HEADLINES STRAIGHT FROM THE IWC DIRTSHEETS (AND DEFINITELY NOT BURNER ACCOUNTS)
OMG JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER’S CHILDHOOD WILL HAVE YOU IN TEARS! ESPN+ TO RELEASE 30FOR30 COME DECEMBER
by Mike Penner
FIXING EVERYTHING ONE ROUND AT A TIME. JCH ADVANCES, VICKIE TICKLED PRETTY PINK©
by George Joles
IS STAND-BY-ME THE DEADLIEST FINISHER IN PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING? IT’S CLEARLY BETTER THAN A PUMPHANDLE EMERALD FLOWSION
by Erin Dillon
RUMOR: SHERWIN-WILLIAMS TO DISTRIBUTE PRETTY PINK© BRANDED PAINT WITH NEW LOVE CONVOY PARTNERSHIP
by Fenway Distribute
WOE TO THE VANQUISHED: WHY PRIME IS ALL ABOUT ITS HOME GROWN STARS LIKE JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER
by Seth Hehan
FINISH THE STO
A true love sto
An honest friendship
On Fridays, Vae Victis can wear PRETTY PINK©
— — — — —
It was always supposed to get harder, wasn’t it?
Kerry Kuroyama. Merciless. Fearless. Terrifying. Knows what he’s doing inside the ropes. Will make you pay in any way, shape, or form. Enjoys inflicting pain. Most certainly will torment and punish.
Excerpts from Vickie Hall’s most recent scouting report. Statements and observations made throughout The Pacific Blitzkrieg’s wrestling career, via her own personal interpretations.
It was never supposed to be easy. Not at this stage.
Cool kid. Eats at their table. Big boys. Big girls, too. Legitimate players. Pinnacles. Visionaries. Cornerstones.
The entirety of Vae Victis that is. Outside the peasants they clearly deploy for personal gain, this group, this team, this familyhood, ran roughshod over everybody. Titles, blue font, you name it, they did it.
And they didn’t give a fuck.
Now one of the most successful pieces finds his way to PRIME, the Almasy Tournament and the third round specifically.
Adaptable. Exceptional. Absolute workhorse.
Vickie’s report continues to paint a wicked picture of an almost insurmountable object for Jonathan-Christopher to climb. Come Friday, November 17th, JCH will need to be crisp, sharp and leave absolutely no openings whatsoever or he will be DOA. He is required to be the most impeccable athlete, on the night where the odds will be against him.
Kuroyama – Wrestling.
Vickie demands perfection but is also currently content with steady progress.
No better way to show it than winning the first two rounds.
Resilient. Creative. Loyal.
His own excerpts, as if he was writing a personalized scouting report for Kerry to read. It’s time JCH started to believe in his own abilities every single night. Closer than they’ve ever been; how the journey was initially intended. A couple steps further, a couple steps harder.
Critics will argue Hall took an easy route to get here. “He can’t wrestle, he needs her help.”
See: Stand By Me. It’s over, you’re done. No kickouts. His singular weapon, his real significant chance at making a statement.
Bring on the assassin, Jonathan-Christopher is ready.
Because the Almasy Tournament ain’t Kerry Kuroyama’s fucking story to tell.
— — — — —
Hall Penthouse Suite
Las Vegas, NV
November 9, 2023
…The aforementioned pep talk would’ve been good if Jonathan-Christopher could put in the typical amount of hours required for preparation. Instead, five days into the third round of the tournament and time is ticking. Based on the scouting reports, JC can’t help but daydream and place Kerry Kuroyama in a vat, punching and kicking his way out, screaming the names of the seven other men remaining in the bracket. Nevertheless, Hall finds himself here, on his kitchen chair, sitting next to his wonderful Amazing Life Partner, Vickie, rolling ESPN cameras in front of their faces. This has been an experience, to say the least. Vickie loves a good reality TV show but her ALP didn’t know the nuts and bolts of the process would be so utterly demanding.
Limited gym time. Limited film time. Hall still feels he was extremely lucky to defeat Ray Ray and now might be playing with what Vickie likes to call ‘mouse money’. They do reside in Vegas.
“…When we win the tournament, I’ll slap Ivan Stanislav in the face for the harm he caused us this summer… plus knowing B[blocked by trauma]d is booted, licking his wounds thanks to Cecil, gosh golly, you couldn’t write this any better for me!”
No spite, no pettiness. At least it’s what Vickie tells JCH on a daily basis. This is about their rise to superstardom. The Hall’s deserve fifteen minutes. The rest of them can eat the dust.
“…Ray Ray La Bomba was useless. Nobody wanted to see him advance,” she carries on. She laughs at the expense of another man who was simply trying to start his own journey and represent his own family.
She places a hand on her hubby’s knee. It immediately sends goosebumps down his spine.
“I’ve trained Jonathan-Christopher well,” she isn’t done. The mannerisms of the production crew behind her suggest they are starting to understand she is never ‘done’. Her hair flutters from left to right because her body can’t contain what’s bouncing around inside of it. “My knight in shining armor. We’re going to the end. It’s chalk, boys. CHALK!”
“That’s a wrap!” Teddy, one of the production assistants from behind the second camera says, as the four-team crew start taking down their equipment.
“Honey,” she now turns her entire body towards her spouse, “I’m requiring you to speak up more, okay? I can’t be driving every interview.”
“Yes, baby,” he replies. “I love you.”
She adjusts her posture. She stretches her shoulders and puffs out her chest. “I need you upright, looking like a man, okay? Like the protector and badass a dainty flower like myself yearns for. I enjoy security and toughness. Otherwise, Kerry will think he’s got the W.”
Kerry. Kerry Kuroyama. Jonathan-Christopher really needs to reread those wrestling notes. He needs to call Dan Celetti and tell him to meet once the gym doors open tomorrow morning. Maybe even before they open! Jonathan-Christopher has felt rather sluggish the past couple of days. All these cameras… interviews…
“Hey, everyone!” To the crew’s surprise, and specifically Vickie’s, Jonathan-Christopher speaks loud and sharp. “I see you’re not packed yet. I was wondering…”
His voice starts to fade but then he gives it a second try.
“…If we could keep filming? I’m feeling more comfortable and I’d like to talk about my experiences throughout the tournament.”
Jonathan-Christopher waits patiently as the crew spend a moment to decode each other’s body languages. Meanwhile, Vickie’s jaw is on the floor.
“Sure thing, JC,” Teddy says on behalf of the crew, with a polite smile. “I’ve got another ten minutes or so in me.”
Vickie focuses her gaze towards Teddy. “It’s Jonathan-Christopher, not JC. Please call him by his full name.”
She spins towards her man and drapes her upper body around him. “Jonathan-Christopher is such a divine name!”
Moments later, with the cameras ready to roll, Teddy gives the cue and provides an open-ended question as the red light flicks on.
“Jonathan-Christopher,” he begins, ensuring the name is emphasized to meet Vickie’s standards. “You’re now in the Elite Eight. How would you assess your progress?”
Jonathan-Christopher gives a quick glance into Vickie’s loving eyes. It’s everything he needs to lift up his own shoulders, puff out his chest and raise his head with a newfound sense of fortitude.
“You want the truth? I thought Bolamba had me, thought he wrestled a great match but I’m starting to believe in my offense. I’m not so green anymore-”
“This won’t do,” Vickie interrupts, as Jonathan-Christopher realizes she’s staring at his legs. “I have a better idea.”
She hops off her chair, races into the bedroom and returns just as quickly. She tosses a pair of socks onto Jonathan-Christopher’s lap before repositioning herself directly beside him.
“You should stuff those down your pants,” she states sternly. “I want my man looking like a man for the cameras, you know?”
The ESPN crew can’t help but laugh, although it’s a canned kind of laughter because nobody knows if Vickie is serious or not.
She remains rocksteady.
“Shove ‘em down there,” she points to her temple and spins her finger in a circle. “It’s mind gamessssss! Speak with confidence…”
She motions to his groin as JC’s cheeks blush.
“Allude to confidence!”
And here he was, trying to be serious.
— — — — —
October 30, 2002
Is a six-year-old meant to have a lot of questions? Because he has a lot of them. However, he doesn’t know how to ask each one.
In fact, he’s the one answering. He’s been answering so many for the past two days, it’s making his head spin. Sometimes he has to answer the same question more than once. Because of her, his mother. She doesn’t allow him to move. She sits on the sofa, cigarette bouncing up and down her bottom lip as she speaks. He, on the other hand, across the way on a living room chair. A few empty pizza boxes, numerous cigarette butts and a truck load of glass bottles line the space between them.
“What did you tell the man?”
This has to be the eleventeenth-hundred time she’s asked. Even ‘the man’ didn’t interrogate him to this extent.
“You were at the store, mommy,” the boy replies.
“And what was I doing before that?”
“You made me breakfast.”
“And before that?”
“You were at work.”
“And before that?”
“Mommy!” The boy lets out a whimper. A small tear can’t help but trickle down his cheek. He tried to keep it hidden but he failed. He was trying so hard but the past few days… he’s too young to put it into words.
The tear is enough proof.
What he knows: He doesn’t want to keep talking about it, he thought they already went through this.
And how many times can he apologize?
“Jonathan,” she states coldly, flicking the cigarette out of her mouth and towards the messy carpet below. “I am not asking, this is not optional. Tell me everything, I am your mother.”
The heavy black bags under her eyes and the congested tone in her voice suggest there is no alternative.
“I said. I said, I said, I said…” He’s trying to finish the sentence but he’s answered so frequently he doesn’t know what’s going on. He can’t help the rush of tears from flowing out and wow, they are flowing.
She remains deadpan. She sighs before standing, fumbling her way into the kitchen and finding a new pack of smokes on the countertop.
“Where’s daddy!?” He cries, demanding his own answers. He cries loud, he cries very loud. He can’t take it anymore. He’s been waiting and waiting and waiting. She told him daddy’s never returning but that can’t be true. He NEEDS to know when he’s going to return. He promised. Daddy wouldn’t lie! He’s never lied! He’s-
“Your father?” She snickers, tilting her head upright to let out a saliva driven cackle. “You want your father, is that right?”
Jonathan-Christopher looks up and nods. Too young to understand sarcasm and too caught in an overwhelming degree of sadness, he isn’t able to decipher her projection.
She marches closer, a steadier walk than a moment ago. She hunches over his chair. At first, she studies his face, as he finally lifts his head and tries to stop sobbing.
She carefully walks past the mess of items on the floor and collapses on the sofa.
“You really want me to tell you what happened to your father?”
“I don’t know him, so you certainly don’t,” she begins to unravel the plastic cigarette wrapper. “You thought a friend of mine was your dad but he stopped coming by. You make a lot of shit up. You have a wild imagination.”
She pulls out a fresh dart and sticks it firmly on her bottom lip.
“You have to stop.”
She lights the smoke on her face but due to an overly shaky right hand, it’s a difficult thing to accomplish. Finally, she sucks back the nicotine, lets out a phlegm-infested cough and begins to lay down on the couch, closing her eyes to thoroughly enjoy the death stick with all of her senses.
“I tried to tell you nicely, he’s not coming.”
Jonathan-Christopher doesn’t cry any further.
“Go ahead, wait by the window. I wouldn’t even know who he was if he actually fucking arrived.”
— — — — —
The Young Family Manner
Minot, North Dakota
August 19, 2015
This is how you define family.
Jonathan-Christopher’s had a crazy twenty-four hours. After the drive into North Dakota, he was introduced to Vickie’s high-strung father. They ‘got on’, that’s what Reed said. They ‘got on’ real well. Spent the morning discussing the finer things in wrestling and the entire afternoon going through those motions. Literally going through those motions. They wrestled. Reed twisted Jonathan-Christopher into a pretzel and then some. It hurt, oh boy did it ever!
It was also fun!
Everyone had a laugh!
Jonathan-Christopher waits in the car, ready to drive away when Vickie, who needed an extra moment to say goodbye to her dad, surprises JC by shooting open the passenger door in a rush and leaping inside.
“Hi, honey,” he says with a soft and gentle voice before realizing she doesn’t seem to be her everyday chipper self.
Rattled. Disjointed. Dejected. It’s his first interpretation. With a faint darkness developing under her eyes, Jonathan-Christopher now realizes why they booked a hotel room down the street. It wasn’t because her father had rules against “boys” sleeping in the home, it was something much deeper.
“Ugh,” she gargles, allowing her body to melt into the passenger’s seat. “He is exhausting. Wrestling, wrestling, wrestling, it’s all he bloody talks about!”
Jonathan-Christopher doesn’t know what to say but he knows he can be there to listen. He studies her face to acknowledge her emotions.
“And you would think he’d stop by now. He’s always got these ideas. Fucking ideas…”
It’s the first time he’s heard Vickie swear.
“But honey,” Vickie begins, in her best Reed Young impersonation. “I’m an iDeAs man!”
The impersonation stops. A cold, hard sigh spews from her lips.
“Every idea this man’s ever had…” she doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she shakes her head in frustration.
Jonathan-Christopher remembers Vickie reading the newspaper at the living room table while her father spoke about wrestling. He recalls Vickie positioning herself away from the ring when Reed was applying submissions. He determines that she never really seemed invested. Was this merely a formality?
Her eyes are already upon him when he snaps into the present. They are wide open and blue, so very blue. They glisten and wander, making tiny rapid movements, deeply studying his own face.
“Can you be my Ideas Man?” She reaches out and grasps his hand. “Sick of daddy’s nonsense.”
“I…” Jonathan-Christopher isn’t sure how to reply. “I can try?”
Her eyes close, her head tilts to the skies. Then she lets out a cry in frustration. It takes Jonathan-Christopher a moment to realize the response is not projected at him. Instead, through the light rain and incoming rural fog, she sees her father standing outside of the Young Estate.
“He wants to say goodbye again,” she snaps her head around. “Can you excuse me for a moment, sweetie?”
“Yea- yeah,” he fumbles his words. “Hotel is only a three minute drive. Please, take your time.”
“I like you, Jonathan-Christopher,” she says, exiting the vehicle.
“I like you too, Vickie.”
The car door closes behind her.
— — — — —
Can you hear me, Kerry? It’s me, Jonathan-Christopher.
Hey, did you flee DEFIANCE because of their shotty ownership, too?
Of course Vickie and I were there for a hot minute but it was enough time for her to study you inside and out. She’s always studying. She lives for wrestling, it’s her entire life. She’s the female Kerry Kuroyama.
Full disclosure: Vae Victis happens to be her most desirable fancy. She is obsessed with your leader, intrigued by your pirate, tickled by your lackeys and engrossed by your graps.
Boy, you would be an incredible feather in my cap. The crown fighter of VV, plucked out from the Almasy bracket by the man who is finally living up to expectations. Vickie says you are not as strong as you think. She builds you up in scouting reports but the mental game is where she can tear you back down.
Tear we will.
In PRIME, Lindsay Troy is not your teammate. She is not your sister or friend. She is your boss.
Vickie is my teammate. She’s my family, my lover and my very best friend. She fills all voids.
What is your story, Kerry? What are you doing here? To capture the most prestigious title in wrestling? Write the wrongs of others who have held it before you?
Impossible to revise what is already canon.
Vickie says the whole roster is shooting from that angle. On the contrary, we have a Hallmark approach.
My story beats yours. It’s about a little boy who hardly asked for anything and still never received. Who one day, years later, found the woman of wonder and unlocked a whole new world. In return, he would help her capture the most majestical dream imaginable.
You’re a side note and has been. You are exactly what brought you here, the fear of not living up to your promise. If you didn’t win the FIST, what makes you think you’ll capture the holy grail?
Vickie told me you lost years off your career because one of those Fuse’s put you on the shelf. I hope it wasn’t the blonde because that would certainly be embarrassing.
Yet after a twist of the body and pounce on the mat, my inverted facebuster can give you the excuse to go back.
Vickie says your anger is detrimental and your jealousy will be your undoing. Vickie says all I need to do is stick to the script and you’ll be written off as fast as you walked in. She says you deserve a problem, a rude awakening and everything negative thereafter.
You’re Elite Eight, but we’re Final Four, and she is the Only One.
You’ll see I’ve come a long way since my time in DEFIANCE.
What about you?
Vickie says you’re weaker, vulnerable and ripe for the taking.
And Kerry, just so you know…
Vickie is always right.
Now you get to see for yourself.
— — — — —
VICKIE’S TWO(BECOME-ONE) CENTS, unedited & unfiltered:
kerri your built like brick shithouse but u think u can walk in here & immediately make it to finals???? boy u trippin my man is gonna eat u up this aint ur old stomping grounds & u have lot to learn like heartbreak & hard times happen hereeeeeeeeee u aint gonna overcome it u run out the door like other defiants who R not defiant cassidy reform newblood rezin elise ares for a hot min dummies who cudnt hang u wanna b1 of the big boys? atken joles hanlon stansliv rezin (funny how hes in both categories) dream on b/c ur rite prime is #1 by defecation & u dont have your unit behind u but newsflash hoe I HAVE A CONVOY BACKING MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE honk HONK HONK that sounds so gud better then ur theme music which came from a video game thats pathetic looks like fuse rubbed off on u vomittttt how can any1 take u seriously w/ a theme that soiunds gangster but u no gangsta boy rite now i sound moar gangsta & u r a narcissist everything u say is about u & vea victis & siiiick of that narrative its over on friday ur back tattoos are yuckus my man has a sexy body w/ no hair & no ink hes all natural baby & gonna show u the door goodbye kerri boom & yellow round four on fridays i wear pretty pink© & u will wear walk of shame vickie out
— — — — —
She slowly walks towards her father. The rain is heavy and the fog is thick, so Jonathan-Christopher’s headlights guide her way, navigating the cobblestone driveway rather fluently.
Reed stands there, soaking wet with droplets of water lightly falling one-by-one off the bridge of his nose. As his daughter arrives, he looks her over, head-to-toe, in a very methodical and expressionless manner while his clothes absorb more downpour.
“How’d I do, honey?” He asks, before placing his left palm on the side of his chin with an after-statement retraction. “How’d we do?”
She takes a moment to stand idly before turning towards the car. In one swift motion, she waves with her left hand, blows a kiss with her right and tingles her body in a jittery delight, as she receives a blown kiss in return from the boy inside of the vehicle.
Time passes; Reed waits. Then she, too, moves rather stoically towards her guardian. As she does, the warmness on her face drops, her eyes become narrow and her body language stiffens.
She can’t, however, stop the edge of her lips from curling towards the pitch black sky. She provides a response, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“We got ‘em.”