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The Engineer · (02-13-2018)

The Engineer steps into a church.

I'll repeat that for posterity.

THE ENGINEER STEPS INTO A CHURCH.

And boy oh boy does he look uncomfortable.

Engy starts making his way down the center aisle. The church is sparsely populated, which is probably a pretty good thing. No light reflects through the stained glass windows depicting the stations of the cross, indicating it's probably late and all normal church services are long past over. In fact, the couple guys already in here look pretty ragged and down on their luck.

My people....

Engy slides into one of the middle pews, taking a look around as though he's getting stock of unfamiliar territory. His eye snags on the hymnal in front of him. He opens it, parsing through the pages before soon looking bored and putting it back. The toe of his boot catches on the knee rest in front of him.

Oh yeah, that thing.

Engy pulls out the knee rest and kneels down on it, shuffling his weight back and forth a bit to make himself comfortable. He brings his hands together in prayer, resting his elbows on the pew in front of him.

Are you there God? It's me, Engy.

He snickers.

It's been a hot minute since I been in one a your houses. Now I will admit, I did NOT want to be here, but Madison has been carping on me to do this shit for weeks, sayin' it'll help me get in touch with my constituents. I kept trying to tell her that I end up with this weird, burning rash every time I come in one a these places, but I really want to win this election so sacrifices have to be made.

I know you probably don't want me in here as much as I don't WANT to be here, but Madison is outside in the car reading some crappy romance novel and she won't let me leave for like a half hour so we need to make nice for now. I gave some passing thought to how I would kill the time. I considered just going in the confessional to masturbate but I don't think those things have locks, plus then I'd still have like 28 more minutes to kill anyway. Ha-cha-cha!

So I figured, eh, what the hell maybe I'll actually try talking to you. I mean, yeah, I'm still pretty bitter about all the sheer fucking HELL you've made me go through, but I guess I can give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you had better things to pay attention to like aliens or Bruce Jenner struggling with his inner woman.

Engy smiles and waves as one of the other guys here walks down the aisle on his way out the door. The man mostly just looks confused and gives an awkward wave back.

There's a few people I want to pray for. First off, I want to pray for my former allies The Motherfuckers. Boy, have they lost their smiles. And for as high and mighty as BWP got about me supposedly flaking out on War Games, it didn't take him long to make like a Kellogg's brand cereal on the lead up to our match. Now, I know if they ever get their shit together again I'm probably in for a world of hurt. I don't think they will. Buuuuuuut, just to be on the safe side, could you maybe do me a solid and have both Robbie and BWP have massive but non-lethal strokes that miraculously make them forget I ever existed? If anyone can do it I know you can. Like I said, I don't want them to die. Just maybe, you know, make them forget that time a couple weeks ago when I tried to make Bee Dubs go full brain avulsion with the door of a small foreign car. We'll call it even for all those times you thought it would be funny for me to wake up with a homeless guy masturbating over me.

Engy pinches the collar of his shirt and fans it in and out, giving himself some air.

Whew, is it hot in here?

Next up, I have a serious request actually. If you're up there (I have my doubts), I'd like for you to look out for my son Joachim. Inexplicably, my loins have managed to produce an honest to you decent human being. He cares about people. He knows I'm scum. And more than anything else, he just wants to live his life without getting in anyone else's way. Naturally, my attempts to make him see the shadier side of things did not go well, so I've passed on his training to the Master Yoda to my Darth Vader.

But the fact remains that he is VERY young and VERY naïve. He's gonna need all the help he can get. And I....I....

Engy lets his breath out in a loud whoosh.

Yes, I actually do care what happens to the little bugger. Don't tell anybody. Maybe it's because it's just human nature working it's spell on me, telling me in it's primitive way that I need to care for my young so that my biological imperative lives on. Which, jokes on nature, because the kid's gayer than a Nathan Lane cameo. Or maybe it's because, even when the little shit is telling me to my face I need meds, he manages to just be so goddamn likeable is almost sickening. He's gonna go far, if all that caring doesn't kill him first.

Engy looks up at the giant mounted cross at the forefront of the church. Engy gets up and starts slowly walking down the aisle, his eyes never leaving from the visage of Christ. Engy cants his head strangely, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he draws closer and closer to the front of the church.

And last but certainly not least, I pray for Danny Imperial. I pray that he lives long enough to get the Mad Max Fury Road inspired Earthly hellscape he so desperately needs to keep himself sexually aroused. I pray he gets the entire lifetime of pointless meaningless fighting that he claims is his reason to get up every morning. I pray he eventually sorts through the schizophrenic mess that is his thought processes the same way I did, because no sane person signs up for a professional wrestling job and then shits on the idea of winning a championship.

And most of all, I pray that he is able to deal with the crushing disappointment of me proving how full of fucking shit he is. Because that's what I'm going to do.

Engy turns away from Jesus and to the camera.

Hey Danny boy. Just figured I shore things up a bit before you squeak one in before midnight. Or is “talking about fighting” beneath you too?

You know, you don't quite realize just how good it is to have goals after a life time of being a dog chasing every car that happened to cross it's path. Obviously, you haven't reached that point yet. Maybe you will. Maybe you won't. I'm not letting it ride on “will” personally. That focus. That aspiration. Now THAT is a reason to get up in the morning. I'm not a “pretender” Danny, I'm just a fully realized grown up human being.

There is one thing you said that I do agree with however. “If you're too much of a pussy to take what you want, then you don't deserve it.” Well, and here I thought I was following that exact advice. I see what I want and I take it. I wanted the Xtreme championship, I took it from Trax. I wanted to be King of the Ring, I took it from Vinnie's annointed one Seth Feder. And those were from before I had a clue! After that, I wanted to be tag team champions with Jim, so I took that too! I wanted to reconnect with my son, I took that chance. I didn't say I always successful mind you. But I tried.

You on the other hand, don't seem to be TAKING much of anything, except for a beating. You've been in the XWF even longer than I have and what do you have to show for it? Two completely mediocre title reigns? Son, I've done more here already than you will do in your entire CAREER at the rate you're going. Oh, but you don't care right? You're just “here to fight”. Please. For a big man, you sure do a lot of pathetic bitch ass deflecting from your own lack of success.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. A big part of the reason that people respect me now is because I'm REAL. The vast majority of what I say in my promos is unfettered truth, unlike these tired ass hacks (to steal Jimbo's fav word) who scream to the mountain tops that they are the best thing going despite having a record that doesn't even break even. But you? You're fake as hell. Going around acting like your teflon because gold don't matter. Of course it matters you daft gobshite! You wouldn't be here if it didn't! Just like when we all called you out a couple months ago for getting pissy about the Apex/Motherfucker circle jerk, calling out me, Jim, Robbie, and Main....all guys who COINCIDENTALLY happened to be title holders at the time. And then, when we told you you were just hating on us for having gold, you tucked tail and ran your ass back claiming that wasn't the case.

Disingenuous BULLSHIT.

Don't piss on my leg and tell me it rainin'. Be honest about what you want and why you're here. And more than that, be honest about your own fuckin' FAILURES. Nobody is buying what you're sellin'. And the longer you keep trying to hawk it, the sadder and sadder it gets.

Engy sticks a finger in the air, as though trying to add some punctuation to what he's about to say next.

There is one thing you're good for though Danny. My boy Joachim, he's gonna be joining the XWF roster sooner or later. Kid's crazy athletic, just needs some spit and polish to make him a true fighting machine. And I've been thinking a lot about who I want to be his first opponent. Now, I realize I could start him out in the dregs, throwing him in against Random or whatever vaginal queef Phantom Panzer decides to be this week. But honestly? He's too good for that.

How about you, Danny? I mean, you're pretty decent. But you're not so good that the kid is gonna get frustrated right out of the gate. Plus, even being in proximity to you should do wonders for honing his bullshit detector. So whaddya say? You want to bring my son outta the box? Come on...scrapper like you? I know you do.

Engy looks at his watch and sighs.

This is the longest half hour of my life.

Engy eyes the confessional.

Hmmm....

He turns back to Jesus.

Close your eyes big guy, I'm goin' in.

Engy looks around, making sure nobody is paying particularly close attention to him. He skulks around the pews and disappears into a confessional. A few minutes later, we see a priest make his way into the other side of the confessional. The camera pulls up close enough to hear what is being said inside.

Priest: Hello, my son. Do you have a sin to confess?

Yeah, I just murdered a few million potential people. You got a moist towelette?

Yeah, we'll just go ahead and end on that tasteful note.

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