, we see a foot, tracing up to a bent knee, both belonging to FLAMBERGE.

Panning up, he appears to have just completed a forward lunge of about 5 feet. He brings his back leg forward, balances himself, and then lunges forward another 5 feet or so. His pace is very methodical, and his gaze is unblinkingly forward as he continues slowly lunging down the hall, hands on hips.

Savannah Scandal: …what the hell are you doing?

FLAMBERGE: Measuring.

The Neck Collector continues past Savannah, one steady lunge at a time, until he’s out of frame. 

Adam Ellis and Ginny Van Lear.

Savannah Scandal: How long after your wedding did you start doing butt stuff?

Before Adam can even respond, Ginny Van Lear is measuring the distance. She suddenly spins, and lifts her leg in order to lash it out at Savannah’s head.

If the kick lands, it will no doubt be accompanied by a chorus of angels.

Unfortunately, a different angel intervenes, as Adam Ellis picks up his wife and backs away from Savannah.

Ginny Van Lear: ADAM YEW PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW SO AH KIN KICK THAT DEVIL WOMAN INNA FACE!

Adam Ellis: She ain’t worth it, baby. Let’s go.

A hulking brute of a man, very familiar to the PRIME faithful.

Savannah Scandal: Tell me, big boy…how wet do you like it?

Hank: …

Brandon Youngblood.

Savannah Scandal: Do you and your son Cody take steroids together as a form of family bonding? I heard he won a championship, how much do you think the drugs helped?

Savannah is used to making people squirm. Used to having the leverage and control. What stands before her is another force entirely. There is no change in the intense expression of the Universal Champion’s face. His eyes burrow holes through her, and while she smirks, it slowly melts away in an uncomfortable tension. 

Asking something like this, on a night where he’s defending the top prize in all of sports? It’s suicide. 

After a further few moments, the nervousness creeps through the veneer of the rumor monger. The Tower of Babel turns, re-entering his locker room. She can’t help but yelp as he slams the door behind him. If The Anglo Luchador dies tonight, Savannah stands to be tried as an accessory.

And finally, our faithful announce team.

Savannah Scandal: Do you give each other handies under the table during commercials?

Nick Stuart/Richard Parker: No!!!

Oh hey, the bug disappeared. That means we’re actually live at the announce table, and Savannah Scandal just asked Nick and Richard that question.

Savannah Scandal: Thanks for all your help, boys!

Nick and Richard share a very awkward glance.

Very, very awkward.

Savannah Scandal: Before I go, I just want to give an extra special thank you to Nate Colton for inviting me to the show! Much love, baby cakes! Let’s do this again.

Nick Stuart: Let’s not. Let’s not do this again.

Richard Parker: Never. Never ever ever.

Now… let’s get back to wrestling.