Ya know, there is only so long you can do this shit before it starts to take on an air of redundancy...

The Engineer is sitting back in a wooden chair, front two legs lifted just slightly off the ground. Before him is a bottle of pills with the label torn off. His eyes are half lidded, and indeed...he does seem...erm....medicated.

We've cut a combined total of what....25 promo's....30's promo's? And after a while, all the shit sounds the same. Cheap shots. Endless hours of dialogue. It's the fuckin' HOLIDAYS people, what the fuck are we doin'?! Go wrap some presents or drink some eggnog or what the fuck ever. I just met my son, so yeah, I'm finally in my life going to have the same kind of Christmas everybody else gets: one full of simmering resentment.

I don't want to cut anymore promos. But I have to. Because according to Jim Caedus it wins matches. Like, directly. I feel my muscles grow bigger with each word. Maybe if I cut just one more it'll increase the size of a certain other part of my anatomy. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's big enough already. But maybe I can go for carnival freakshow size. Jim's dick must be HUGE.

I see you guys have noticed that the Motherfuckers haven't done much “joint” promo work. Which apparently means we are not a cohesive unit. Right.

Engy puffs his cheeks out in exasperation. He then pushes them back in with his hands, making a bronx cheer sound.

I guess that would make sense if.....oh shit, what's this? A CELL PHONE?!

Engy does pull out his cell phone.

WHAT DOES THIS DO?!

Engy makes a show of pressing a button on the phone. He puts the phone on speaker. It rings a few times, and finally Bearded War Pig answers.

What's up brother?

Hey Pig, I just realized something. We have not done enough joint promo's and Apex is gonna roll us because of it.

Are you takin' the piss?

No, I am serious.

Brother, you me and Robbie have talked strategy on the phone I can't even tell you how many goddamn times. In fact, it's gotten pretty inconvenient. I am, at this very moment, sitting on a public shitter as I finish my Christmas shopping.

Oh, what are you buying?

Guns. For everyone.

Stupid question I suppose. Hey man, pinch off a good one. Sorry for bothering you.

It's all good. Depending on how fiber rich my diet has been today, I'm gonna try to name each turd after a member of Apex. I might even push out a Raven if I'm lucky. Later, brother.

Later.

Engy turns the phone off and holds it up, gesturing at it.

And there you have it. Because while you guys have been spending endless hours pretending your the writing cast and crew of Saturday Night Live, spending every waking moment with each other, Robbie Bourbon, The Engineer, and Bearded War Pig have been confidently living our lives. Training. Protecting the innocent in Robbie's case. And just generally being US. Not some try hard sketch comedy show. US. Living our lives and not some filmed facsimile of our lives. “Hey Bobby's dad, can you hold the cell phone for me while I cut a promo and fight off this grizzly bear that's about to conveniently appear?” “Sure you strapping young man, there is NOTHING contrived about this at all.”

You know what you guys really remind me of though? A new couple. It's adorable really. Everything is just so fresh and you have to be with each other all the time because you're just SO IN LOVE. But in reality its just the initial thrush of endorphins, a chemical falsity that will wear off in time. It's saccharine. And nauseating. The couple that cares so much about what the Joneses think that they slather on these fake smiles and hold hands all the time and pepper each other with compliments to shout it to the roof tops that you are just so into each other.

It just hit me. You boys are the Tom Cruise Oprah Winfrey couch jump of pro wrestling teams.



“I AM SO IN LOVE MORE IN LOVE THAN ANYONE ELSE EVER AND THIS IS TOTALLY NOT AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE BY A FREAKY SPACE CULT AND I AM NOT GAY!”

That's what you guys remind me of.

So then what does that make The Motherfuckers?

Engy drops the two front legs of the chair down and almost loses his balance. He throws his hands out to right himself, and once equilibrium has been attained he continues.

We are the crotchety old married couple. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Been married since the goddamn gilded age. The sex isn't as frequent, that sucks. The conversation ain't all that often either. He goes to play poker with the boys every chance he gets. She goes bowling with the girls or watches QVC all on her lonesome. And on the surface, it APPEARS broken....even dysfunctional. But look deeper.

The conversation, the constant hand holding, the endless proclamations of love...none of it is there because it doesn't need to be. These are two human beings who know each other inside and out. A look. A wince. They're beyond verbalizing their needs, they just KNOW. Him in the barcalounger reading the paper. Her on the other side of the living room knitting. The love is there. It's not all hot and bothered love, but it's there. And it runs deep. They don't need to be with each other 24/7, hopping on couches or scripting complex scenes to force a laugh and the image of camaraderie. They know the other isn't going anywhere. Nobody else will take them. Kidding. No, it's because that level of comfort and trust is there. And it's unshakeable. And it's not accountable to the world or anyone else. It just is. Separation is ok because at the end of the day they end up at the same place. Him with the paper. Her with the knitting. No talking. Just being.

Ya feel me?

These pills are makin' me maudlin. Fuckers.

Engy swats the pills off the table with the back of his hand.

But for real guys. It's been a hell of a ride. And it ain't over. You think War Games is the finale? You should know me better than that. We're gonna be doin' this dance a good long time if I got anything to say about it. And I do. Because it turns out I'm kind of a big deal around here after all.

So you may be asking yourselves, “Engy, where the fuck is this last minute bit of senseless whargarble going?” Well my friends, it's going somewhere nobody asked for.

Because I took out a loan.

And I got us.....

JIM CAEDUS' HOUSE OF DRUGS PART DEUX

The shot opens up on the same scraggly haired vagrant who played Jim Caedus in the first House of Drugs sketch. Except this time there is no run down drug shop to be found. No, because this time Jim is seated in a moldering double wide mobile home, and he is surrounded by computer screens. He pulls closed the sweat stained bath robe he's wearing and chugs from a 2 liter of Mountain Dew. He drops the drained bottle to the floor, where it joins a gathering pile of other soda bottles.

EXCEPT THIS AIN'T A HOUSE OF DRUGS NO MORE! No sirree, I got myself cleaned up and now I'm just addicted to the internet.

Whoops, our bad.

JIM CAEDUS' HOUSE OF INTERNET.

I stay up all day and all night to watch for my opponent's posting on message board's so I got material on them for my promo's. And you know what I found....LYING HACKERY EVERYWHERE!

He stabs a finger back at one of the screens.

LOOK AT THIS SHIT!

He beckons you over to look at the screen. In front of him on the screen is, the local weather. He looks back at us, wild eyed and insane.

The XWF message board and look here....look here goddammit! Engy's posting!

Jim clicks a link that brings him to another screen, a local news story about volunteers bringing puppies to visit seniors at Christmas time.

Oh that FUCKER! Do you see this shit?! Engy used the word “FRIENDO”! COPYWRIGHT VIOLATOR! FLIM FLAMMER! BETTE DAVIS!

He starts clicking around the screen, and pulls down his list of bookmarked sites. He scrolls down the list until he finds “PornHub” and opens that. A graphic sex act explodes onto the screen.

Bearded War Pig is cutting this promo but I KNOW THE TRUTH! THIS IS NOT HOW SEX WORKS!

He lurches forward, eyeball to screen as a big black dick pushes in and out of a woman's asshole.

It's in complete defiance of all physical and natural law! FAKERY! DECEPTION! BOB ODENKIRK!

Jim frantically reaches for a drawer and pulls out a can of that pressurized keyboard cleaner. He sticks the hose up his nostril and presses down on the button, shooting a jet of the chemical compound directly up his sinuses. He sticks a finger up to one nostril and blows, blowing snot out.

That hit the spot. Okay, I'm cool now, I'm cool. Whew. It's hard bein' Jim Caedus. Bein' angry all the time, blowin' my stack over an improper use of the past participle or a screen name handle that Engy changed after I pointed out-him-lying-about-it-only-to-change-it-to-another-admission-of-lying which-renders-my-entire-point-moot-and-does-this-run-on-sentence-have-too-many-hyphens-no-thats-abusrd-you-can-never-have-too-many...?

Look, it doesn't matter. I'll just handwave away any thoroughly effective counter arguments he makes as “debating like a child” and completely bypass how he fucking humiliated me over my deluded obsession with internet phenomena that doesn't exist. Or my flagrant excuse making that my brother hurting my fee-fee's cost me our match. Which reminds me....

He spins back around to the computer and slaps his mighty meathook like fists down on the keyboard. He goes to Youtube now, where a video appears front and center of a kitten batting at the bottom of a Christmas tree.

OH ENGY YOU ABSOLUTE FUCK! LOOK AT IT!

Jim forcefully pulls the camera up to the screen. The adorable kitten mewls and paws an ornament off the tree.

TRYIN' TO DROP ON ME BEFORE DEADLINE I SEE! AND LOOK AT THAT! I GOT YOU NOW YOU UNORIGINAL, UNCREATIVE....

He takes another huff of the keyboard cleaner.

....THAT IS THE EXACT SEMI-COLON THAT SAUL BELLOW USED ON PAGE 47 IN HUMBOLDT'S GIFT! What, you didn't think I was that well read, huh? FIEND! CHEATER! CONMAN! JIM CAE-oh, wait, that's me.

I....I'm startin' to feel a little light headed....

Jim's eyes go crosseyed and he abruptly passes out, faceplanting on the nearest keyboard. The resulting pressure on the keys then starts to type out the dialogue to his last promo. Whoa, META!

Back to reality...

Engy is still sitting at the same table as before. His face is a mask of pain. Madison is now standing next to him, holding the bottle of pills he knocked on the floor before. She's shaking her head.

So you totally took out a loan for that, huh?

Yes. Now please give me those pills.

Madison twists the lid off and upends it, demonstrating that all the pills are gone.

....shit.

I cant imagine how this could come back and bite you in the ass.

Thankfully, I can't either.

”Jim Caedus” then bursts into the scene.

OH, SO YOU'RE USING FORESHADOWING NOW, HUH? WAY TO RIP OFF EVERY PIECE OF MEDIA EVER! REPROBATE! FALSE PROPHET! DEVIL! STEVE BANNON....actually, that one kinda makes sense....

Madison punches “Jim” in the dick and he drops like a sack of hammers.

I totally would have done that if I could move.

Madison puts an arm around Engy.

I know dear, now lets go watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special and bake our faces off.

The shot pulls back from this heartwarming scene (which now also includes “Jim” vomiting on the floor as he clutches his groin) and finally fades to....



OOC: Happy holidays to all you bastards. Get drunk. Open presents. Smoke 'em if you got 'em. I love you all.