LET’S GET READY TO STUUUUMMMBLLLLEEE!!!

Your recommended auditory companion is: SUNNO))) + SCOTT WALKER

HALF-ASSED

The peace and serenity of an otherwise quiet Las Vegas afternoon shatters with the scream of tires belonging to a cherry red Mercedes coupe as it slams to a sudden halt.

The driver’s side door swings open, and popping into view is the furious face of Alexa Van Horn, the ACE Network’s Vice Director of Marketing and Public Relations.

“REZIN!! What – the – FUCK?!”

Arms folded defiantly across his chest, smirk confidently etched on his impish face, the Goat Bastard of professional wrestling is the absolute image of defiance.

“Man, tell you what, if I had a nickel for erry time I heard somebuddy said that…”

He’s standing on the other side of a cheap plastic fold-out table covered with a small and rather pitiful assortment of homemade treats and pastries. Scribbled across the cheap paper banner hanging off the end reads: BAKED SALE – ALL ITEMS $4.20 – CASH ONLY

Alexa, in no mood for whatever this bullshit, puts her stiletto pumps to work as she angrily stomps around the car to confront this wretched idiot who has been a consistent thorn in her side for well over half a year now.

“Are you CRAZY?!” she erupts. “Get this junk out if here!”

That is a stupid question.

“Miss Van Horn!” exclaims Rezin, quite facetiously. “How are ya this fine afternoon? May I innerest ya in a brownie?”

His hand motions to a jello dish filled with charred crumbs of what was once chocolate fudge, but tragically became something of a failed kitchen experiment.

“I didn’t think you were serious about this preposterous ‘baked sale’ of yours,” she seethes.

“Baked sale, Miss,” he corrects.

She ignores this, hands waving around the table. “But why HERE of all places?!”

“Here,” of course, being the one parking spot in the ACE Network building’s lot that is reserved for the Vice Director of Marketing and Public Relations herself. 

Even the posted sign, which Van Horn insistently points to, says as much.

“Pfft, signs…” scoffs Hell’s Favorite Hoosier. “Like a few words are gonna stop me from doin’ something I wanna do.”

“I’m serious, dipshit!” warned Van Horn, quite ineffectually. “I want this shit out of my spot! NOW! Or do I have to call security?”

“Oh, ya mean Ralph?” says the goatishly-grinning bastard as he sticks a thumb to the security station at the building’s employee entrance. “Yeah, we met! Cool dude, big fan of the show! He was one of our first customers!”

Alexa spies the aforementioned Ralph in his booth, snoozing in his chair with both legs kicked up on his workstation.

“There’s another asshole I’ll need to fire by the end of the day,” she huffs with exasperation. “Same as the last one, that let you slip in weeks ago.”

“Well, they ain’t stormtroopers, darlin’,” says Rezin, pleading their case. “Just workers, trynna earn a livin’ and get by in this crazy, inconsiderate world.”

“Like a worthless burnout like you would know anything about ‘work’,” says Van Horn with an eyeroll. 

He cocks his head to the side. “That so? Well did it ever occur to ya that maybe I picked this very spot for a reason? Figured ya’d be pleased to see the effort I was puttin’ into payin’ back those poor, misbegotten billionaires that own the Freeman Coliseum.”

“Yes, and I can definitely see that effort is paying off…” she replied with heavy sarcasm, skeptically looking down at the sparse handful of coins and dollar bills crumbled at the bottom of his nearly-empty coffee can. “Though truth be told, there isn’t any amount of effort you can do in a thousand lifetimes that would undo the damage you cause to our company any given day you carry that title.”

The Escape Artist not-so-innocently shrugs. “Well, a man’s gotta follow his callin’ after all. Just so happens, my callin’ is destruction.”

Brimming with rage, she empties the contents of the coffee can into her hand and pockets the aerial arsonist’s meager earnings.

“This obviously isn’t anywhere close to what you owe for the incident that you started,” she hisses. “But we’ll take whatever we can get out of you! Honestly, I can’t wait until Hayes and Ivan tear you apart in that cell! Maybe, then, this nightmare you’ve put me through this past year will finally be over!”

“Maybe,” says Rezin, echoing the directive word in that statement. “Of course, however, there’s still that Battle Royal on night two to consider…”

She critically narrows her eyes. “And what of it? If there’s anything left of you after the cell, the rest of PRIME will happily pick you apart. You have many enemies in that locker room, after all. And I have no doubt that you’ll finally be exposed for the overrated and underbellied louse that you are when you’re in that ring amongst actual wrestling talent.”

The Goat Bastard lets out a raspy chuckle.

“Ya really don’t know how these matches work, do you?” he quips. “Talent don’t mean shit when there’re that many bodies in the ring all at once. Nobody’s born with eyes.in the back of their head. It’s an environment built for CHAOS…”

He leans across the table, lips curling back into a dastardly grin.

“…and CHAOS is what I do best!”

Van Horn shakes her head, and finally comes to the realization that she has reached her limit with this asshole.

“I seriously don’t have time for this, so I’ll just park in the garage,” she grumbled, heading back to her Mercedes. “This trash heap better be out of here by tomorrow, Rezin, or you can deal with the cops.”

“Don’t you threaten me with a good time!” Rezin snaps back as she disappears into the driver’s side and revs the engine.

In a matter of seconds, the vehicle pulls out and squeals further down the parking lot, toward the garage entrance. Van Horn lays into the horn while passing the security booth, jostling our pal Ralph out of his sleep.

“Dude… who’s the babe?”

The question was posited by his “business associate” in this crooked venture who had just returned from a quick errand in time to see the Vice Director leave.

“Chris, if bein’ ‘COOL’ is your thing now, then ya shouldn’t be askin’ about her,” says Rezin. “SHE should be askin’ about YOU. Ya feel me?”

Seventeen-year-old nuisance of New Orleans and wannabe Bandit, “COOL” Chris Chickentenders, nods as he deeply ponders these words.

“Yeah, dude, that makes total sense,” says the teen, running a hand through his freshly bleached hair. “Anyway, here’s that thing you asked for…”

The young Chickentenders hands over a plastic bag, and Rezin promptly pulls out a bottle of charcoal lighter fluid.

“Are we grilling out or something?” inquires the naive young man.

“Oh, you bet!” exclaims Rezin, already in the process of dousing down the table and everything on it.

You can pretty much guess what happens next. Moments later, the two of them are walking away from the table, now engulfed in flames.

Perpetually confused, the young Chickentenders looks back over his shoulder at the scene of fiery mess of destruction they’re now leaving behind.

“Um, are we–?”

“Yep,” Rezin says assuringly, patting him on the back. “Just keep walkin’, buddy.”

 

QUARTER-ASSED

After a mile of hoofing it in the opposite direction of the sirens…

“Dude, where are we walking to?” bemoans the young Chickentenders.

“Dambit, Chris!” curses the Goat Bastard, who truly has no idea to where they are wandering. “Only reason I’m lettin’ ya hang with me over your Spring Break is cause I needed to work out a deal with your old man to settle all my legal proclivities. Oh, and speakin’ of…”

Rezin pulls a crumbled piece of paper from his pants and hands it over to the tow-headed teen.

“Here,” he says. “See that gets to him. It’s a list of things I need him to… well ya know, I need him to lawyer, or whatever.”

Chris briefly scans over the list of presumed felonies that need to be erased.

“…what’s a “breaking and defecating”? Never heard of that before.

“Shit, do I need to explain errything to ya?” rasps the Goat Bastard. “I don’t know how laws work in Texas! I just know they hang ya for literally any crime! Just give it to him and see he clears it up, will ya?”

“Okay, will do, but so hey, I was wondering…” Chris continued, doing that clearing of the throat one does when changing the subject. “That Viking dude you hang with? Was he like a pornstar or something?

“Olvir? Dude was one of the best!” declares Rezin, with an air of pride. And then… “Waitasec, who told you that?”

Chickentenders shrugs. “I thought I saw him the other night givin’ it to some medieval babe on the, uh… you know, the Hub.”

His eyebrows bounce suggestively when he mentions the last word.

Chickentenders continues his story. “Anyway, I’m watching this clip where he knocks the door off its hinges, and this royal babe is there with these HUGE–“

“Chris, lemme stop ya right there,” interjects Rezin. “First of all, while I can’t entirely speak on behalf of your idol Cancer, I HIGH-ly doubt that he fondles his huevos to the Hub. Dude definitely spanks it to those top-shelf OnlyFans accounts. If he spanks at all. Just for future reference if you’re still workin’ on your COOL cred.”

“Right… thanks,” says Chris, nodding as though sacred wisdom had been imparted to him. “In that case, looks like I’m gonna need to swipe my dad’s credit card again.”

But Rezin isn’t finished. “Secondly, let’s keep all this Viking porn business STRICTLY on the downlow! Olvir CANNOT KNOW that instead of destroying all his old DVDs, I sold ‘em to some shady pawn shop owners in exchange for money that I would later use to buy back my childhood home, but only AFTER that chump Rocko tried to con me out of it!”

“Wow, dude… that summarizes quite a bit of what went down last year!” says Chickentenders in astonishment.

“Gotta lotta muthafuggas out there right now that need to be brought up to speed, and I ain’t countin’ on ‘em to do the research themselves, knaw’m’sayin’?” explains the Escape Artist as he stares into the nonexistent camera that could just be a lingering acid hallucination. “But back to the point at hand, if Olvir finds out I’m more than likely responsible for that shit now being on the Hub, he will have my HEAD, and offer it up to THOR, or some shit!”

“Dude, he knows Chris Hemsworth? You think he could get an autograph for me?”

Rezin clenches his eyes shut. Goddamn, this kid is stupid.

“What the fuck kinda name is Chickentenders anyway?”

“Slavic, I think. Originally, it was Cszechenzsteinzch, but my dad got tired of people spelling and pronouncing it wrong.”

Rezin winces. “Well… I suppose it’s a step up.”

 

TAYLOR-SWIFT-ASSED

“Arright, ya scum… listen up.

“This is your Universal ANTI-Champion speakin’ to ya.

“…or at least for the time bein’. 

“Of course, if it were to be the case that I were to come runnin’ down to the ring as either of the last two entrants, I wouldn’t be the Universal ANTI-Champion any longer.

“I would just be plain ol’ PISSED OFF, and  anybuddy left in that ring would be straight FUCKED!

“Let’s get the followin’ outta the way right now…

“Matt Ward… Eddie Cross… Abe Lipschitz… Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy… Violet Samuelsson… Hoyt Williams… Tony Gamble… Kohime Mori… Adam Ellis… Rocky De Leon… Kenny Freeman… Mike McGee…

“All of ya can breath a sigh of relief knowin’ that I won’t bother wastin’ words on any of ya… because quite frankly, none of ya have done much in my eyes that bears mention.

“Maybe I just been a tad preoccupied at the top of the mountain, fendin’ off all these muthafuggas comin’ for my gold. 

“Or maybe it’s a sign that some of ya need to be doin’ a bit MORE.

“Or maybe–JUST MAYBE–I’m just pressed for time and creativity.

“But hey… I have an open mind. And I don’t mean that to say my brain is quite likely Swiss cheese at this point. What I’m sayin’ is, who knows? Maybe this is your chance to WOW the masses, if ya can pull one over the Punk Rock Induced Mass Extinction that is yours truly.

“IF, anyway…

“But onto the mentionables!

“I begin with my King and Forever Hero… Nova…

“I will forever regret the day I stole the victory from you over a year ago. As an olive branch I say we call up Jack and make this whole damb company our own personal frontier of chaos.

“Paxton Ray…

“If MESSIAH needed a crazy violence junkie for his weird Cthulhu cult, he coulda done better. Bro, have you even seen my badass Lovecraftian sleeve?

“Coral Avalon…

“I got an in on a training space up in Seattle, if you’re innerested. Real shithole run by some has-beener. I hear Sonny has the deed.

“Arthur Pleasant…

“Literally the livin’ embodiment of those t-shirts they used to sell in Hot Topic that used to have sayings on them like, ‘You laugh at me because I look different. I laugh at you because you are all the same.’ Sad to know that my lasting legacy as Universal ANTI-Champion will be know for openin’ the door to a try-hard edgelord who saw I had a belt and gave himself the unfortunate idea that he could hang here in PRIME.

“Angloholic Brononymous…

“The hell is HAPPENIN’ to you, man? I know ya been goin’ through some battles lately, but this ain’t the time to be the guy in those war movies that breaks down and loses his shit in the trenches. Do me a favor, and let it go in that ring, eh? Either be la mascara, or be Tom. Whoever the fuck that is…

“Mushigihara…

“Go Buckeyes!

“Jared Sykes…

“We didn’t have enough time to get properly acquainted at Rev Twenty-Four, thanks to the Spotlight HAWG from Evansville, but I can say I’ve seen enough of ya to expect you’ll be in the mix. Would it be showin’ my hand if I said I’m gonna be waitin’ for the moment you slip up and turn your back on me?

“Sage Pontiff…

“Let’s chat.

“Brandon Youngblood…

“…uhhh, in the unfortunate circumstance that you’re still in this by the time I get in there, could ya do me the courtesy of droppin’ me on anything other than my head and/or neck? I’d greatly appreciate it.

“Darin Zion…

“Dude, shut up.

“Mortimer Knightingale…

“…wait, hang on, you were supposed to be on the other list. Sorry, bruh.

“Doc Reform…

“Still waitin’ on my detailed psych eval, Nedrick. Not that I care about whatever intellectual opinion ya might have on the subject of this ol’ DOPESMOKER… but if I’m in one of tjose pinches where I need to shit and the roll is empty, at least I can have THAT handy!

“Jonathan-Christopher Hall…

“…

“FLAMBERGE…

“I ain’t gonna lie, mon ami… it broke my heart seein’ Nate strip that belt from ya back at UltraViolence. Especially since, ya know, it was MY ass eatin’ the pinfall. I guess if we cross paths in this thing, it will be a chance at gettin’ some payback. Referrin’ to ME, of course. 

“Tyler Adrian Claus…

“A spitter of facts, even though it’s too bad his mother wasn’t a spitter of another variety.

“Nate Colton…

“We didn’t mesh at Twenty-Four. Doubtful we’ll ever mesh. Maybe we’ll settle this shot this time around, or maybe we won’t. Obviously, though, if ya see me in this thing, it means I’ll be completely free to settle up with ya in more personal circumstances, where it can just be us.

“I can let the cheap shot slide this one time, but dude, I swear, if you lose that strap to that aforementioned discount Jake Gyllenhaal-lookin’ muthafugga, I will be COMIN’ FOR YOUR ASS, HAWG!

“Anna Daniels…

“Girl… why you playin’? Can’t ya see all the potential the two of us can accomplish together? Be my Queen of the Night, and let’s watch this world burn together!

“Otherwise, if ya gotta eliminate me from this thing, my preferred method would be Frankensteiner over the ropes. Thanks in advance, babe!

“Then, of course, there are all the unknowns that were lured into this thing because LT hadda round out the numbers. I can only assume these are all bish-ass muthafuggas who apparently need the element of surprise in this thing to come off as halfway memorable.

“All told, thirty-nine potential foes in this clusterfuck. One for erry year I’ve been on this worthless blue rock.

“I supposed standin’ on top of a stack of that many bodies would be yet another star-makin’ moment for yours truly. 

“But then… I don’t intend to join this party.

“I’m just lookin’ forward to eventually fuckin’ up the unlucky shmuck that wins this thing.

“So my advice to all of y’all? Give up now, and save yourself the shame.

“Cause love ya or hate ya, I ain’t givin’ any quarter to anyone.”

Fade to…

Wait, there’s no scene here.

…then just go away, I guess.