Their only accompaniment was the thrum of the Tiburon’s sporty engine and the quiet drone of Corey’s Spotify playlist on low. It sounded like “Dracula From Houston” by Butthole Surfers, but he couldn’t quite tell. All of these muted sounds were interrupted by the intermittent clacking of a Rubik’s Cube held by Corey’s incorporeal passenger.



This is hard. It’s stupid. The mental shard of the once feared and reviled Engineer pouts as he tries and fails at another series of revolutions on the cube.

Corey replies without averting his eyes from the road. It’s not stupid. You just need patience.

What’s pay-shins?

Delayed gratification.

What’s…?

A small sigh. You gotta wait for stuff that’s good.

Oh. He looks down at the cube and then back up at Corey. Are you using pay-shins right now?

Huh?

You’re driving a long time instead of flying with your friend Thad. Flying’s shorter.

Yeah. He replies noncommittally.

Is that because pay-shins?

It’s because of a lot of things! Corey tersely retorts. Then, puffing out his cheeks with another sigh, he mellows. Sorry. It’s just that things between me and Thad are a little weird right now and I wanted to drive to clear my head before I saw him. Corey’s eyes dropped down to the GPS unit built into the console. They were still a few hours out from Woolworth Tower in New York City, home to Thad Duke’s swanky penthouse. Demos will probably shit when he sees that. The thought brings a half smile to Corey’s lips.

Are you still friends with Thad? The remnant leans over, trying to place himself in Corey’s field of vision like an eager child.

Corey's smile turns into a bit of a pained grimace. Yeah. But feelings can be complicated sometimes.

Do you want to be friends with Thad the same way you’re friends with Dolly?

Huh? An electric spike jumps up his spine.

You guys were naked together. Naked friends! He smiles something of an idiot smile, oblivious to the ramifications of what he said.

The memory crawls its way into Corey’s present.

Dolly, placing one hand on either side of Corey’s soaking wet biceps, rising up with him off the floor. The tingle of her hand running through his hair still invigorated Corey, but now something else was there. Dolly’s eyes were written over with something new, something Corey failed to recognize at first because seeing this from her with him felt alien and surreal. And then so did the kiss. At first. As Dolly’s tongue punched past his teeth and onto his palette, Corey nearly called out in surprise. And then she was wrapped around him, hungry and wanting, and before he knew it Corey’s body was reacting in kind, pulling at her clothes as he guided her towards the inert steam room behind the hot tub. Dolly reached it first, throwing the door open and pulling him inside, where they reunited in the center, Corey’s shorts already at his ankles and Dolly reaching for…

The bark of a horn called him to attention. The light had turned green some time ago. Corey sheepishly offered up a friendly wave by way of an apology and proceeded. The remnant was still looking at him expectantly. He could tell him the truth, of course. He could say that the answer was “yes, maybe...but with my recent track record for boning my friends maybe I’ve just forgotten what “platonic” means.” Fuck, I’m a mess.

Yeah, it was most definitely time to change the subject.

So, what do I call you?

“Call me?” Canting his head like a confused puppy.

Yeah, like a name. I mean, you’re not “The Engineer”. You’re…

Fuck Face!

What…?! Corey chortled, looking over at the passenger and almost doubling over with laughter when he saw the doe eyed innocence that waited for him. Where the hell did you hear that?!

Oh, Ronnie called somebody “fuck face” and everybody laughed. Doesn’t that mean it’s a funny name?

I’m gonna have to remind her to keep her ex boyfriend conversations on the DL. Well….yeah, it’s funny. But it’s not a good name.

How about Corey?

That’s MY name.

I can’t have it too?

I would rather you didn’t. Erm, no offense. A pause. Can you think of a different name?

The remnant leans back in the seat, still cradling the incoherent jumble of a Rubik’s Cube in his lap. After a series of moments, a muddled frown appears. I guess I’m not good with names.

Corey tapped his fingers for a few beats on the steering wheel before looking in the rear view mirror back at the camera. Hey man, can you think of any good names? He’s talking to the camera operator. Sayonara fourth wall.

My son’s name is Cayden!

Ehhhh….

Hey, it’s a good name!

Corey opts not to reply. Instead, his features perk up as a prospect introduces itself. How about “Iggy”? That’s kinda cool, right?

The remnant’s face goes a little spacy for a moment, when suddenly he belts out a joyous laugh and starts clapping his hands. Yeah! Iggy! That’s so much better than Fuck Face!

And better than Cayden!

Hey!

Thank you for naming me, Corey. Iggy looks down at his lap. All done!

Sneaking a glance at the same, Corey notes with some befuddlement that the Rubiks Cube had been completed. So it is. Good job...uh, Iggy.

YAY, ME!

So, as interesting as it’s been watching you talk to an empty seat for the last who the hell knows how many hours, are you ready to start this promo or what?

Corey nods. Oh, I got this. He glances back in the rear view mirror again. XWF you’re about to see me wreck a Television Champion without incurring a single traffic violation! I DON’T THINK YOU’RE READY!

Iggy turns back to the camera. Hi everybody!

They can’t see you.

Oh.

Iggy says “hi”.

Hello! He beams, the directive from 2 seconds ago in one ear and out the other.

Corey rolls his eyes.

Well, I gotta say Demos, I think the last thing I was expecting out of you was that “love letter to capitalism” masquerading as a wrestling promo. So, just outta curiosity my man, when is the part where you unionize your local Amazon Distribution Center or start printing “Engels for Dummies” tracts out of your basement? Don’t answer that, I know it’s “never” because doing so would require that this about face be something more than just your most recent nervous breakdown.

So what’s next, Demos? Blaming supply side economics for your lack of a family? Saying it’s Adam’s Smith’s fault that you constantly smell of greasy unwashed asshole? “GOD DAMMIT IF IT WASN’T FOR THAT CURSED HAND OF THE FREE MARKET I MIGHT ACTUALLY MANAGE TO NOT SHIT THE BED WHENEVER I FACE MAIN EVENT TALENT!” By the way, don’t forget to add fresh sheets to your shopping list. It’s happening AGAIN.

He winks into the rear view mirror.

Look at that perfect fucking lane change!

Anyway, Charlie Nickles, man. This guy’s suddenly like if a Ted Talk threw up in an Econ 101 class and thinks he’s the smartest guy in the room for doing so. Form and Content my pert, hairless twink ass, you wanna go about casting moral aspersions on Thad and I but when it comes to going all Make Great Soviet Revolution I’m the one that actually started a fucking COMMUNE while you just talk about it and pretend your kids aren’t still wondering when daddy’s finally coming back from the store with that carton of cigs. You virtue signalling prolapsed anus, DECENCY STARTS AT HOME. But then again I suppose that level of insight and introspection is too much to expect from the man who just discovered persona numero tres in “Charlie Lovenickles” and wants us all to yell “Que Innovacion” as if none of this has ever happened before.

Iggy waves at a child in a passing car. Have a nice day!

Heh, right. I’ll take “sassy twink” over refried also-ran any day, thank you kindly.

Oh, and good on you for cherry picking Savannah Knightly out of the array of people I’ve beaten since my return and acting like I’m something less than Lux and The Engineer when I’ve been here a fraction of the time. Plus, let’s face facts Charlie, the only thing standing between me and your title is a simple fucking phone call to Lane saying “It’s go time” followed by you sucking down another loss to one of the REAL big dick players in the XWF.

And can we spend a moment appreciating what a magnificent job this man did keeping a straight face while proffering up Jim Jimson’s 8 Feder/Metal/Weight title reigns as actual proof that he’s somehow better than me? Dude, those titles have been held by a literal paraplegic and a fucking VHS tape. How much Clozapine did you have to snort to maintain the kind of emotional stability needed to pass that verbal turd without collapsing under the weight of the wholescale imbecility you were spewing?

He snaps his fingers.

…..and did you peep that incredible merge I just did?! Oh wait, I just realized something! CARS ARE PART OF THE ECONOMY! Poor Demos must be triggered as fuck!

Corey smacks his lips and keeps his steely eyes on the road because defensive driving is three parts foresight and only one part reaction.

You know what the most galling part about this whole Demos promo was though? The fact that this drug addled dissociating simp thinks he has the right to judge ANYONE about ANYTHING. This man, who has never contributed anything of any real virtuous value in his entire bleak existence, somehow thinks that going so far off meds that he’s taking orders from an imaginary fat man in a moo moo grants him the moral bonafides to tell Thad and I how to live our lives. To tell me who I can and can’t be friends with. To tell me whether or not Thad Duke is a decent human being. And lately, that shit hits REAL close to home for me. REAL CLOSE.

Because I almost let somebody do that to me once already.

I almost let someone like YOU decide who and what Thad Duke is for me. And no, I’m not so blind as to think Thad is a perfect person. He’s just another cluster of competing foibles like anyone else. But you cannot tell me that the man who held my hand while I wept in physical agony in some hospital bed doesn’t have a shred of goodness in him. Don’t you, especially YOU, of all people, dare to tell me that. Because you wouldn’t know integrity if it smacked your pear shaped form sideways.

We see Corey maintain a picture perfect distance behind the car in front of him as he continues shredding this arrogant misbegotten fuck stain.

But let’s be real here. All this moral grandstanding of yours is just a diversion from the real meat and potatoes, which is that you have shown a constant predilection for dropping the ball when it really counts. Remember all that “Charlie’s Ceiling” talk from before? That’s what we call a promotional moneyshot, baby boy. A statement that is beyond refute. The cold hard fact is that you bend right down and touch your toes for the XWF’s main event talent. So your only recourse in this is to try to take the high road because insisting on you or (and please excuse the belly laughs) Jim Jimson’s physical dominance in this match is as patently absurd as the Elizabethan era jockstrap on your face.

DDS is in the underdog situation to end all underdog situations. Because if I’m the weak, inexperienced link on my team that you seem to suggest I am, I guess that would make Jimson the equivalent on your side of the aisle. And really Chaz, between me and Jimson who would you say the smart money is on? Oh shit, I’m sorry. Once again I’m sleeping on the fact that Jimbo is an EIGHT TIME, EIGHT TIME, EIGHT TIME, toilet bowl champion. Well, just go ahead and color me fucked right now. He snickers as he politely lets an old woman enter into his lane.

And Jimson, lest we forget sweet, simple Jimson. Doing as Jimson’s do and once again shifting right into the only gear he has…..ZOMG NINJA EXPLOSIONS MONKEY CHEESE!

Because why explore the complexities of the human condition or evolve as a full fledged three dimensional being when you can just keep throwing random shit at the wall to see what sticks. Why engage in bombastic audience entertaining repartee when you can passably reference the main event match you’re in before bounding right into the kind of shtick that has served you so well **heh**... in your singles…**chortle**....”career”....**snrkt**....thus far.

But hell, that’s what’s so great about Jim Jimson, right?! Who needs all those high falutin FEELINGS, or profound philosophical examinations of the human psyche, or pretentious symbolic explorations of the line between sanity and insanity with cosmic overtones, when you can shut your brain off and treat yourself to the intellectual equivalent of a satisfying post-work fart in your barcalounger while you nod off watching The Masked Singer.

Suddenly, something in Corey’s expression changes. He laughs mirthlessly and eyes the camera through the rear view mirror with a malicious twinkle in his eye.

I mean, can we PLEASE PLEASE just admit that DDS is thoroughly FUCKED in this match yet? Can we please speak plainly about how these two literal cartoon characters are about to get their shit pushed all the way in by two of the most athletic, accomplished studs on the modern XWF roster? This thing couldn’t be more night and day if the actual sun and moon were present. On one side of the ring we got two guys who look like they’re cosplaying as the creatures from C.H.U.D. II: Bud the C.H.U.D. (the even lower budget sequel to C.H.U.D.), one of whom can’t stop blathering like some pseudointellectual college freshman who just got his Marxist cherry popped for the first time and suddenly thinks he knows how to solve all the world's ills, and the other the XWF’s preeminent enhancement talent who has reached “squealing Pickle Rick kid at McDonalds” levels of cringe thanks to his insistence on mistaking randomness for true humor.



And on the other side of the ring? Two paragons of legendary XWF forebears, full to the brim with uncanny athletic prowess and the kind of good looks that make your average Dolce and Gabbana model look ho-hum by comparison. Thad Duke is a former Universal goddamn CHAMPION, people! Meanwhile DDS is rocking a one time TV champ who clams up in the face of true opposition and Jim Jimson’s contribution is a prolific collection of losses and discontinued Happy Meal toy belts. This is like the inverse of those 80’s movies where the hapless nerds go up against the sexy evil trust fund kids for control of Ski Mountain. Because this time the hapless nerds have been the real dickheads all along who selfishly fuck off on their own families and pretend to hold some non existent scrupulous high ground to cover up a wellspring of weaknesses and inadequacies.

Nahhhh, fam. Continuum is headed into March Madness with these tag belts firmly in tow. And this time hopefully we get some real competition! Like, maybe Lycana and whatever remaining Left Handed albatross she gets saddled with this time. Fingers crossed for Andrew “missing in action” Logan! He crosses his fingers and holds them up in plain view of the shot. I guess we’ll see!

Tata till Saturday, me boyos. Hopefully by then Charlie will have mopped his face up off the floor after I fucking melted it. And even if not, I’m sure it can only be an improvement.

Hey Corey?

Hold on ‘Ig, I’m just wrapping up.

This might be important!

Fine. What?

What does red and blue and flashing mean?

“Red and blue and flashing…?” Corey looks at the rear view mirror again.



OH GOD DAMN IT!

Ahahahahaha! Turns out Mr. A Plus driver has been doing 65 in a 55 for the last 10 miles!

You couldn’t have given me a heads up?!

What’s wrong with “Cayden”, anyway?

Corey shakes his head in annoyance and glowers at the camera man as he starts his approach towards the side of the road. Really? Really?! Psshhh. Petty.

It’s a fine boys’ name.

Can I be a “Cayden” now?

Corey slumps his head against the driver’s side window as the door to the police car is thrown open. Sure. Fine.

Coreytopia

Dolly Waters lays in bed with the ghost of Corey’s touch still lingering. The room was lit only by the glow from her cell phone as she considered a picture of the three of them together: herself, Thad, and Corey. The smiles spoke to her the most, but as she set the phone aside on the night stand, she would find that sleep would not come easily.

How fleeting were those smiles as friendships grew infinitely more complex? As touch grew new connotation?

She watched the ceiling, and she wondered.