OUTTA TIME

***We got to Jean Claude Venn Diagramme looking over some documents in his lab. He scratches his perfect jawline and huffs as he makes a glance towards his phone. He looks up to the camera, his body relaxing as he makes his way in front of the counter and folds his arms.***

“Good afternoon, Tony Santos.”

“My name is Jean Claude Venn Diagramme and I’ve been a good friend of Noah Jackson for many years. Sadly, Noah is unavailable at this moment in time. Hopefully, he is safe and well in another time period… Or he is dead. In case he is still alive, I shall be filling the role of a manager of sorts and I hope this is allowed by the XWF team; so Mr. Santos today, I shall be talking for Noah Jackson. Now, it is very clear Mr. Santos that you are beloved wrestler amongst all of the XWF, you command the respect of your fellow wrestlers and are highly appreciated by fans. You are a deserving Hart Champion and if you were facing anyone else, I would hope for a long and storied reign. Sadly, you are facing my friend, one Noah Jackson.”

“Now Mr. Santos I cannot say that Noah will beat you. I cannot say this, however, I can show you with the aid of this Powerpoint presentation.”

***Jean unfolds his arms and hits the light switch beside him, he turns on a projector and a square of light hits the opposite wall. He then opens up a laptop beside the projector and waits a solid two minutes for it to load up as he makes short coughs to break the awkward silence. He looks up to the camera.***

“Firstly, please forgive me I am not a graphic designer by any means so I apologise if this presentation looks a little basic but believe me it may not look pretty but it certainly gets the message across.”

***He taps enter to begins the Powerpoint***



“Darn it, I thought I at least animated it. Did it not save? I had the points sliding into position accompanied by light-hearted sound effects. I’m sorry… Grrr. Oh well, I’ll have to make due.”

***Jean positions himself beside the projection and points to number one***

“Firstly, drive. Noah is a very driven individual and will work to achieve any goal he has in mind. He will constantly push himself forward until he meets that end goal. For example, he wishes to be the new Hart Champion, who else would push themselves hard enough to try to go back in time to stop someone for existing? What type of person would conceive such an idea? A man driven to succeed. A man like Noah Jackson.”

“Secondly, passion. Noah has this unbridled passion for wrestling, it was his first love. As you can see when you watch him in the ring, he gives it his all. In his promos, he is filled with burning emotions. He cares so much. He wants that win. You Tony? You sit wistfully on a bridge and spend your time in dreams and fantasies. You look over at an empty horizon seeing your future, you don’t let this championship refill your core with energy, no, you sit saddened that it’ll be torn away from you at any moment. Imagine if the roles were reversed, imagine Noah’s enthusiasm compared to your lack of it.”

“Thirdly, hard work. Noah has exclaimed time and time again that he is the hardest worker in the XWF and from what I have seen he’s correct, no one does all three brands back to back as he has. Travelling the world over to give it all in the ring, never missed a show he’s been on, never half-done things. He is indeed a hard worker.”

***Jean reaches over to the laptop and clicks***



“As we all saw from Tony Santos’ first and second promos. The most he can muster is saying Noah speaks a certain word in abundance. You must all understand where he comes from, where he grew up and how. That word isn’t an insult anymore to him, it is simply a word. What kind of champion gets so angry over just one simple word? What kind of champion after a victory sits solemnly on a bridge contemplating how empty he feels inside? This is who we’re meant to look to when we think of Warfare?”

“This sulking child, this shell of a man, this is who represents this brand?”

“A man with no drive, who sits and thinks instead of how things could be better. This man with no passion for the business. This man whose hard work amounts to telling his loved ones how he feels, crack yourself open a beer, Mr. Santos. You’ve had a long day. Time to end it.”

“While you dangle your feet over the edge of a bridge, Noah Jackson has been standing proudly atop mountains. While you hear that certain word pass your ears in a gust of wind, Noah Jackson has been moving those clouds and sails with his own breath. While you wonder how to make your life whole, Noah Jackson has been living his to his fullest. Sure, you may call him obnoxious and foolhardy, perhaps harsher things, but you cannot deny he takes life by the horns. He gives his all to every single thing that comes at him. Can you say the same, Mr. Santos?”

***Click***



***The original slide only pops up briefly before it’s interrupted by the paper clip, Jean groans in frustration tapping at the keyboard***

“Oh for goodness sake how do I get that thing off? Click ‘no’? … Why is still there!? It’s fine, it’s fine. Oh and the word succeed got cut off! This is a disaster.”

***Jean composes himself and moves to the projection again***

“As you can see this is clearly how Noah shall win. If he fails to remove Santos’ name from history, he will come back and win simply based on talent alone. Through sheer heart and will he will get up from every strike, take every hit and give it all back twice as hard. That’s the type of man you’re facing, if you even remember that you’re in a wrestling match instead of being focused on cliches and metaphors. Tony Santos, you could have been a great philosopher but you are a poor wrestler.”

“Noah may not know love, but he has friends, he has a goal, he has drive and passion, he gives his all. He will pursue his dreams until his dying breath, love can wait. Now is the time to fight and Noah Jackson will fight.”



“This concludes my presentation. Good luck, Mr. Santos you’re most certainly going to need it.”

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A blinding white light fills my vision.

The scene before me blurs into place as a high pitch whine deafens my ears. My knees wobble for a moment as I kick up the sand beneath my feet, stumbling around like a wounded animal. The whine fades as the picture comes still; a serene and vast desert. The sun reflecting from the silver go kart hits my bare back.

“Fuck me cunt, where the fuck am I?”

I squint against the harsh sun looking around at the sand, bush and rocks. Getting my bearings I decide to push my time machine into the greenery beside me and hide the cunt. Proud of my work, I dust off my hands and look back around to see a small group of aborigines staring at me. It’s at this point I realise I’m in Oz and how naked I am, good thing this bush is conveniently covering my shame. They talk to one another whilst keeping an eye on me.

“To’la amo calumba?”

“Forwa go nekked cunt.”

They laugh with one another, I just stand there kinda not knowing what to do with my hands. One of them tosses me a loincloth a similar style to theirs and gives a wave.

“Towa flo’garb abso lute madlad.”

They laugh once more as they begin to leave, I give them a wave as I begin to put on the loincloth.

“Cheers lads! Sorry about the years of atrocities you boys will suffer in the future.”

I adjust the garb to make it more comfy and look back to the go-kart. My two pet Cane Toads, Slippy and Slippette hop to the top of the kart and look out at the bush.

“Well cunts, it appears as if we missed our mark just a hair. We’re back home, but what year?”

The two slippery cunts then hop away from me and disappear into a nearby burrow. I put my hands on my hips looking at where they went.

“Well, fuck. Hope that doesn’t have any serious repercussions in the future.”

***It will***

“Oi!”

Ah shit, hope that's not that cunt Griffin MacAlister. A voice shouts from across the way, fucking hell there’s a lot of cunts out in the middle of nowhere. I look to a middle aged man in dungarees and a cork hat brandishing a shotgun, luckily not aimed at me.

“You there, cunt! What day is it?”

*uɐılɐɹʇsn∀ ǝlqıɓıllǝʇuıu∩*

Fuck me, this old cunt’s more of a stereotype than I am.

“Slow down cunt, I’m not used to the bush.”

“I said it’s Tuesday, mate!”

“What year though, cunt!?”

“Fuckin’ hell, cunt how long you been out ‘ere for? It’s 1932, end of November to be precise.”

Fuuuuuuuuucking heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllllll cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnttt.

Time machine worked but sent me fucking here, now didn’t it! I’m gonna bitch slap, Jean when I see him… Oh shit that phone! I pull it out of my pocket… I don’t have a pocket. Fuck! Where the fuck is it!?

“Er, mate. Emu took off wit ya wheelbarrow.”

I look back and pull that face I’m famous for.



Yeah that one as the fluffy cunt uses my go kart like a lone roller skate, gliding away from me at an above average speed. I would give chase but to be honest I can't be fucked, it's too fucking warm, cunt. I sigh with my hands on my shapely hips as my ticket back home fucks off.

“Ah no wuckas, mate. We’ll get ya barrow back.”

“Fucking long necked cunts, should execute the lot of em.”

“We been thinkin’ bout it. Bloody shits been playing havoc wit’ farms round ‘ere.”

“I say kill ‘em. How hard can it be?”

The bloke puts a hand under his chubby chin and looks to the sky.

“Well I got me some ol’ army buddies, sure they’d be willing pitch in and get your barrow back.”

“Cheers, old mate. You’re a good un’ most people would just fuck me off.”

“Looked expensive, hate to see your money go to waste.”

I give a curt nod as the old codger lifts his shotgun and gives a wicked smile.

“Let’s go get the cunts.”

***LAZY TRANSITION***

Three fucking hours I’ve been walking around this boiling hot, beautiful wasteland. I’m strolling in front, working this loincloth with old mate and his lads in tow. This bullshit is eerily quiet and I still haven’t seen a fucking roo! We come over a hill and my eyes widen in delight as I see my time machine surrounded by a flock… A group? A mob! A mob of emus. Got there Noah, you clever cunt.

“There’s a mob of cunts over there with my tim-WHEELbarrow.”

“Roight, get your guns at the ready lads. We’ll sneak up nice and close and blow the cunts away.”

“I’ll be the lookout, here.”

OLD CUNT: “Lookout fer wot!?”

“More emus, cunt. Fucking keep up.”

The old lads shake their heads but follow old mates instructions. I stand valiantly looking out at the top of the hill as the bush folk sneakily make their way down hill, sticking close to the vegetation. Wish I had a beer, heats killing me… Fuck left that water in the kart too. Why did that shit make me naked?

This plan is fucked, cunt. Only reason I did this was to get an easy win and become Hart Champion, now I’m stuck in the bush about to watch emus get massacred. Fuck, maybe there’s still time to get back and have another go, just head straight to whenever Santos was born… Fuck me, cunt. I never even learned when Santos was born or where! Fucked this good and proper. I blame Jean.

Still have a chance, still have a good chance at Sarah Connoring, Santos.

Fuck, got all the time in the world with that gizmo, ha. Shit, even if by some divine intervention I lose the Hart title after I gain it. BAM. Go back to the past, gank the cunt that stole it and keep being Hart Champion forever.

Only issue with abusing my power like that is I’ll look like a Blackwater or Azrael Erebus or Nyx Nepthys… I’m starting to notice a pattern here. After a while I decide to look back at how well my boys are doing…

They’re running away.

WHY THE FUCK ARE THEY RUNNING AWAY!?!?

“The fuck are you doing cunts!?”

I scream at the geezers as they’re run rampid by the attacking emus. Pretty sure one of the cunts just got disemboweled.

Gnarly.

After the last few loud gunshots ring through the air, what’s left of the mob scatter into the wild, leaving my precious time machine alone. The remainder of them make it back up to the hill near me.

“Feisty buggers.”

“You just got beat by birds, cunt.”

“Piss off.”

“Well, at least you got my … Wheelbarrow back. Cheers for that.”

“All in a day's work.”

Old mate reaches out his palm at me and gives a toothless grin, waiting expectantly. I give him a low five and stroll down the hill.

“Well, it’s been short but sweet but I’ve got to go home, cunts. Sort some shit out.”

“Yeah no wuckas.”

OLD CUNT: “Can’t believe Steve-o died for this…”

WRINKLED CUNT: “It’s how he would have wanted to go.”

“Mauled by emus. I can think of worse ways.”

“I fucking can’t, ha, what a sad prick.”

I can feel the old buggers burning a hole in the back of my head with their eyes. I reach the time machine and give it a pat, I immediately regret this as it’s been baking in the sun for several hours and burns my hand. I play it off though, pretty cool like. I reach in and grab that SmartWater, Jean gave me. I chug the cunt and chuck the bottle to old mate for him to sip, he looks at it like it was alien technology.

“Smart Water? This actually makes you smart?”

“Yeah sure cunt, got electrolytes in it.”

He gives it a swig and licks his lips, looking at the bottle.

“This potion just gave me an idea! Maybe I’ll move to America, make a name for myself.”

I’m already ball deep in this phone so I don’t really listen to what the cunt says.

“Yeah you do that mate.”

WRINKLED CUNT: “What you got there?”

“This?”

I wave the phone.

“Harmonica, cunt.”

OLD CUNT: “Don’t look like no harmonica I’ve seen.”

“How many have you seen, cunt?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah that’s what I thought.”

I send a text to the future, which is pretty sick if you think about it, and sit in the go kart.

“Thanks again for the help, lads. If you could do me a favour and just ignore what you’re about to see, that’d be super.”

“Been nice meeting you mister?”

“Noah, Noah fucking Jackson.”

I start to feel the go kart tremble.

“Nice to meet you Noah, I’m Anthony Santos.”

…

“Wait, what?”

FWOOOOOOSH



I pop back up outside Jean’s lab. Not gonna lie, I’m pretty pissed off. I throw my head back.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccking heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllllllllllllll cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuntttt!!!!”

I huff in the seat and look down. Fucking naked again.

Jean runs out of the lab door.

“Noah! Thank science you’re alive!”

I slowly look to Jean, then around the kart. Pick up a nearby rock and just hurl it at the cunt.

TBC

FORMER:



W | L | D
226 | 11 | 81

Star of the Month (August 2019)
1/3 Star of the Month (January 2020) with Fuzz and our Subaru
RP of the Month (November 2019) with Big Disappointment