DRAG QUEEN RECAP....? Engy knows Bob, the Drag Queen. Don't ask. That's it.

The shot opens on....CHAOS! No, not Chris Chaos, we'll try to be marginally more interesting than that. We're in a massive cavernous warehouse, which is host to a strange assortment of....parade floats? Somewhere in the distance a band can be heard practicing.

Engy hurries to the forefront of the shot, speaking aloud with a blue tooth in his ear. How we coming on the lead float? ….. What, come on! The Gilmour float I mean, the one that's being pulled along by the Mystery float. ….. Alright fine, I'll be over in a sec. Engy looks at the camera, making an exasperated expression. If I had known this would be so hard, I never would have agreed to it! But I'm kinda married to it now. He stops short. Maaaaybe I should explain what this is. Well, it's a parade that I am grand marshalling in honor of Peter Gilmour, set to pass right through the community he grew up in in Brooklyn. Hope I got it right this time, Pete. What's the occasion? Why, his impending Universal title win of course!

Engy gives that one a moment to sink in, all the while tamping down a laugh. I gotta say Pete, you FINALLY brought it. And by gosh you're so damn confident I just don't see ANY scenario where I walk out of Warfare still holding that Universal championship. Engy starts walking again, weeding his way through the masses until he gets to the parade's lead floats. We see one large truck that is decorated in question marks, and behind it is another rusted worn out truck that has a massive rubber dong affixed to it, which is helpfully labeled “Super Dick”. Peter Gilmour's face is emblazoned all along the side of this truck.

A weedy little guy holding a clip board runs up to Engy. Mr. Bright, we have a problem. The Gilmour truck just won't move.

Engy looks annoyed. Duh. That's why the mystery truck is hauling it.

No sir, I mean it's completely stuck and won't even move with the aid of the mystery truck. In fact, we tried to move it with the mystery truck and Jeremy gave it the gas but we just ended up blowing the transmission.

So they're both stuck? That's what you mean?

I'm afraid so sir.

Engy runs his palm down his face, stretching his features ghoulishly before letting them snap back. Gritting his teeth he looks back at the mystery and Gilmour trucks. The giant Super Dick on the Gilmour truck waggles a bit, almost tauntingly. Fuck it, we'll do the parade without 'em.

So who's going to be in the lead?

Engy looks around, and finally, spotting a solution, he announces with aplomb THE SUPER-DICK DANCERS! That's who!

Just then, a burly hairy man in black leather fetish gear walks up in response. You raaaaaaang?

Engy points at finger at this guy's chest. Congrats. The Gilmour truck proved to be completely USELESS, so you guys are gonna be the lead act in the parade!

The fetish gear guy screams and slaps his hands to his cheeks. He runs back to the rest of the troupe, all good looking men in speedos that say Super Dick right over their schlongs. They all cheer when he delivers the good news.



The guy with the clipboard steps up to Engy again. Okay sir, we need to go right now!

Alright, line 'em up! Let's show Peter's community why they should be so proud of him! Engy runs up to another truck, which is a huge badass monster truck and definitely not a sad run down piece of shit like the Gilmour truck. He hoists himself up into the passenger seat and looks over at the driver who is none other than....BOB THE DRAG QUEEN!



Bob looks really excited, and he gives the truck a little rev. Oh Engy, we gonna do Peter right with this!

We sure are, Bob. Hey, did you pass out the decorative nipple warmers? It's still pretty chilly out there!

Bob shoots Engy a thumbs up. Bob's got it covered, boo! We see a male GoGo dancer prance past the truck as he runs to join his troupe. He's wearing furry pasty's on his nipples with Peter Gilmour's face on them.

The parade starts to move out, and we switch to an overhead shot of the warehouse as the procession hits the streets. A crowd has assembled to watch, and a police escort rejoinders with the parade participants. Multiple rainbow flags unfurl, male buttocks gyrate, and drag queens wearing sequined gowns and tiaras wave like royalty to the assembled masses.

It's a gay pride parade.

And above it all, a giant floating phallus ascends, with the tip of the penis bearing the image of Peter's trademark “shouty but maybe in the throes of severe constipation” face. The floating cock is trailing another banner behind it that reads “SUCK MY DICK.....PLEASE!”

Engy looks out the window of the monster truck, taking in the sight of the giant inflatable super dick. It's a great day for a parade. Engy picks up a megaphone from at his feet and brings it to bear. He points it out the window and announces to all, HOMETOWN HERO PETER GILMOUR HAS RETURNED! ALL HAIL THE SOON TO BE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! ALSO PLEASE DONATE TO HIS GO FUND ME PAGE, GOFUNDME.COM/HELP-PETER-CURE-HOMOSEXUAL- AIDS. PETER LOVES THE GAYS, AND WANTS TO HELP THEM. Engy pulls the megaphone back in and turns to Bob. Too much?

Nah. We still gonna stop in front of Peter's grandmother's place? That's coming up in about an hour.

Engy drums his fingers on the dash board. Oh YES! In fact, I gotta tell the balloon boys to let a little gas outta the dick. The old bat lives on the sixth floor and I want the giant cock with her grandson's face to pass right by her window. Bob laughs uproariously as Engy does his patented “turn to the camera to let you know it's go-time” head swivel. I'd like to say that's the biggest cock your grandma's ever seen, but we both know that's not true. Anyhoo....Peter! YOU SPOKE! Engy says “jump” and Petey says “how high”. But no biscuit though, you need to watch your figure. Which is round.

There's a lot to unpack there, Pete. But I think the least surprising thing about your promo is how quickly you took a little bit of praise from me and a title win courtesy of Chris Chaos and ran it straight down the field. Too bad you spiked the ball five yards short of the end zone though. That's not surprising either, I hear doing things prematurely is kinda your bag.

So did Maria ever change those panties from that cum 'splosion she had? Jesus Peter, your shit sounds like it was written by a horny 12 year old tuggin' it under the computer desk after his parents went to bed. One hand feverishly fappin' it raw while the other hand types out crappy fan fiction starring him as he superhumanly pleasures every pretty white girl on Teen Nick. You shoulda seen how hard he turnt out iCarly. Peter, I've never seen another human being in such a mad dash to toss himself off in his own promos. The insecurity seeps through the screen and infects me like a noxious shame poison. I gag on your barely concealed feelings of complete inferiority like a wet fart cut in a crowded elevator. You're just that fucking desperate to convince us all you're sexy and popular and wanted. You got a movie role lined up, huh? I had no idea they were casting for the direct to DVD Paul Blart sequel.

Engy gestures for Bob to beep the truck's horn as he waves to some of the people having a laugh at the big dick in the sky.

You said that Michael Graves stabbed you in the back. Now I know that listening comprehension and reading comprehension and well, just damn near EVERYTHING comprehension is not a strong point for you, so let me clarify that on Gravy's behalf. Graves never stabbed you in the back because he didn't want you in the first place. And he was smart not to want you, because that match against me bore those misgivings out. You're the weak link on ANY team, Peter. And when I made mention in my first promo of that sick Gilmour Cutter you gave me being the thing that laid me out, I did you the kindness of failing to point out the fact that YOU COULDN'T CAPITALIZE ON IT. You had me down and couldn't so much as roll your fat ass over to drape an arm across me to pin me. I was trying to reel you in by puffing you up Pete, and it worked. But you cannot deny the same reality all the rest of us saw...which is that Peter Gilmour couldn't FINISH the job and that the only thing that saved your team was that one of your greasy Michelin rolls was within striking distance of Chris Chaos' creepy elongated Marfan's fingers.

In fact, you are so lacking in awareness of just how USELESS you were both before and during that match you have the gall to actually say you could have teamed with James Raven or Doc and the result would be the same. Well no shit you middle aged cholesterol sack, THEY WOULD HAVE CARRIED YOU TOO! And they probably would have done it even more efficiently.

You got ammo for me Pete? You got bullets? Please point out some more mid card achievements you've had over the last 5 years. I skipped the small stuff and went right to the big time. That 6 month Xtreme championship reign you poo-pooed because you can't make it fit your pathetic narrative, show me in YOUR history where you even came close to that kind of dominance and consistency. In fact, the longest you held out with the Xtreme was, by my count, about a month and half back in 2013.You had a decent reign with the Hart championship, another mid card stepping stone, and had multiple tag team title reigns which again, required you to rely on someone else. And in most cases, those partners were better than you too.

Your one shot at a Universal Title reign was a fucking JOKE, a 3 week bit of nothing where you held the strap just long enough to shine it up for Chris Chaos of all people. And yet, with all of this, you still treat your time here like some sort of ode to greatness. You have the cast iron balls to say you're the best thing going. Pete, let me once and for all relieve you of that lie you've been telling yourself.

All you are is a mid-carder who stuck around too long.

That's it! You've gotten along on mid-tier title reigns except for when you lucked into ONE embarrassingly short Universal reign that proved you can't hack it at that level. That's it, Peter. That's YOUR legacy. And when you compare yourself to guys like James Raven, you unwittingly make the stark contrast even clearer to the rest of us. Now I think Raven is an egotistical blowhard who isn't nearly as invested in the XWF as he used to be, but the guy is a LEGIT competitor who has proven time and time again (in the past) that he is a main event player. YOU CAN'T SAY THAT. But you're just so FUCKING STUPID, I honestly don't think you see the difference. But trust me sweetums, it's THERE, and it's a gap as big as your woman's minge.

Heh...and then you say you want me to get on the stick after you win and say “I respect you.” Hmmmm....that gives me an idea....

Engy shoots a wry glance at Bob. Uh oh, you got that look Engy!

Engy refocuses his attention. You got this, right Pete? You're so confident you can take me without Chris Chaos....all by your lonesome.....alright, Pete. Alright. How 'bout we sex this up with a little wager. You see, I want to put this to bed with you. I'm sick a looking at your fat stupid face. So if I lose to you, I WILL get on the mic and declare to the entire world that I respect Peter Gilmour. And I'll also quit the XWF forever. Engy makes an “awwwww SHIT” face.

Ahhhhh....there it is. The hook. Think about it Pete. You can be the one to put away one of the most dominant performers in the XWF. What a feather in your cap. Think of those bragging rights. And unlike your other paltry achievements, it'll be one that NO ONE else can claim. For all time, you can be the man who shut that egotistical upstart Engy right down.

But of course, I want something too. Engy's eyes gleam. If you agree to this deal, and I win, I want your number 32 spot on the Top 50 All Time list. Now, and maybe I'm biased, I think I deserve a bit higher, but I'll take what I can get. Especially if it's yours.

Come on Pete. You're so amazing. So wonderful. Top of the class. “Best Thing Going in the XWF”. Mr. Super Dick. This should be a no-brainer, right? You're gonna win. So why not agree to the deal? Shut me up for good.

Here's some more food for thought. What if you DON'T take the deal? What does THAT mean? Oh, you'll probably make some excuses. You're good at that. You'll probably say you just don't trust me, thinking I'll cheat you out of this somehow. Okay. Fair point. I'm a little shady like that sometimes. So how about we stick a rider on this that if either one of us cheats in any way, the deal is null and void. No weapons. No outside interference. Nothing, or the agreement is kaput.

How's that? Does that make you feel better? It doesn't, does it? Because I know that deep down inside that thick, fireproof skull of yours, you know how this will turn out. You'll lose. Because even rabid animals, frothing and broke brained as they are, still have the tiniest glimmer of survival instinct even as the darkness of madness takes hold. You're stupid Pete, but even you have fight or flight instincts. And this deal is telling you to run.

Well, okay! All that's left now is to admit it to the entire fucking world. “I won't roll the dice on getting rid of Engy because I don't know that I can beat him.” Speak the words and flush all that bravado right down the shitter. Or accept, and be a bigger and braver man than I ever thought you were.

Engy smirks. Your choice. Champ.

Suddenly, Engy is almost thrown into the dash board as the monster struck comes to a screeching halt. And then, a thump is heard. Bob grimaces and Engy spins towards him. Bob, what the fuck?!

Bob puts one of his long neon nails in his teeth and chatters nervously. Oh, I hope that was just a real big cat wearin' that SpongeBob Squarepants onesie....

Engy waits and stares at Bob. Bob looks back at Engy. You're really gonna make me look?

Plllllleeeeeeaaaaaasssseee?

Engy scowls and throws open the passenger side door. He hops down to ground level and gestures for the line of parade participants to hold up. He peers around the front of the truck and his eyes go wide. Euuuggghhhhhhh.....

Someone can be heard shouting from the crowd, “My baby? Where's my baby?!” Engy, megaphone still in hand, calls out, Remember folks, the organizer of this parade is Peter Gilmour. That's G-I-L-M-O-U-R. As the crowd starts to close in, Engy hastily clambers back into the passenger seat. Buckling his seat belt, he grips onto the sides of his seat and without even looking at Bob commands him to GUN IT! as the shot cuts to sweet, merciful darkness.

Elsewhere....

We see Madison laying in her four post bed, flat on her stomach as a silky nighty tugs at the curves of her body. A tittering laugh passes her lips as she playfully rolls onto her back. We see now that she's holding a cell phone to her face.

Oh yeah, I really don't think we need to worry about Engy making it to the pay per view with the Uni. It's just Peter. Yeah, I know how bad you wanted it to be against HIM. I....huh? Madison rolls back onto her stomach, a strange expression flashes over her as she starts taking the call a lot more seriously. What do you mean? I don't....

She listens for a moment longer and her aspect becomes a lot more stoic and contemplative. I honestly had never....Her thought trails off again before she impulsively blurts out, What did you have in mind?

The shot pans back from this scene, so far back that the remainder of the dialogue soon becomes frustratingly inaudible as the promo closes out for the second and final time.