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Diesel · (03-21-2021)

The scene fades in to a dark and empty highway. Thunder rolls in the distance, no, not Garth Brooks. This isn’t a James Raven promo. Lightning flashes across the darkened sky over the lonely highway. Soon, two intensely bright headlights burn in the distance, but they appear to be attached to nothing at all. A moment later, a loud explosion is heard as Diesel’s Western Star 18 wheeler bursts through the space time continuum.

HORRRRRRRRRRRN Intensifies.

Thunder Knuckles sits wide eyed in the passenger seat, his curly unkempt hair swooped back as if he used Vinnie Lane’s lifetime supply of AquaNet. He peers over at Big Daddy Cool.

”What the actual fuck just happened dumbass!?” TK asks of his traveling companion.

”We landed,” he answers nonchalantly as if this is all somehow supposed to seem natural.

”...where?” Knuckles asks.

”Fucking 1995, catch up dude,” Diesel replies.

Thunder Knuckles looks on at Diesel, dumbfounded and in utter disbelief.

”Stop looking at me like that,” Diesel says with a touch of anger. ”You knew the rules!”

”WHAT RULES!?”

”The rules of getting in bed with Diesel! This is all crazy and none of it makes a damn bit of sense!”

”Yeah that’s true.”

Navigating his way off the highway, Diesel makes a wide right turn onto a double lane roadway.

”Where the fuck are we goin’ dumbass?”

”Headquarters,” Diesel replies as the truck decelerates and he flicks on the turn signal.

”What the...” TK says as he spies the seven story building. ”Titan fucking Towers.”

The perpetual world champion steers the 18 wheeler around the parking lot to the front of the building before applying the brake and jumping down out of the cab.

”You comin’ or what?” Diesel asks and TK throws his door open and hops out. On their way into the building, Big D, the real one, flips the keys to the valet. ”Keep her warm, we won’t be long.”

”I’m a fucking janitor,” says the valet but Diesel and Thunder Knuckles enter the building, ignoring him entirely.

”Hey barkeep,” Diesel calls out to the receptionist. ”How ‘bout a Jack & Coke for me and my friend here?”

”She’s a fucking secretary or some shit dickhead,” TK says with annoyance in his voice. Honestly, this narrator is shocked that ole Thunder Knuckles hasn’t already put a bullet in Big Daddy Cool’s skull.

”I thought about it,” Tk replies.

Wait.

You can hear me?

”Unfortunately for me, asshole.”

‘Ding’ chimes the elevator door as Diesel and TK step inside.

”Who are you talking to?” Diesel asks as he turns to TK.

But Diesel can’t hear me?

”Seems that way,” TK replies to… well… me. ”No one, what are we doin here?”

”Got a meeting with the boss.”

Exiting the elevator Thunder Knuckles follows Diesel down the hallway.

”WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN HE’S HERE!?” yells a deep, throaty voice… commas people… from off in the distance. ”HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE UNTIL THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW!” The voice grows louder and louder with every passing step.

Diesel and Thunder Knuckles enter the office of Vincent Kennedy McMahon.

”Champ!” Vince cries out as he spies Diesel walking through his doorway. ”Who the hell is that?” he asks, referring to TK.

”Doesn’t matter,” Diesel replies.

”Fuck you dickhead.”

”What can I do for you big man?” Vince asks as he offers Diesel a seat. He turns to TK. ”Go get us some bottled waters.”

”The fuck you...” TK begins as he steps forward toward McMahon. Diesel holds out his arm though and claps TK in the mouth.

”Something’s come up boss,” Diesel says sheepishly. ”I’m out of fuel.”

”It’s 1995, diesel is a buck a gallon.”

”Did you say xbux?”

”What the hell is an xbux and WHERE THE FUCK IS MY WATER!?”

”No. Vince. I mean, fuel for the… travel… if you get my drift.”

Vince sits back and ponders what Diesel is saying to him before it strikes him.

”YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY IN THE FUTURE!” McMahon yells out as he leaps from his chair and pounds his fists on the table. ”YOU GOTTA BRING THAT GOD DAMN XWF DOWN FROM THE INSIDE, DIESEL!”

“YOU GOTTA GRAB IT BY THE THROAT AND SQUEEEEEEZE THE LIFE OUT OF IT!” he exclaims, mimicking said action with his right fist.

”This guy’s fucking nuts!”

It’s true. He is, TK.

”Stop talking to me dammit, its fucking weird.”

”Woe, chill Vin Man,” Diesel says all 1995 cool-like. ”Chris Page has their big belt right now.”

”What’s a Chris Page?” Vince asks.

Meanwhile, Thunder Knuckles is spying up something off about the wall behind McMahon.

”Yo Diesel,” TK whispers. ”I think that’s a safe behind that portrait he has of himself.”

”A Chris Page is another vanilla midget, Vince. Kinda like Owen only a little more mouthy but also less entertaining. And get this… the dude he beat to take the strap… is a little homo named Horatio Dyke or something like that.”

”Thaddeus Duke dumbass,” TK chimes in. ”And he’s bisexual, not gay.”

”Let me tell you about my first homosexual experience,” Vince begins.

”See what you did?” Diesel asks of TK. ”Look what you did.”

”Anyway, boss. With Page as their champion, it’s only a matter of time before the fans start changing the channel. That Duke kid did us a favor.”

”Yo boss man!”

Comes a familiar voice from the hallway. The three turn their attention to the doorway.

”Shit!”

”Oh… my… fucking….”

”Un-fucking-believable!”

”YOU TWO WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO SEE EACH OTHER!” Vince yells out as a second Diesel enters his office. ”Diesel!”

”What?”

”What?”

Both Diesel’s answer simultaneously.

”The real one,” McMahon states.

”What?”

”What?”

”For the time travel fuel you need Milton Bradley’s Karate Fighters and Stridex pads, they create the Flubber needed to enter into the fuel cell. Those are all in the warehouse downstairs.

“So Diesel’s, here’s what we’re gonna do. Tonight! In this very office! You two will fight to the death and the loser leaves the Universe!

“Get me a referee!” Vince cries out into his office phone before slamming it back in its cradle.

Past future Diesel, our Diesel, stands from his chair and stares down strictly past Diesel. Our Diesel pushes other Diesel. Meanwhile, Vince turns his attention to TK who has just finished shoving the money from McMahon’s safe into his shirt.

”So, what is it you do for a living?” Vince asks of TK as the two Diesel’s fight it out.

Thunder Knuckles is caught off guard by Vince attempting to shoot the breeze with him.

”I’m a uhhhhhhhhhh… yeah I’m a wrestler.”

”Independents? Or that fucking Turner outfit down south?” Vince asks.

”Independents,” TK lies. ”You know what, narrator?”

”You have an interesting look,” Vince says as he stands and eyeballs Thunder Knuckles before turning his head to watch the Diesel’s fight.

”Oww dammit, that was my eye!”

”No asshole! That was MY eye!”

”What’s your special move?”

Surprisingly, TK’s face turns a little red. ”It’s a uhhhhh foot DDT.”

”A foot DDT?”

Thunder Knuckles nods his head.

”And the fans in the beer halls you wrestle in, they eat that up?”

Again, TK nods as both he and Vince once more watch the two Diesel’s fight it out.

”Stop pulling my hair!”

”You’re pulling MY hair!”

McMahon and Knuckles resume their conversation.

”What do you think about plumbers?” Vince asks as he takes a swig of water.

”The son of a bitch was right,” TK muses aloud to himself. ”I… think they’re important in today’s world you know? They um...”

”Dusty Rhodes is the son of a plumber,” Vince begins to explain. ”Fuck that fat son of a bitch… what’s your name?”

”Thunder Knuckles,” TK answers. ”TK for short.”

”We’re gonna mock plumbers and make them evil but really bad at their job! That’ll teach that bastard!”

Both men again turn their attention to the two Diesel’s. One Diesel has just slammed the other Diesel’s head into one of Vince’s office windows, shattering it. This narrator was preoccupied with TK and Vinny Mac so it no longer knows which Diesel is which.

Vince stands from his chair and reaches beneath his desk, pulling out a plunger. He gets on one knee before Thunder Knuckles and lifts the plunger toward ole TK.

”TK Hopper!” Vince yells out. ”Will you be my plumber!”

Both men are again distracted by the Diesel’s.

”Don’t you do it Diesel! Don’t you Jackknife me!”

”Eat shit Diesel!”

The Diesel we believe to be our Diesel lifts the other Diesel into the air and jackknife’s him out of Vince McMahon’s office window. Diesel crashes on top of a car outside.

”Vinny what car did you drive into work today?” Diesel asks.

”I brought the Lincoln. Why?”

Diesel stares wide eyed out the now vacant window.

”No reason, we’re all good,” he answers as he stares down at dead Diesel lying on top of Vince McMahon’s Lincoln Town Car. ”TK let’s go.”

”Where?”

”2021.”

The scene fades to a sadistic shade of chrome.

I don’t know who has dragged whose career down into TK Hopper’s toilet more: Ruby to Centurion or Centurion to Ruby. For a couple of idiots with no depth to them whatsoever, I guess they’re kind of right for each other.

I have yet to sit and listen to Centurion’s promo numero uno against me but I’m not really sure I will. Unless I run out of sleep aids and can’t sleep or something. Then maybe I’ll tune into the Hour of No Power. I did however listen to that useless cuck when I was screwin’ his girl in his bed the other night drop that Anarchy promo on me.

Diesel has no substance… no style… no entertainment. Some of that might hurt my feelings if one, I had any of those things, and two, if any of it were true. What you got with that raging hard on of a nothing promo was Centurion projecting himself onto me. Centurion’s style? So 1999. His substance? Is saying that I’m nothing while wanting to face me one on one. His entertainment value? Is entirely non-existent.

I have substance.

My goal is like Vince told you, bring down the Xtreme Wrestling Federation from within and to that end, the Brotherhood of Baddies and I saw a mutually beneficial partnership in which we help each other obtain that goal.

I have style. Lots of style. Who else do you know drives a frickin Western Star 26 years forward or backward because they feel like it? Who else do you know that wears black and chrome? Who else do you know that has the plot armor to evade police by simply being aligned with the Kliq?

And I sure as hell have entertainment value. Like I said before little man, I have more entertainment value in my pinky finger than you have in your entire soft spongy body. And at MarchMania, I’m gonna take that spongy, soft, puny little body and I’m gonna beat it like its never been beaten. I’m gonna break it like its never been broken. Since I’m so much of nothing to him, I hope that when I embarrass him in the middle of the ring that Vinnie marches his old tired ass out from backstage and wishes him well in his future endeavors.

One vanilla midget down.

Like 30 to go or something like that.

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