Man, the whole wrestling world’s been on my back the past couple of weeks! First, it was “Abe treated his match against Scott Stevens like a big joke.” Then, when I try to apologize, it’s “Abe obviously isn’t sincere about wrestling being his priority. He said that while on the set of his new TV show.” And then? I actually put in the time to hone my skills for Tropical Turmoil, with video freakin’ proof of me working on my submission escapes, and you know what the response is? “Erotic barefoot customs are not real pro wrestling, and someone sitting on your face is not a submission hold.”

 

First of all, how rude.

 

Second, wrestling barefoot is more real because that’s what the Greeks did. And they invented the sport.

 

And finally, having your airway blocked by someone’s butt isn’t any different than a sleeper hold. If anything, it’s way more efficient to do it that way. Instead of standing up and wrapping your arms around someone’s neck and forehead and slowly guiding them down to the mat as they lose consciousness, you get to take a load off. Plus, getting out of a regular sleeper hold is way too easy. All you have to do is shove an elbow into their stomach, and then BAM! Snapmare driver. But when you’ve got every bit of someone else’s weight smushing your nose? Almost impossible.

 

I have figured out the reversal, though. The trick is to open your mouth just as they lower themselves down, then you bite. The ref can’t see it from there, and they’ll get up pretty quick. And then, BAM! Snapmare driver. I dare Mort to try and sit on my face in San Diego. I’ve never even used a snap mare before in a match, so he definitely won’t expect me to turn it into a driver!

 

I hope you all enjoyed this little insider’s peek into the grappling arts. I wanted to ensure that I discussed wrestling for a second since this is the main ingredient for a promotional video.

 

But you know what the icing on the cake is after all this shade from the critics? Some old Marine dragging the Scenery Boy’s name through the mud on a rival promotion’s broadcast! Take several seats, Chad.

 

That’s their TV champion? You’d think for someone to be a champion of TV, they’d have to actually be on it aside from their company’s own show. And no, being an extra in a commercial for Grunt Style clothing doesn’t count. Yuck. The only thing uglier than those t-shirt designs are the people who wear them.

 

Please don’t skew those last statements into making it look like I don’t like the military. I support the troops! As a matter of fact, Momsy was in the Army. The KISS Army. She was promoted to the rank of Sergeant when she met Paul Stanley at a meet and greet! She always said that it was one of the most memorable moments of her life, aside from when she gave birth to me. And to think, those two things happened within a year of each other!

 

Much like her, I too love to rock and roll all day and party every night. And just like the false prophet from Bethlehem, I, too am the cross-bearer because of it. My work ethic is being called into question because they think I am too concerned with landing a part instead of landing an elbow drop. But what really made me upset about the aftermath of the Phoenix show? They accused me of “not really” being in love with Lindsay since I was nowhere to be found at the big ending skirmish.

 

I’d lied and said that I didn’t come out there because I was taking a firm stand against gang violence. But the truth was that I’d headed back to my hotel room after I’d humiliated myself earlier that night. Yeah, that’s right. Despite what some of you think, I was ashamed of myself. Not because of the loss but mostly because I was stupid enough to believe that guy who told me snorting talcum powder would be the quickest way to make sure I didn’t sweat too much in the sweltering Mexican heat. Maybe I would have known that if I hadn’t gotten kicked out of college.

 

Despite this perfectly valid excuse, I’m just going to have to learn how to take the criticism on the chin. All of the eventual greats have their naysayers. Heck, they thought that Lacey Chabert’s career would be over after her Oscar-snubbed performance in Mean Girls. And just look at her now! An absolute hallmark on the Hallmark Channel! I will do everything I can to harness the Gretchen Wieners inside of me, take those negative opinions, and then BAM! Snapmare driver. From this day forward, I vow never to let their words get to me again.

 

 

 

“This woman on Twitter said your hair looked a little greasy last week, too.”

 

WHAT THE FUCK?

 

I jerked my head to the left and craned my neck to view the screen, but I was still far away. Extending my hand, I pulled the beak of his pink flamingo float closer to my rainbow unicorn tube. Some salty little you-know-what who was obviously jealous of my bounce. It took months to perfect my conditioning routine, and there was no oiliness in it.

 

“Oh, wow. Cool @, not. ‘VA_Pey04.’ Couldn’t even think of something without having to put a numb…hey, wait a minute!”

 

I grabbed the phone out of his hand and clicked the profile picture to expand it.

 

“I knew it.”

 

Peyton Wilson. My ex-girlfriend from high school. After clicking “Report” on the disgusting lie, I decided to do a little further investigation on her timeline, scrolling vigorously to find any other nasty tweets to which I could do the same. It didn’t seem as though she had much to say about the state of pro wrestling in general. Mostly retweets of Harry Styles and Taylor Swift news, interwoven with snide comments about me with a corresponding ReVival hashtag. This total shade-thrower was subtweeting, too – she didn’t even dare to tag me in them!

 

“‘I think I saw one of Abe Lipschitz’s butt pads about to slip out of his trunks. Because his butt is fake.’ Well, I never!”

 

About to boil over, I took a deep breath to calm down. “AND IT HAS SIX LIKES AND THREE RETWEETS? WHO IS LIKING AND RETWEETING THESE LIES?”

 

Another deep breath. This was the first test of my resilience that I just proclaimed a minute ago. It was time to put my coping mechanism into practice. Take it easy, Scenery Boy. Remember WWGWD?

 

“I’ll tell you what Gretchen Wieners would do,” I blurted out aloud, hitting the little speech bubble underneath the work of fiction.

 

“Huh?” My friend responded, who unfortunately could not read my mind to understand the context.

 

Oh yeah well at least Abe doesn’t drool on his pillow at night

 

Satisfied, I hit the light blue button to send it into Elon Musk’s money pit. Funnily enough, it was the first tweet from @BoobyDean in over two years.

 

“What did you just do?” Bobby inquired, cupping his hands and propelling himself through the water back over to my float. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, as his eyes were hidden under a pair of Ray-Bans. Since his vocal tone always hit in a similar pitch to Santa Claus, I’m not confident he ever gets mad.

 

This was my first time ever getting to “hang with the boys from the back” in my PRIME tenure, let alone the first time sharing a pool with the Beautiful Man from Honalee. With my Black Metal Friends becoming busier with their independent film project, I yearned for companionship. Yes, getting to half a bed occasionally with the former spouse of an NWC mainstay was great, but Magen never seemed interested in being boo’ed up. I was just a slab of cougar meat to her, something to sink her teeth into when we happened to be in each others’ vicinity.

 

I hoped Bobby wouldn’t see me as something he could just sink his teeth into, too. I don’t know how we ended up becoming friends. It was almost as if some magnetic force from behind the four walls of the world pulled us toward one another. Or the hands of collaborating gods who wrote our life stories from their laptops that brought us together.

 

“Nothing,” I hurriedly stammered, closing out the app and handing his phone back to him.

 

“Are you sure?” Bobby questioned.

 

I felt terrible about the lie. Taming my impulsive nature was something I really needed to work on. This wasn’t the way to be a friend to someone, especially since I’d just been hurt by a lie myself. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I clapped back at her under your account.”

 

The Titillating Texan frowned back at me. “That’s not cool.”

 

I sighed. “If I give you my last chocolate babka, will you forgi…”

 

“Yes,” he interrupted, delivering a trademark Bobby Dean grin. Now I remember: that’s how we became friends. A mutual appreciation of indulging in tasty desserts. And ass.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a great smile? It could melt an Alaskan iceberg,” I complimented. Sure, he’d already forgiven me, but a little extra butter on the bread never hurt. Besides, it was true, and I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to brighten someone’s day with flattery. I looked back over to him. I couldn’t tell if he was blushing or needed to reapply sunscreen.

 

I slipped out of the hole of my unicorn and torpedoed my way underwater to the pool’s edge. Hoisting myself out with a vertical push-up, I reached down to slip the hair tie off my ankle and put my NOT AT ALL GREASY wet tresses into a ponytail. Bobby also paddled his way to the side, eagerly awaiting the pastry I had wrapped in cellophane underneath the umbrella.

 

“Bon appetit!” I exclaimed, handing him the babka. “Do me a favor, though. Ball up the wrapper when you’re done and throw it on the side here. I just cleaned it and don’t want to do it all over again.”

 

“Shwhmure!” he responded with a mouthful, dropping crumbs into the pool as he held the treat with a damp paw. Swallowing it down, he added. “Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

 

I nodded back at Bobby, tugging at the elastic band of my pink European swimwear and admiring the fit. To our surprise, the familiar whizzing of the PRIME drone could be heard descending down to us. I’m sure any average talent would be a little irritated at the intrusion on a relaxing day off, but it was the perfect opportunity to set the record straight.

 

“Look,” I proclaimed, turning my back to the lens and patting my rear end. “No padding here, you teenage succubus.” Yeah, it may not have been “necessary” to pull the Speedo down slightly and reveal the top half of my cheeks and crack. But accusations that I would dare use an illegal butt-enhancing prosthetic were almost as wrong as the ones where I took drugs!

 

I let the pose linger for as long as possible until the drone flew slightly to the right. It was a free sneak preview for the custom video being released shortly after Tropical Turmoil.

 

The furious sound of splashing grabbed my attention as I pulled up my banana hammock and took off my pink heart-shaped Dollar Tree shades to get a better look. “Hey buddy, what’s wrong?”

 

The Beautiful One, now swatting at the drone with one hand and covering his face with the other, yelled with concern. “Don’t just stand there, Abe! Splash this thing or something! We’ll be in big fucking trouble if this footage gets out!”

 

I needed clarification. “Uh, why?”

 

“Do you remember whose pool this is?”

 

“Oh yeah,” I responded. Only one thing to do now.

 

“CANNONBALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!”

 

With a slight pivot to create a few steps for a running start, I leaped as far as possible, tucking my knees into my chest. My body hit the water with a great thud, sending a mini-tsunami into the air to short-circuit the drone’s transmission. Rising up from underneath the refreshing blue, I smiled with confidence. There was no way that splash didn’t just drench the hell out of…

 

“Why did you jump in from way over there?” Bobby shouted, still trying to fend off the drone, which was hovering way out of the reach of his wild swinging.

 

I turned and looked down to the far end of the pool. Oops. Apparently, I was so distracted about hitting the perfect cannonball that my running start was in the opposite direction.

 

“That’s going to look so cool on the replay,” I beamed. “And why are you so worried about her finding out about this, anyway? You and the Bandits trespass here literally every other month.”

 

Before Bobby could respond, the drone began to fly around to admire some of the fine handiwork I had done in Lindsay’s backyard. Fresh fruit and framed 8×10 headshots of me were placed elegantly on every table surrounding the pool area. A large hedge trimmed to look like an exact replica of the Goddess Athena, only with long flowing hair and the initials “LT” on her shield. And as the drone climbed higher, the intricate shape of a beautiful rose mowed into the lawn revealed itself, with its thorny stem extending into a cursive “Love, Abe” to cap it off.

 

It took Bobby a little more time to reply as he was accustomed to being the totally oblivious group member. This was a bit of an adjustment dealing with someone as dumb or possibly dumber than him.

 

“We don’t usually let a pony loose in her yard, though.”

 

I turned and examined the Shetland munching on some leftover fruit I’d set alongside the pool fence. “You don’t think she’s going to like Butter Pecan?” I asked, concerned. All this had set me back a pretty penny and drove me further away from my goal of someday having my own apartment. If my sexy red flame of love wasn’t a fan of this gesture, I’d be miserable and broke.

 

Bobby took a good long look at Butter Pecan and shrugged. “He is pretty cute,” he admitted. “But still. When Jiles and I break in, it’s a lot different. We’re treated like the mischievous boys who aren’t doing any real harm, and Mom considers it fun shenanigans. She’s even left us Sunny D in the fridge like she almost expects us to raid it now.”

 

I needed clarification on what he was getting at. “Well, what makes it so different now that I’m involved?”

 

“Pretty obvious,” Bobby opined. “The Bandits aren’t trying to fuck her.”

 

“MAKE LOVE,” I corrected, emphasizing with a sweeping gesture.

 

“Whatever it is you’re trying to do,” he continued, “has anyone told you that you might be coming on a little too strong? And it’s starting to become a little bit creepy?”

 

At this point, I had swum up to Bobby and gotten in between his legs, using the inner tube as a cushion for my arms and chin. I started to object but realized that maybe he was right. Granted, Misereé had said the same things about a hundred times now, but I’d just written it off as a complete trash take. Once again, I turned around, using Bobby’s ankles to keep me afloat.

 

All of this could have been excessive. I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs for Lindsay to eventually find her way into my heart. I smacked my forehead in disgust as I rethought my approach.

 

“C’mon, Abe,” I blurted out, demoralized. “What were you thinking? Cutting a flower design into her lawn? It’s not like she can even see that without being in an airplane. How could I have been so stupid, Bobby?”

 

The smart(er) one in the pool sighed, leaning forward in his flamingo float to gently pat Abe on his head. “There there,” he comforted. “I’ve had plenty of these moments myself. It comes with the territory of being blessed with good looks instead of good brains.”

 

I spun around in the water, facing my Beautiful new friend again. “It really is the greatest curse, huh?”

 

He nodded in response, pulling the remainder of the babka out of the little drink holder fashioned into the tube and chomping it down.

 

“I just don’t know what else to do to show her how much I worship her. I’m talking about Gomez Addams-level stuff. But she’s too infatuated with Wade Elliott to even entertain the thought,” I pined. “What do I have that he doesn’t?”

 

Bobby was quick on the draw to respond to that. “Neatly trimmed facial hair, a subtle Southern accent, and can still make a side part look good in 2023.”

 

I wanted to be upset, but I had to give credit where it was due, being a switch-hitting twink. “You’re right. Well, what four things does he have that I don’t?”

 

“Championship reigns,” Bob replied, again a little too fast compared to his usual cadence. To know all these factoids, he must have had a little thing for him too. “But that’s something you can fix at Tropical Turmoil.”

 

“Yeah! I sure could, couldn’t I?” I piped up. At that point, something seemed to be jabbing me in my dingaling. I reached into the front of my Speedo and pulled out a shoehorn that had, for some reason, just miraculously appeared. I threw it as hard as I could out of the pool, as magic freaks me the fuck out.

 

“Well, you might have had a better shot if you had trained. Instead of, you know,” Bobby mused, “booking a flight out here and spending several days ruining Mom’s property.”

 

Damn, Bob. You were the one who served up the realization that this was a colossal waste of time. You didn’t have to dump an entire pillar of salt all over it, too.

 

“But, you might be able to make up for the lost time by dragging me around the pool like a motorboat!”

 

 

 

 

 

An hour later, after one of the most intense workouts I’d ever had, I exited the pool and collapsed on top of one of the fancy towels I’d borrowed from the linen closet in Lindsay’s house. Although buoyant, my shoulders scorching from a hundred laps with the Titanic strapped to me like a backpack. But it was a refreshed exhaustion. I felt accomplished. Not at one point this entire day did I think about my acting career.

 

I had about a week to keep up this momentum and focus on my opportunity against Mort. A chance to be a champion at 19 didn’t come along for many wrestlers. This match was no longer about redeeming myself in the eyes of the critics. It wasn’t to make a highlight reel for increased exposure to casting agents. It was for the glory of holding the Alias title high in the air…

 

…and then Wade Elliott had one less thing that I didn’t. It was all the motivation I needed to whip myself into shape and end the reign of the North Dakotan for good.

 

“My work here is done,” Abe proclaimed. Butter Pecan immediately decided to relieve himself of the pounds of fruit he’d been digesting for ninety minutes.

 

“What about that?” Bobby asked.

 

I wrinkled my nose and shook my head in response. “I think Lindsay would rather me put my efforts toward preparing for Tropical Turmoil than cleaning up horse manure. Besides, she’s probably used to the smell.”

 

Bobby shot me a puzzled look. “Why do you say that?”

 

“Easy,” I smirked, glancing around to make sure the drone was close enough to hear me. “She had to wrestle Steve Solex a couple of weeks ago.