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09-15-2017, 11:26 PM
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yesterday, 08:32 PM
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Black and white.

Chris Chaos.

You're still alive?


How long do Panda's last?! I mean live. Sorry about the 'last', it JUST seems to fit with you. Like O.J.'s gloves. Dried up. Bloody. Guilty. Now, you're going to be stuck in a cage again- with an erratic enigma. James Raven may like getting attacked by you, but I sure as fuck don't. No one is leaving that cage in good condition. I'm gonna rub your snout, whiskers, and ugly face into that unforgiving chain-link.

Friends and foes a side,

Your fury bitching was a lot cuter when you were Champion.

Leaving the past seemed hard on you,

Maybe you should leave the present too.


Is the angry side peaking yet?

I was just calling it down the middle.

Nothing special.

Listen, save us all a lot of time,

Can the Angrier Panda come out to play?

Perhaps good ole blood lies will hold him back.

Hey, do you have any revelations for me?

Like... whatever happened to your Universal Champi...




OR, say...

What's going to happen to you in this match?




Dancing in parks for money in a Panda costume? Who's anal beads did you borrow to agree to be booked in another match with me? Is this what you've become? A hallowed out shell of barely noticeable Iconoclast flakes? Well, you never were the smart one. Alright, alright- let's give credit where it's due. Just when it seemed like nothing else could more pathetically unfold for Chris Chaos...

He pulls out the bitchiest bitchy bitch thing of all bitches: oh, not the park dancing; but what we will ever so delicately refer to as 'officiating' my match with Kris Cruze. Exposed and stripped of what he loved... by a Radical... Chaos chose to do what he always does- BITCH OUT. AREN'T WE ALL... NOT FUCKING SHOCKED- EVEN A LITTLE BIT!? A Chaos natural tendency nearly as absolute as which fucking direction the sun will set in. To work out a plan for revenge behind the scenes. Behind the back. Magic did it better. Some call that creative. I call it being a CHAOTIC SORE LOSING BITCH. BEING A COWARD. A GUTLESS ANGIER PANDA!

Why so serious, Chris?! Is it my fault that you've been tuning up the same band in every match for six months? What do you call it... "storm chasing"..?

Sleepwalking through your problems isn't going to make them any less BITCHY. You dress up as a Panda because it's black and white, all the things your stale grayness could never dim or shade to- all the way. The Panda way.

Then, when no one is looking... you think it's clever to interfere. And even then, we all start thinking we overestimated you- in assuming you'd be above doing that lame shit in the first place. Oh, how the petty lame ass excuse rock rolls so organically downhill into your conveniently already open mouth. Hit and run. Run and gun. Pun after pun. Not one time! Have you even come close to any cognitive excuse for a match where Gabe Reno loses at your hands... at least not on purpose. Your actions are reckless. Your reasons weak. Now daddy has come home to serve up a wee little Panda beat.

Oh, yeah- right!

While you may never finish brushing; I will finish this masterpiece with a number 0. Flat. Because that is the only brush Chris Chaos compares to. A little canvas, a pallet to mix in the 15 seconds of shame, and voilà- Instant Chaos! Kind of like Instant Coffee, you seem good at first but now my stomach hurts.

What, you don't get someone painting a verbal picture? Let's try literal.

Yet, artistically brushed... but... backwards?

Oh my God, I'm sorry. This always happens when we need him the most. I think it's a nervous twitch. CHRIS, GOD DAMNIT! STOP HIDING FROM ANYTHING DIFFICULT AND GET OUT FROM BEHIND WHATEVER... THAT... IS. Ugh- okay, soooo what you cower in big moments? A lot of greats d- (chuckle). You're the best of the best (shrieking laughter). Ah, this is all wrong. Even if I gave you an ego boost that could penetrate that Neutrogena rich skin you'd just figure out how to liquidize it, boil it, shoot it up, flip it, and reverse it. A regular Mysty Elliott.

Some things can't be reversed. And the more you try, the faster they happen. History repeats, Chris. A dagger through space and time nailing you, right in the vag. You may get off, but I've never been one for foreplay. You may not have that belt now... or ya know, ever again... but you've already done this reading- when Radical Gabe Reno bites, he leaves black or white fur equally ripped and bleeding.


Meanwhile, in Florida,

Fans line up outside an empty strip mall. Gabe Reno sits in a tour bus. He doesn't seem to mind that they're waiting. Feet kicked up on the back counter looking out through the rear windshield at the empty lot spaces below. Just beyond the bus, against a building fans are riled up cursing and shouting. A large overhead cardboard sign has some sharpie that looks to be "G B E E N O". Down the fan line the camera does a scroll of Panda merch. Two fan "pansies" are yanking each side of a stuffed Panda bear while they rub rashes in public. Scroll. A native man in white and black war paint. Scroll. Twin girls dressed as Jenny My... oh! No, those girls are dressed as Chris Chaos. So hard to tell the difference. Back in the bus, Gabe checks his watch, and keeps reading a book. He licks his thumb, and turns a page, just as his watch alarm sounds.

"Damnit- this book is really giving me unique insight into my Chaos match... uhmmm, well, my next Chaos match..."

He hits snooze and keeps eyes trickling down the page in a race to beat the timer. It goes off again, he stands up, starting a stretch routine. The Waking Cow. Illegal Llama. The Both Hands Behind Your Back, NOW. Whatever stretches got him in the mood for... chaos. The shot shows the cursing fans outside and the nonchalant stretching as seen from XWF beer helmet fan cam. The Stretchy Sit Up. The Snorkel Down Orkel. The Furkel McMurkal. He finally makes his way to the front of the bus after awkward falling sounds, then reassuring "I'm okay"'s. Gabe hair flips up hitting the top of the doorframe with his dome. The fans outside pause after a giant "FUUUCCCKKKKKKKKKKK!"- a few seconds pass, they all start to talk again. With a staunch look he rubs his head and exits the bus.

"I should have fucking cancelled. Ugh- no, these are my peop... well, their Chris Chaos' people... but I should get to know them. Only way to understand the mind of a bear is to become one. Gentle madness. Since I don't have sharp claws or sadness, I'll have to relate to him using grass roots tactics. The Fag Conqueror method; the Essence of Statham; Edge of Imposter... so many to choose from. WAIT! I've got it! I will just go out and get cheered because I'm me, and at the end he will still be a fucking loser, because he is! Wowie woo wow- I was way overthinking it!"

Reno tucks the book in his back pocket, just before revealing a peak at the cover words, Mother's With Two Cunt's, And When You're One of Them. He walks over to the fans who start circling the line closer to his taped off location. The event worker taps the live microphone, a screech deafens the haters, for now. Gabe takes the mic. The trademark smirk. They start chanting "WARFAREEE - WARFAREE - WARFARE"- humid Florida heat soaking up the last of their energy. He revels at the turnout, looking at the line of Panda-ing.

"Well it is damn good to see... some of you. Others look to have... developed some new... malignant... growths? Holy hell!"

He points at a chaotic mole on a woman's face. The crowd also pauses, then picks up with "BEAT CH-RIS CHA-OS!". Reno grins a little, then holds the mic back to his lips, eyebrow's raised. He looks out at a woman wearing a hoodie riding on someone else's shoulders in the bare parking lot. Her tits are where the Panda eyes should be in the hoodie configuration. Gabe sensing things getting out of hand...

"YA KNOW, When I revealed our dear friend as his alter ego, I never thought there would be so much overwhelming, lucrative, often even nude and willing support. And as cool as that obsessive thing in you people is, the fact remains, his shits are three times the size of ours. Yes, science. No one takes bigger, more massive, stinky, and suicide causing mounds. This is why he got away with it for so long! He gets a pile going, and says "hey guys here's some shit". We look at him like, "that's the biggest shit we have ever seen, it's not normal"- and he doesn't get it, because he is already covered IN SHITTTTT! IT IS THE ESSENCE OF PANDA! SHIT IS... DARK, HE IS WHITE... BOOM, PANDA BEAR! Smeared in feces. Can you really trust someone who rolls around in excrement? That's just filthy. All caked into his back unbeknownst to him. Yuck. Speaking of the dizzy giant... so ya'll heard about that little... re-match, re-dance, re-BEAT... HIS... ASS!? BECAUSE I'M TAKING CHAOS BACK TO CLASS BABY! RE-MATCH, RIGHT!?"

They go ape-shit, he takes the second to grab a water from the staffer. Taking a long swig, he gargles it then walks around doing his signature Chris Chaos impression. Walking nipple first like a crusty barmaid who hasn't been tipped. They eat it up. He eventually smiles and winks a few times, then coddles the crowd with his charm to take advantage of their deep hopes of coitus.

"RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU'VE SEEN A PANDA PUT A GUN IN ITS MOUTH! NO!? WELL, YOU'RE ABOUT TO! I HAVE heard in the months since my emergence, then submergence in XWF that the man in the Panda just hasn't been the same. Riddled with whatever Panda's get when they don't check the quality of the turf before they walk out onto the field. Yes, I am saying Chaos has an STD. People... almost adored his waddle and awkward sensibilities when he was enjoying success. Cutie pie. He looked like the chick from that Whitesnake video. XWF fans roared to the kiosks to buy up all the little Panda key chains. Locker room used towels. Strains of hair he had pulled off other performers during matches. Yeah, it's super creepy. At least Chaos knows how to make a profit. Kids would go crazzyyyy! Nearly maul each other. Little Panda cubs. Waiting for their balls not to drop. They would look and cheer- they liked Chris, but they'd rather have a dog. ANY kind of dog, really. Maybe even a cat, or a nice mouse with a sophisticated name like 'Oliver'. If you aren't pretty anymore, no one wants you. His talent was always a B in the ring. Hell, he nearly hurt a few guys once, luckily he got distracted and walked away. Fans identified more with his brazen attitude, his good looks, his blow up doll, the way he picked up their checks... to show off while they whispered how much of a douche he was when he left to the bathroom for regular "volume control sessions"; just before he air mimicked how to turn the volume control knobs. The knob is you, douche. What a fucking mess. Who could blame him? I did warn him that if he ran his mouth I would throw him off a Cruise ship. Now he downplays it to Cruise vessel... fucking Chaos. I did tell him that not taking Main and Crowe seriously was a mistake. Maybe the real mistake was teaming with him in the first place... fucking Chaos. I did say "CHRIS stop running your mouth"- because he had an opponent who would SLIT HIS FUCKING THROAT to take the Universal belt despite being his partner... fucking Chaos. Again and again, the theme is stuck on tape repeat. People... eventually tired of the flash in the pan, turning toward more substance with their XWF television time... like James Raven, or anyone else still breathing. See, fans just wanted something you've never had in your entire life. Real genuine substance. Not 'A SUBSTANCE', that's different you buffoon. People... were never quite sure if showing their kids a Chaos match over these brutal months since he split his hips was illegal. Because, they were that bad. People... would ask me about you when I was gone. "RENO, have you heard from Chaos?" I wanted to smack their petty little faces. Yet there I was among all of this vaguely familiar... chaos. Something was a miss though. It didn't feel... masculine. Okay, that was a normal thing... it must've been something else. Whispering deep in the canal of my ears; "Gabe, Chaos deserves another cold swim back to shore"... or, "Pssstt! GABE, you left the stove on!"... even, "Gabriel, take a shower or you'll get ringwor..." OKAY! Maybe that didn't happen. What did, was that I had begun my own journey back to the Warfare ring. Chaos may have been flaming out into tightly wound packaged meat for the Raven's of the world to chew up and spit feed to their young. But I wasn't. In fact, meanwhile XWF and I had bit the bullet, I poked my head up- meeting with the staff in the office... working out an XWF 'come back'!"

All but a large red bearded man cheer.

"A 'never should have fucking left' we should've called it! Back, and as expected... I get booked; against some new pretty boy named Cruze. I'd never heard the name. Easy money, right? I mean fuck. Ya know, before I saw Chris Chaos I didn't think that God made mistakes. Sure enough, his name was in my match... as 'Special Referee'. I knew then, it would be very special. See, Chaos is that guy who keeps positioning himself on his tip toes while trying not to get queer on everyone else to get the ideal view of a real fight. Because he's never been ready when one really arrives. Open the mail, sweetie. 'It's Gabe, and he doesn't miss you... the fight is here'. Well, that, AND his face is a substitute for porn to my hands, when I see it my middle finger goes up automatically. CHAOS, wherever you may currently be fagging- I'm calling you a bitch. No, I'm calling you out. Okay..."

A few fans have trailed back to the pack as a knock-off food truck has parked in the lot... it has... Panda like paint. White, black, and hateful. Reno recoils and reaffirms toward the truck.

"I'm calling you a bitch AND I'm calling you out! See what I did there? It's a lot like what you do to every hapless nobody who walks by. Use their awe of your one-time draw to lure them over... then- POW! It's called fuck off, and it's located over there. You are a confident cunt. Certainly no one could ever argue that as a weakness. Though, even then, it's like this cloud... and just as similar, I feel a lot better when you go away. DO you really think that if you don't stop talking, you'll get more intelligent? It's a bold strategy. Talking doesn't win you anything, though, Chris. We know you're lying, we can see your lips move. Fans never cease to stop me and ask, "is he really this stupid?" and I have to be the bearer of bad news and explain that it's not for a special occasion. Being a failed result in an abortion doesn't make you a success. Saying it two hundred times doesn't either. Ask what's left of Micheal Graves. Uh oh, I hope Cadryn didn't take that morning after pill... oh, well. The topic of Panda is rich with texture. NO BUS, NO FANCY CARS, NO JENN-AY... it will be de hombre a hombre... mano e' mano... one more time. I just hope when I drop you this time, I don't get fined for littering."

The truck starts to shake and play loud "PANDA" music by Eminem. Gabe's coy face wears off, as he heads over and high fives the fans. He listens to the beat, dances with a loose female fans before security nabs her; then gets serious, and up close and personal with the camera.

"When your shrink says that you're a joke, do you ask for a second opinion, Chris? Oh, sorry did I insult other people who are jokes by comparison? There's a solution here. I know! Why don't you go slip into something... a little more... comfortable? Like a coma. I've warned you before about getting involved in my business. Didn't I BITCH!? I guess there is no vaccine for being a moron. You know, here with all these low-life's and commotion, it makes me appreciate the solitude of... the zoo. Chirping of the blue birds, swinging of the vines, and a Panda no one will talk to, sitting on a rock, crying. You think I have no life, but it must be better than your no life... you seem so interested in mine that I'll have some mercy and give you a taste. It's a lot like cocaine, but it still won't save you from being a waste. Last time I was in an XWF arena and took a shit, it was epic, so big I nearly boiled it. Don't you remember, you were there, a 6'5" follower looking at me from the bottom of the toilet."

Attendee's laugh. Clearly not knowing what 'low-life' means. "RAD-I-CAL" waves starts coming from the back of the mass. He tries to quiet the RenoVerse with charismatic joy and a taco special on the back of the PANDA food truck.

"I know, you, involved in my shit... what a huge coincidence- oh, fuck off. Chris keeps trying to disguise his tragic wrestling flaws by going on talk shows and appearing on the daytime Emmy's. By having people zip up the back for what he says is a 'Chinese Panda support group meeting'. Filling the hole where everyone else has heart is a tireless feat. Keep trying insignificant television shows. And wrestling like you just got your period. That should do the trick- you smug panty-waste. I'm going to rip off my own ears if I have to listen to one more "Chris Chaos Edition" of the Weakest Link. He sits there openly cheating and it's just... fantastic. GOD, THERE I SAID IT! I admire you so much, and your hair, and your Myst... if only I could be like Chris Chaos. But then, I'd have to care what happens to him. But this will be the type of beat down that puts all questions to rest, no rivalry to be had anymore. The punitive damage of the marriage that was Iconoclast. I will blast off, while the Panda... ya know, lives in a zoo... or menstruates on something."

Gabe smirks and drops the mic.


Retched illness...

defines a beaten man-

sickly colors, inside a skin of glam.

Wrecked from battles...

he could have never won-

all the beatings, concuss instincts to run.

A drunk hobo in a Panda costume falls over by a concrete trash can. Typical Panda. Still in Florida, the line of fans has left out of boredom, or the truck ran out of Panda themed food. At least the cerebral celery was a hit. Gabe, back in the bus after his remarks, pays the food truck guy then heads down the RV stairs to close up shop. He see's the drunk having a hard time. You can hear it regurgitating the Fiesta Clearwater Taco Combo, #3. An inner thought becomes dialogue. 'Weird, that was always Chris' favorite, too'. Reno shakes off the coincidence and extends a helping hand. With money in it... to another bum to go help it up. The second bum tries to help the Panda over to the trash can. It waves off the assistance. Pointing toward the trees.

"Maybe... it just wants to go home. Far from this... chaotic rally. Who could blame it? A bead of branches to lay on. Panda pun tang he can sniff out and bang among the tree's. Maybe... that's all this was ever about..."

Like all mammals separated from their families for a long pep rally about a cage match, it longed for the embrace of familiarity. It wanted to go back to the days when it was still proving itself and things were looking up. Not in a vicious reflection of what was left in a strip mall packing lot from the sun deflecting off the puddle of its own piss. It smelled like death. More like death had been there and left because of the smell. There was nothing to hang your ears on here. No proud sunny days of what can happen if you put in the work. Just sticky, disgusting, Panda. An Angrier Panda. Reno stands in the background with his hands on his hips. His level of disgust at 'totally fucking done'. He walks over to the second bum and backhands him for failing. Reno grabs the Panda's unshaved chin and turns it this way. Snout to nose. Eye to button...

"Listen to me you sniveling wimp! Is it really... you?! No one else would eat that garbage on such a humid day. No wonder you're a pissant. Pull it together would you? Come on, we both know what you waaaannnnnt! AND I GOT SOMMMMEE! JUST FOR YOU! THAT'S RIGHHHTT! PAPA RENO TAKE CARE OF PANDA, OOooOOoo YES HE DOES!"

Panda bashfully looks away playing coy. Gabe smiles and helps the Panda to its hind feet. Gabe jogs over to the bus for a moment. Entering for mere seconds, then coming back out with a tiny club made of bamboo. He walks back over, as Panda's eyes are instantly fixated. It looks up as Gabe. Soundly purring at the gesture.

"You ready, little buddy?"

It reaches its funny friendly fury paw up to take the bamboo. A zoom on it's graceful eyes, and light trusting expression. Finally, open with a willing companion. Friend of the forest. Jolly of the jungle. It's heart beats a little louder. It's teeth appear a little sharper. All of the Panda's notions coming to a head as the rush of emotions causes one single droplet to run down it's linty cheek. A zoom on Gabe's eyes. Black white bright whites? Little red veiny things? A humming display of... the Halloween theme? But isn't that for when you're stalking your prey? Sinister... and full of... malice? NO! Reno is clubbing the Panda with the Bamboo club! Out of nowhere the build up has just exploded all over Panda's unsuspecting gentle face! The Radical is taking swings like the bitch owes him money. Maybe like he knows the bitch!? A tuck and pluck here, a whhooo haaa there; here a club, there a club, everywhere PANNDA BLOOOOOD!

"Do you enjoy being a punk ass bitch? The guy that sneaks in when what he calls 'opportunity' knocks- aka when someone is vulnerable, meanwhile failing to do what the tactic was even for? Have you won a meaningful match since... my God, since WHEN!? I don't know. I don't care. Chewing your way out of the Chaos Corner I put you in doesn't seem to be working. It's time for Panda blood..."

Brutal swings level the teetering strength of the beast, already taken to its knees, raising a paw in desperate hope for peace. It falls into a pool of red, just as some PETA females walking nearby catch a scent. They get a little closer as the aloof wild Radical gets out of dodge. He knows Venus Fly Trap's when he see's them. He tries to hide next to the bus, then realizes a giant mural of him on the side makes him look mighty conspicuous. One final shot at the Panda slices the puffy tail off of the suit. It grasps for the white fluffy material that was once its own. PETA closes in.

"Hey, your stuffing is showing- There is no mercy for caged animals. At the end of this. It will be just like back at home. Still with a tissue in one hand and Panda splatter in the other."

A 'homerun' shot sends the costume head flying over the bus. PETA heffer's soon run down quacking. Left to see a man beaten to a pulp in three quarters of a Panda costume. They cover their mouths. One of them comes up to touch its cheek. Then recognizes a bloody clothing label on the inner lining of the costume. "Made in Indonesia; some real fur used". Realizing his predicament actually could get worse, and just had, the man moans, reaching out his bloody half-hand half-paw toward the bus. The engine starts, blowing a rift of black smog directly into his face. A coughing fit is disguised only by the herd of she-demons gathering like rabid wolves starved for flesh. Panda flesh.

"You ready, little buddy?"

The man moves a little gasping for help as sirens whale toward the location from a few miles away. Reno runs up the stairs as the bus starts to exit the lot, the shot from inside shows him walking back with the bus is simultaneously turning away, the scene still visible but shrinking through the window. He squints at the headless Panda surrounded by ruthless roosters ready to feast. PETA members pounce on him. A zoom in on Gabe's face as he watches what happens next, which could only be described... as... expandable.

Are you thinking about- what you should do?

Wrestling was never the career choice you wanted, right?

What were the other options? I bet I can guess THEM!

To donate your luscious locks to a horses ass. To read something not about you. To feed an opponent by nipple. To extract your own balls symmetrically(too late?). To pee in or right on Jenny's hair. To hum Hakuna Matata, every verse, in front of a real warthog. To yell 'Andale'... then stay where you are like usual. To use yelp to find someone who still cares. To marry a hyena so that you can get a sympathy laugh. To sing show-toon's while whistling at passing sailors in costume, again. To die in a fire, that's it. To get picked last for kickball later. To polish your cuticles at home like all the other females. To still be the Ex-Lax of XWF; there's never enough, and then way, way, wayyy too much. To relinquish your hono... never mind. To push a cheetah to frustration with a fly rod.

To call the Pope and ask to be investigated.

To ride off into the sunset.

So ride off.

You don't need to accept.

Just go.

Into the darkest Panda night.

And stay there.

W E D N E S D A Y N I G H T W A R F A R E v. C H R I S C H A O S | # 0 1 | ' R A D I C A L ' R E N O | X W F # 0 5 7
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