“Loverboy” Vinnie Lane stands before his bathroom mirror with a towel reading ‘HERS’ in big pink letters across his ass. Other than the towel and his ubiquitous pink bandanna, the only other thing on his body are the two massive gold belts he now has in his possession as the UNDISPUTED Universal Champion of the XWF, CCWF, IWGP, and generally the wrestling world in its entirety.
“Babe, does it look better to have the XWF belt on my left and the CCWF on my right? Or, like, the other way around?”
Loverboy asks with his head turned back towards his master bedroom, where seductive minx, Roxy Cotton, lies stretched out across the bed in her purple negligee, reading a Cosmo magazine and sipping from a cocktail.
“Whatever you like best, Vinnie.”
“Okay, but what about if I wear one on my waist? You know? Which one looks best then? I think the XWF belt matches my facial skin tone a little better, so it’s kinda good on a shoulder.”
“Whatever you say, babe.”
“But then, like, when my hair’s down the gold kinda blends in too much, it might not show up good in all those promotional pics I’m gonna have to do. Maybe the CCWF one on the shoulder, and the XWF one around my waist?”
Loverboy shifts the belts around as he speaks, getting them into position and turning slightly to see them in profile.
“Ugh, man I dunno. This CCWF belt is really lumpy with all the raised letters and stuff. It might catch on my earring or my bangs. It catches the light real awesome though!”
“Vinnie, I’m trying to read.”
“Oh yeah? Whatcha readin’ baby?”
“10 Dirty Sex Tips to Please Your Man.”
“For real? They just… put that shit right in there? In magazines that are, like, next to bubble gum in supermarket aisles?”
“Yeah, all the time. The last issue was all about how to keep a tight vagina when you’re with a big-sized man.”
“Well damn, baby, you should have been able to write that one for them!”
“Yeah. Sure Vinnie.”
Just then, the doorbell rings. Loverboy and Roxy look at each other quizzically, neither of them making a move towards the door.
“Did… you order pizza or something, babe?”
“Ew, pizza? No way Vinnie, you know I’m vegan right now. I can’t touch dairy until I lose another three pounds.”
“Well, I didn’t order a pizza either. Wait… toss me my cell?”
Roxy grabs the phone from the nightstand and flings it over to Loverboy, who one hands that bad boy like Odell Beckham. Loverboy smirks and sort of showboats about it, but Roxy is already back to her magazine.
“Wow… number one is TWO fingers in the asshole. Did you know that Amber Rose used to milk Kanye that way?”
“Gross. Nothing’s ever gone into my exhaust baby girl… that’s a one way road for when I take steaming Gillys after Chipotle.”
Loverboy checks his phone and then slaps his forehead before turning back to Roxy, who is practicing a scooping motion with her right index and middle fingers.
“I forgot all about Bourbon, Rox! We have a match together this week and he wanted to stop by and get some tips from his new mentor. Damn, I can’t believe I forgot… just stay in here I’ll go tell him to come back in the morning.”
“Whatever.”
Loverboy moves towards Roxy for a kiss, thinking she is making a ‘come over here’ motion, but it’s just more finger scooping while she stares intently at the glossy pages of her magazine.
With a shrug, Loverboy heads out into the living room just as the doorbell goes off again. He double checks the tuck of his towel, not wanting to shame Robbie by having his manscaped member intimidate him like Ice Cube seeing the snake in Anaconda for the first time. Satisfied, he opens the door up wide and smiles big, opening his arms for a big man hug.
“Robbie! What’s… up… man?”
Loverboy looks perplexed as hell. No one’s outside the door, although there is clearly a Prius JUST like the one Loverboy had seen in the driveway of Chez Bourbon last week. Loverboy stares confusedly out into the night until something starts to tug on his towel.
“Hey, champ. Down here!”
Loverboy looks down. Standing in his doorway with a few boxes of takeout Chinese, is an exact scale model of Robbie Bourbon – about one tenth the size.
“You want pork or chicken?”
“What… who… Robbie? Did… did you piss off a gypsy?”
“No. I’m not Robbie, Vinnie. I’m his Mini. He sent me to do the jam session because he was busy with… something. Probably something important.”
“I’m so confused.”
“Pork or chicken?”
“What?”
“Do you want fucking pork or chicken? I got us some to-go. I’m on a diet but it’s my cheat day, and I had a hard-on for some Crab Rangoon.”
“You brought Rangoon?”
“No, man, I ate that shit. This is just the fried rice. So pork or chicken?”
“Pork? I guess?”
“Here, have the chicken.”
Mini Bourbon waddles into the luxury Malibu apartment, his little feet completely invisible in the shag carpeting. He tosses a white cardboard box of rice to Loverboy, who barely catches it, and then heads for a barstool over by the kitchen’s breakfast nook. He grunts and strains, but can’t quite get up onto the stool.
“Little help?”
“Oh! Right, dude, my bad… manners.”
Loverboy rushes over, sets his rice on the nook, and lifts the tiny Robbie up underneath his armpits and rests him on the stool.
“Alright Loverboy… let’s get down to brass tacks. Robbie wants to know what you bring to the table, see. He only wants the best for his big match on Shove It. Can’t be having the Dope Show look like tools out there in the main event, see. You got any strawberry milk?”
“What? No.”
“Shame. I guess I’ll have a beer.”
“Dude… wait a second. You just stumble in here and question what I can do for Robbie Bourbon? Are you serious? You come into my home and start insulting me like that when I don’t know sweet fuck-all about you?”
“I brought Chinese.”
“Oh fuck the Chinese!”
“That’s what Trump says!”
“Okay dude. Get out.”
“But.”
“OUT.”
“Hey… look. I may have been a little… terse. That’s on me. I take responsibility for that, okay? My bad. My. Bad. But you are being an AWFUL host. Can I get that beer or what?”
Loverboy’s face turns fifty shades of pissed, but he storms into the kitchen and pulls a sixer of Bud Light Platinum out of the fridge. He shoves I over the nook and leans out through the serving window.
“Anything else, your highness?”
“I mean, if you were at my place, I’d have opened it for you, but whatever.”
Mini Burbs pops the top on one of the cans, chugging it down in one gulp. A rancid belch later and the midget is opening a second.
“You have to drive, remember. The Prius is still idling out there.”
“Well, maybe if someone had better brew, I wouldn’t have to pound them past my taste buds. Who drinks this shit? Where’s the Miller High Life?”
“Roxy likes Platinum. Low carbs or some shit. Miller though? Really?”
“It’s the champagne of beers, Vinnie.”
“Whatever. Man, it’s getting late, I don’t want to sit here talking to a drunk dwarf all fucking night, okay? What do you want? I was supposed to give Robbie some pointers and tighten up his game, and…”
The diminutive luchador spews a shower of cheap beer out of his mouth with an exaggerated sound similar to a midget spitting beer out of his mouth. The golden liquid runs down the wall and begins pooling darkly into the carpet.
“What the fuck, dude!”
“Exactly my thoughts! YOU teach BOURBON a thing or two? Are you INSANE? Robbie Bourbon. The hero of the masses, Robbie Bourbon. The defender of the people, Robbie Bourbon. The leader of the Dope Show along with LeStrange, Robbie Bourbon. What do YOU have that Robbie Bourbon doesn’t? How have YOU proven yourself capable of mentoring the greatest professional wrestler since ever? Robbie Bourbon has more testosterone settling into a pool in the lowest coil of his vas deferens than you have in your entire Victoria’s Secret Angel body. Pshaw. You giving Bourbon pointers.”
The midge crumples up the second can and tosses it into Loverboy’s small foyer, where it clatters against the tile. A third can hisses open and Mini Bourbon cocks his head back to drink, covering his tiny blue mask in beer foam.
“Hey, dipshit… I’m the reigning undisputed Universal Champion. I’M on the top of this mountain, kiddo. Whatever Bourbon’s god complex tells him about himself, I don’t give a shit. The facts are the facts, and the facts here are that I’M the megastar of the team. And don’t even get me started on that LeStrange fucker. We’d be better off if he defected to the other team. Or if he’d died in 1988 of LeSIDS.”
“Loverboy, LeStrange is a former X-Treme Champion. You’re going to need all the help you can get to win against Fernzegotti and Game Girl… plus whomever their mystery opponent is.”
“It’s Duke. No worries there, it’s got to be Duke. Madison only knows, like, six people. There are only so many names he can pull out of his ass. Literally out of his ass. And nothing has been in his ass more than Sebastian Duke, so, that’s a confirmation as far as I’m concerned. And Game Girl hasn’t been around in forever.”
“She’s already uploaded a pretty scathing promo against Robbie. And you, to a much lesser extent.”
“What, for real? Hold on.”
Loverboy swipes at his phone screen for a few moments, landing on the XWF homepage and pulling up the most recent vlogs. His expression shrinks into a confused furrow as he repeatedly tries to press play on the Game Girl promo.
“This shit isn’t compatible, dude. Why do they keep letting him/her do everything in 8-bit bullshit? This sucks. I want to listen to a bunch of PG-13 middle school quality insults while watching a pair of pixelated A-cups get ignored by men everywhere.”
“Here Vin, try using my Atari Lynx. Just… here, just blow into the cartridge first. Wave it around a little.”
Loverboy blows into the tiny cartridge and plugs it back into the Lynx. Improbably, the screen lights up and shows the Game Girl promo in its entirety, followed by a credits scene where Game Boy’s ‘princess’ turns out to be a dude to the surprise of absolutely no one.
“Well, that was underwhelming. I mean, she’s still a cartoon, and she’s still stuck in an alternate dimension or some shit. Why would I worry? She probably won’t even get to the ring.”
“Well, Robbie says…”
“I don’t CARE what Robbie says! I’M the captain of this bullshit team and I’M the guy who makes the game plan! Robbie can go ahead and win the X Title, that’s cool, I don’t need it, but I’m still THE MAN. Why is Game Girl focusing on him so much anyway? I’m like the only guy to beat one of those 8-bit twats! Well, me and Isles, but Isles lost to Ghost Tank so he’s disqualified from being cool.”
“Finally we agree.”
“Still better than LeStrange though.”
“Yup.”
Fistbump.
“Alright dude… here, hold these for a sec, I gotta piss.”
He hands the two belts over to the dwarf to hold, which pulls Mini Robbie out of the stool and onto the floor under the weight. As Loverboy heads to the loo, Mini Bourbon struggles to breathe underneath the gold, but can’t get free from the mass of championship metal.
By the time Loverboy comes back from the toilet, the midget is motionless and cyanotic.
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