The Indian Panhead ran through the television screen like Charlie Nickles runs through a title challenger, with no problem at all. Loy watched on in shocked horror as the man, the lion, and the motorbike went through the television screen like it was a modern day closet to Narnia. As Loy ran out of his devastated shop with a shriek, the camera obviously attached to a drone approached the antique TV set. The drone flew closer and closer to the TV set until all that was seen in the camera was the screen. The drone didn’t go any further, almost as if it were afraid to follow in the path of The Nickleman, afraid to test those boundaries much like every other robot in the XWF. The drone held steady in the air directly next to the TV, allowing the camera to film everything that happened on screen after Charlie’s mad dash into the television universe.






New background music begins to play as the BastardNet logo fades away,






Charlie Nickles is driving his Indian Panhead across the screen in pitch darkness as the lyrics to the background music play in the bottom-left corner of the screen like the opening credits to a TV show. Alongside every set of lyrics there is a notification on the screen indicating you can press a button on your smart TV remote to ‘learn more’. I wonder what happens when you press that button on an antique TV?

Swear at the walls
They make fun of me

Charlie Nickles rides like hell through the darkness. He presumably can’t see a thing, but he can still feel the grips of his handlebars and he can still hear the mocking laughter in the shadows around him, so he knows he is still on the path to recovering the center of his universe.

Day after day
Eyes that follow me
Is it you again?
Can this be the end forever?

Intent on not letting it end like this, The Nickleman pressed the pedal to the medal as he chased through the unknown dredges of the universe in search of the only love he has ever known.

As it was before
It will be no more
Time does that

The Nickleman looks around anxiously for any sign of his Goldi. He reaches out into the darkness absentmindedly and slaps the whimpering lion in the sidecar, because its whining was making it hard to focus.

Say it again, like you said
Does it sound like you?
Where are you now?

Charlie’s ears perk up as he now hears the same grating laugh he heard in Loy’s antique shop. Charlie whips the motorbike around and begins driving towards the song lyrics on screen, where he sees the masked man hiding in between the letters with his Goldi!

Can you hide who you are?
Take a look at yourself
Can you stop what will be?
You think running will help?

STOP FUCKING RUNNING, BITCH!

The Nickleman’s Indian Panhead charges into the song lyrics, forcing them to scatter across the TV screen! The drone backs up quickly, as if it were literally expecting the lyrics to fly out the screen. After it is clear that is not the case, the drone flies the camera back in front of the TV screen where we see the masked man desperately running away from Charlie’s motorbike as he struggles to keep his pants around his waist.

YOU’LL NEVER TAKE MY GOLDI ALIVE, GOD DAMN IT!

The sweaty man in the mask turns around as he hears the motorcycle speeding closer. He reaches out into the darkness with his untrimmed nails and claws into the fabric of the otherworld, the world we see reflected in the television. We can see the etchings of a grin beneath the leather mask as the man rips through the shadows, revealing a hidden pocket of the universe within the darkness. He hops through the open pocket as fast as he can, escaping into the unknown anus of the universe with the stolen championship belt in his grasp.



God damn it, that shit looked fucking terrible! Everything you do fucking sucks!

The Nickleman rides after the masked man, barreling through the tear in the anus of the universe with no hesitation and no lubrication. As Charlie comes out of the tear in the universe, he stumbles upon a scene that is completely crazy and lavishly ludicrous. It’s everything you could ever want and nothing you could ever expect. The audience doesn’t see what Charlie sees, however: they just see the fun flashcard that rolls across the screen as Charlie slides into his next bit!





The graphic slides off the screen and it’s clear that Charlie Nickles was not having a fun time behind it. His motorbike, lion and all, is levitating in mid-air as it is caught in some sort of pink forcefield. A startled Nickles looks around inside the pink bubble for his escape. He jumps off his motorbike and floats towards the top of the magical aura engulfing him. He takes the boxcutter out of his leather boot and begins trying to cut the forcefield open, but nothing works. He seems thoroughly entrapped.

As the camera inside the TV zooms out, the camera outside the TV can observe that The Nickleman is suspended a few yards above a boiling cauldron. Around the cauldron stand two witches, rubbing their disgusting mitts together, licking their lips in anticipation of the coming feast. One witch holds a guitar in lieu of a broomstick, while the other wields a rifle. The two witches look up towards The Nickleman with glee.

Look how fat he is, Sister Pryce! He will taste scrumptious in the beef stew!



Says the witch with the guitar to the witch with the rifle.

Oh yes, Sister Lane! His grease will go great with that one’s leather! This beef will be the best we’ve ever had, because it’s been stewing for a year!



Says the witch with the rifle to the witch with the guitar.

Both witches look off to the side and cackle as we see another forcefield levitating in the air a few feet away. While similar to the circle engulfing Charlie, this forcefield is far smaller and paler in color. Trapped inside of that forcefield we see the masked man and the TV championship belt. The son of a bitch just waves at Charlie Nickles and kisses the belt, which absolutely infuriates The Nickleman.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!

The Nickleman begins desperately clawing at the sides of the forcefield like a dog trapped in a cage. The two witches cackle some more at the attempted, but failed, insolence.

He is a feisty one, Sister Pryce!

Yes he is, Sister Lane! Yes he is! We’ve never had a snapjaw this snappy! Oh well…time to boil them!

Sister Lane holds her guitar out towards the pink aura containing Charlie Nickles. At the same time, Sister Pryce points her rifle at the far lesser aura surrounding the masked man. As the witches lower their weapons the force fields begin lowering towards the cauldron. Nickles and the lion begin freaking out and scrambling around their forcefield as the man in the mask seems to resign himself to his fate.

Who do you think is going to boil first, Sister Lane?

The one with the mask, Sister Pryce! The fat one will probably still be cooking tomorrow, just look at the size of those belly rolls!

The witches throw their heads back in shared laughter as their respective phallic instruments continue to lower the poor souls towards the cauldron. Then, the witch with the guitar cocks an eyebrow as she glances at the rifle.

You know, Sister, I hadn’t noticed this before…but I think my broomstick is longer than yours. It looks thicker, too!

No, no it’s not! It’s just cold out here, so the metal is retracted!

Somewhere out there in the universe, he laughs. Apparently this is the kind of stuff he finds really funny. Sister Pryce, however, isn’t laughing at all! She looks pissed off!

I’ve decided…I don’t want to make beef stew with you anymore!

The witch gestures her not so long rifle to the side, causing the force field with the masked man to fling roughly towards the ground some ten feet away from the cauldron. The masked man tries to stand up with the TV belt after he lands on the ground, but the forcefield allows him to rise no further than his hands and knees.

Oh you’re no fun!

The other witch gestures her guitar to the opposite side, sending Charlie’s forcefield- lion, motorbike, and all- crashing towards the ground opposite Goldi and the masked man. Nickles was forced to sit there parallel to Goldi’s captor, only able to rise to his hands and knees, while the all-powerful witches squabble through a phallic measuring contest.

I’m no fun, Sister Lane? That’s not what Cotton-Eyed Roxi said!

She would never talk to you, Sister! You’re going to have to do better than that to prove your point!

Sister Pryce narrowed her eyes at Sister Lane. Her brow furrowed in frustration as she spoke.

Oh yeah? Well, your stupid little jokes about dicks don’t prove anything!

Sister Lane started snickering immediately, much to the dismay of the witch with the gun.

Heh, you said little dick, Sister. Freudian slip?

Sister Pryce stomped her feet on the ground in a rage.

That’s not even what that means! That’s not what any of this means! Don’t tug my chain, Sister!

Not much chain to tug…

Stop it! Stop it! We’ll settle this according to the ancient ways…

By just measuring our broomsticks and seeing who has a bigger one?

Both Charlie and the lion continually tried to break through the pink forcefield while the witches bickered, but it was all to no avail. In this hidden anus of the universe these witches held all the cards: but the witch with the guitar seemed to have the stronger hand between the two. No wonder Sister Pryce felt the need to carry a military grade rifle.

We will settle this with a ritualistic competition of Praeparatio Bubulae!

Praeparatio Bubulae? You can’t be serious…I was just kidding…

I’m serious! Your ego has gone unchecked for too long. It’s time you finally started putting some respect on my broomstick.

Sister Lane sighed reluctantly. Charlie continued trying to break out of confinement, but it was no use. The man in the mask, meanwhile, just laid on his back, content to let anything happen to him.

Fine, fine. You know it is against the witch’s code to refuse a competition of Praeparatio Bubulae. I just hope this ritual doesn’t get out of hand like the Winter Solstice one did!

Sister Pryce cocked a big smile as she looked between the two parties of captives engulfed by separate and unequal force fields.

Well since you declared the challenge, I get to pick my champion first. And I select…

Sister Lane looks between the two force fields curiously, with a finger tapping on her chin. Clever as always, the underhanded Sister Pryce deploys some classic reverse psychology.

I just hope you don’t take the fat one. He’s so fat, he probably knows a whole bunch about marinating bubulae.

I pick the fat one!

Sister Lane exclaims excitedly as she snaps her fingers and dissipates the pink forcefield containing Charlie, the lion, and the motorbike. Sister Pryce laughs while dismissing her own forcefield opposite The Nickleman.

Haha! I got you again, Sister Lane! Don’t you recognize this masked fellow from the Astral Feast? He is sure to prepare memorable bubulae!

Oh shoot…

You might as well say shit at this point!

I don’t swear, Sister. It’s low-brow.

Funny, I bet you’re swearing to yourself that your champion is about to lose!

Sister Lane rolls her eyes while Sister Pryce rolls in laughter.

Your champion looks like he’s shrunk about three inches and 45 pounds since the Astral Feast. He’s like, malnourished or something. He probably went vegan. I’m totally still going to win.

We’ll see, Sister Lane. We. Will. See!

Right.

The two witches walk over to their chosen cattle to prepare them for the ritualistic competition. Charlie, meanwhile, is trying to push his Indian Panhead upright so he can ride on his opposition and take back his Goldi. The masked man is still just laying on the ground, although now he is picking the daisies around him while kicking his feet in the air like a teenage girl.

Thaddeus, get in the fucking sidecar! How many times do I have to tell you?!?!

The camera inside the TV switches perspective, so the camera outside the TV can now only see the conversation unfolding on Charlie’s side of the bubbling cauldron. The Nickleman screams at his pet with an ever changing name as he finally gets his motorcycle up on its wheels, but Sister Lane gets to the bike first. She touches Charlie gently on the arm, forcing his entire body to freeze in place.

Chill out, broseph. I need you to cook up some beef for me real quick. Do you know how to do that?

As Sister Lane holds the palm of her hand against Charlie’s arm, a pink strand of magical energy begins to radiate off of the witch’s middle finger. The tendril of dark magic wrapped around Charlie’s arm before reaching his shoulder. Then the strand of pink magic shot down The Nickleman’s throat, reaching deep into his body, before wrapping around his beating heart. Charlie gagged and choked as the strand of magic wormed its way through his body, but somehow his forced answers still came out crystal clear, as if his very soul were being compelled to respond.

I know all about beef. Cooking up beef is my professional speciality! I’m the best in the business at it!

Go on…what do you know about the ritualistic preparation of beef?

The witch squeezed Charlie’s arm tighter as a small smile spread across her lips. Charlie looked around in a frantic fright as he heard his own voice in the air around him, even as his lips and mouth were being forcibly pried open by the ethereal energy from the witch’s middle finger.

I know that I can turn any cut of flesh into smoking hot beef, no matter how low grade the meat from the cow is. A little bit of my special sauce can turn any bottom sirloin into filet ming-motherfucking-on! It all starts with rubbing a little bit of my salty marinade into the fresh meat, but the trick is to make sure that you tenderize the meat before you salt it. A lot of people forget that step, and that’s why a lot of people’s beef sucks!

I create beef that is melt-in-your mouth tender, I make beef that is just begging to be ripped from the bone, and I can do it with any cut of the cow! Lotta’ folks struggle when they’re trying out new recipes and tryna’ grill up unfamiliar meats. Not me though, cause I got a tried and true trick that never fails to stir the pot! Always tenderize before you salt, and if you’ve got a busy schedule, just get your friends to go tenderize the cuts for you! It all cooks up just the same!

The witch nods along as The Nickleman is forced to reveal the secrets to his award-winning praeparatio bubulae strategy.

Nowadays folks have gotten lazy and their beef sucks for it. No one is willing to go the extra mile anymore, no one but The Nickleman. Today these supposed ‘champions of the grill’ are just throwing expired fruit on a pan and calling it a veggie burger. And the god damned food critics eat it up, because they don’t know any fucking better, because they just judge everything by how it appears on the plate! Fling a few splooshes of spicy mayo around the edge of the dish and people call ya’ a genius, even when your main entree is undercooked and underprepared. Folks call me hardcore because my beef still comes out on the plate drenched in the blood of the cow, but shit, I guess chefs like me are just rare these days!

Ain’t that the truth. I’m starting to think I made the right choice with you.

The witch releases her grip on Charlie’s arm, yet still the strand of dark magic remains in place. The all powerful Sister Lane puts her hands around her guitar and begins melodically plucking away at the strings. Pink musical notes shoot out of the guitar’s headstock and explode into the bubbling cauldron, causing it to shatter into precisely 364 pieces. In its place, an entire kitchen set from Iron Chef America somehow rises out of the ground, lifted up by dozens of strands of pink energy that quickly dissipate once their job is done.

It’s ritual time, baby!

Hold up, my guy isn’t ready yet! He says he doesn’t cook, he just eats!

The camera inside the TV changes back to its original perspective, allowing the camera outside the TV to observe the two parallel scenes on either side of the surreal Iron Chef kitchen set. While Charlie is still frozen in place by the witch’s magic, the masked man is relaxing on the grass and trying to take a nap!

What? You don’t get infinite prep time! You called the challenge!

But he’s not doing anything! He says he doesn’t really care that much either way about preparing the beef!

Well then…let’s start the ritual! There’s no way my champion will lose now!

Just give me a minute to figure something out…hey, hey you!

Sister Pryce pokes the sleeping man with the butt of her rifle, causing him to stir slightly.

Get off your ass and do something to cook this beef up! It’s go time!

The man in the mask simply waves away the rifle, much to the chagrin of the witch who chose him. Sister Lane, however, looks like she couldn’t be more pleased with this turn of events. Sister Pryce grabs the TV championship belt off of the ground and begins waving it around in the face of her ‘champion’.

I bet you like this pretty gold a whole lot...if you don’t get off your ass and prepare some 5-star beef for me I’ll melt this pretty gold of yours!

Charlie forces his eyes to the edge of their sockets so he can see if anything wicked befalls his true love. Charlie wants to shout out for Goldi, but the pink tendril down his throat is making it impossible. The man in the mask, on the other hand, simply looks up at Sister Pryce and shrugs: he really doesn’t care about material things like championships and belts. His universe is ‘so much bigger than that’. Predictably, this drives the witch with the rifle even more irate.

Just use the force like I do, Sister Pryce!

Sister Lane snickers as the irate witch turns back with a scowl. Both these women know full well that Sister Pryce can’t do the things Sister Lane can do in this anus of the universe.

If you gave me the power to do that, I could!

HA! Big if!

While the witch with the rifle continually fails to motivate her chosen one, Sister Lane pops open the motorbike’s storage console and begins rummaging through it. Charlie fights like hell to break out of his pink tranquility, but it’s to no avail.

Woah, dudette, look at this!

Sister Lane pulls a rolled up portrait out of the console before letting it close shut. The witch flings her wrist to unravel the portrait of an ebony woman at the center of the universe. The portrait immediately catches the eye of the masked man, and he begins whispering something into the ear of the witch with the rifle.

She sure is a looker!

Sister Lane looks back at her captive Charlie before nodding her head over towards the masked man on the other side of the Iron Chef kitchen.

I bet your alias over there could never hold down a woman this bad!

Sister Pryce hops up in excitement as the man in the mask slowly rises to his feet.

My champion has told me he is ready to prepare the beef!...but on one condition.

Oh, of course there’s a condition. I bet it’s something completely self-serving and unnecessary

Well…

The witch with the guitar rolls her eyes dismissively.

You really need to get more control over your champions, Sister Pryce. It’s disgraceful to our rituals for them to act in this childish manner.

He just said that if he wins he wants to take a poop on the painting!

Sister Lane looks back to the immaculate painting, then shrugs.

Well shoot, I was going to hang it up right over my bathtub. But I guess if there’s only one way to make this work…

The masked man appears absolutely giddy with the witch’s answer. He seems to care nothing for the stolen belt in his possession; rather, he’s infatuated only with desecrating that which Charlie holds dear.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

The Nickleman can’t endure this torment for a moment longer. Charlie can’t stomach watching the center of his universe be paraded around like some meaningless trinket. These witches may hold all the cards, but the TV God holds the universe in his heart, and that is where his power comes from. The twisted love for a golden allusion had become the core of Charlie’s soul: the very soul that was being compelled to respond by Sister Lane’s magical tendrils. The rapid-fire beat of Charlie’s anxious heart grew faster and faster by the second. The strand of pink energy entrancing The Nickleman suddenly cracked all over as his heartbeat grew more aggressive.

Woah, I’ve never seen that before!

One more beat of the heart was all it took to shatter the pink tendril entirely. The dark magic strand broke into precisely 364 pieces before falling to the floor, lifeless. The Nickleman collapses to the ground and gasps for breath.

I’ve definitely never seen THAT before!

Sister Lane begins plucking the strings of her magical guitar and four pink notes immediately shoot out of the headstock towards The Nickleman. The TV God rises to his feet, ready to face the music with a bastard’s scowl on his face. Charlie backhanded, pimp slapped, headbutted, and uppercutted the four musical notes- in that exact succession. Each magic note broke into 181 pieces immediately upon contact.

Uh, Sister Pryce! A little help here, please!

The Nickleman charged at Sister Lane as Sister Pryce lifted her rifle up to her shoulder. The witch with the gun aimed down her sights at the most powerful being in this universe, and then she fired exactly 9 shots.

Not even one of the 9 shots hit The TV God.

But at least one bullet landed in the back of Sister Lane’s skull, slumping her straight to the ground, creating a bloody mess all over the grass. It turns out that even here, in this anus of the universe, shooting still reigns supreme. The witch with the gun dropped her rifle to the ground, horrified by her own actions. The man in the mask looked on nervously between the dead witch and Charlie before snatching the TV championship out of Sister Pryce’s hands.

You’ll pay for this!

Sister Pryce didn’t give a damn about the masked man and his stolen belt: her eyes were locked onto the TV God suddenly dominating this universe. Charlie grabbed the painting off the ground and tucked it into his leather jacket before running back to the Indian Panhead and straddling it. Nickles looked over to the sidecar and was relieved to see that his lion was already seated there. Charlie revved up the bike before shooting himself back at Sister Pryce like a bullet from a gun. The motorcycle destroyed the Iron Chef set as it drove through it, sending kitchen appliances and ingredients flying every which way.

As Charlie crossed through the kitchen set he leapt off the motorbike towards Sister Pryce. As he neared the witch he wrapped his arms around her head and shoulders in mid-air. The froggy TV God then changed directions and brought Sister Pryce’s skull crashing down to the dirt. After they landed Charlie flipped the witch over, making it clear that her forehead turned concave following the devastating Devil Hook Drop.

The Indian Panhead, still in drive, went roaring past The Nickleman. Charlie reached out and pulled himself into the empty sidecar as it passed, as if that were his plan all along. Nickles pulled himself back onto the driver’s seat just in time to see that his masked alias was ripping another tear in the anus of the universe with his dingy nails.

IMMA FUKKIN KILL YOU!

The man behind the mask waved mockingly at Charlie as he threw the stolen championship belt into the exposed fabric of the universe. The man started to follow, but he only gets half his body through the tear before The Nickleman runs him down! The force of the motorbike dragging the man’s leg up into the wheel well forces him out of exposed fabric of the universe and back onto the ground. The Nickleman fully runs the man over before his body gets disentangled from the motorbike some five feet away from the tear. Charlie hops off the motorbike just as the fabric of the universe repairs itself and smooths away the hole that his Goldi was thrown through.

NOOOOOOOOO! FUCK!

Charlie shakes his head from side to side furiously as he walks towards the mangled man in the mask.

You fucking cunt. The only good Demos is a dead one!

Demos is dead, Charlie…..he always has been.

He’s about to be!

When Nickles finally reaches Goldi’s mangled abductor he doesn’t waste a damn second before flinging repeated boots into their face. Blood starts flying up into the air after every kick, and pretty soon the dude on the ground has gone completely limp. Charlie curbstomps the motherfucker for good measure before crouching down and sliding the mask off his shattered skull.

Charlie can’t believe what he sees behind the leather….


IT’S CHEDDAR AL!




Or is it?


Cheddar? Cheddar fucking Al?! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

Charlie punches the man in the hockey mask furiously. After a few seconds of pummeling Cheddar Al’s mask starts looking a lot less Jason Vorhees and a lot more Phantom of the Opera. Bits and pieces of the mask start flying off as the fists of the TV God come raining down.

I…did this….for her...she deserves….better…than you.

The man with the shattered mask spoke his words softly between punches. The lion in the sidecar cocked his head to the side, as if he too were investigating the three layers of hidden meaning baked into the man’s words. How can so many stories work in unison like this? That’s the question Thaddeus the lion must be asking himself as he watches the violence unfold a few feet away from his sidecar.

That just makes you a stupid motherfucker! No one steps between me and her!

Nickles delivers one more punch before Cheddar Al goes still. Charlie sits there, on top of his opposition, with immense blood on his hands. Unwashed locks of hair fall in front of Charlie’s face as he looks down at his scarlet palms, watching the ichor drip.

This is my universe now, bitch. You should have known better.

The Nickleman shakes some blood touched dandruff out of his hair before placing a hand on Cheddar’s chest and pushing himself up to his feet with it. Charlie remorsefully walks back to the body of Sister Pryce before leaning over and grabbing the witch’s rifle. Nickles checked the cartridge and the magazine before standing back up and clicking the gun’s safety on- just so he could flick it back off a moment later.

You’re dead fucking meat, Al.

The lion grimaced as it looked away from the grisly scene. Charlie stepped up to the fallen man before lifting the butt of the witch’s rifle up to his shoulder. He closed his left eye as held the stock of the rifle with a steadfast grip. With a finger on the trigger and the right eye on his target, Charlie aimed to fire.

But before he could, the fire was aimed at him.





Cheddar Al lifted his mask briefly and a flurry of flames shot out from his mouth. The sudden and blinding heat forced Charlie to drop his rifle and shield his face from the worst of the flames.

PUSSY BITCH!

As Charlie recoiled from the fire, Cheddar Al scurried to his feet before shoving Charlie into his own motorcycle. Charlie, the lion, and the motorbike went tumbling down as the leaking firebreather stumbled away woozily. Cheddar Al panicly cawed into the air around him with his bloodsoaked nails, ripping yet another tear into the fabric of the universe. As Charlie was pushing himself back to his feet, Cheddar Al was pushing himself through another portal into the unknown. Cheddar Al vanished through the tear just as Charlie rose.

God fucking damn it, stop running from me you pussy!

Charlie pushed his motorbike back up before straddling the driver’s seat and screaming at the lion.

GET IN THE FUCKING SIDECAR, THAD!

The lion was already halfway into the sidecar by the time Charlie yelled, but that simply wasn’t good enough. Charlie smacked the lion on the back of the head before throwing the rifle into the other sidecar and chasing after Cheddar Al. Nickles snarled while gripping the handlebars of the Panhead as he pressed the pedal to the medal. That’s the last we see of him as he rides through the tear in the universe just before it closes.

We are left with a still and quiet shot of the carnage wrought in the wake of The Nickleman. Blood on the grass, bodies on the floor: the savage scene looks just like every other Saturday Night in the XWF universe. As the show ends, an old familiar graphic suddenly fades onto the screen.





##“Take it off”, the bastard sounded
“Give that vile, demoness her toy”
Choppy-chop, horror abounded
Blood-soaked rags drenched and puerile joy##

BAAAAAA!

The lost sheep cried out for his Shepard as he tossed and turned.



##That painted face, that devil’s laugh
“You will never forget this night!”
Crucified on his SHEPARD’S behalf
Scarcely did he put up a fight##


HONK! HONK!

The lost sheep heard the horn of the clown car and knew all hope was lost.



##Terror! Terror! Ugly visions!
Never to sleep a-fucking-gain!
This life he chose, feels like a prison
A sheep squeals but no Shepard listens##


WHOOOOOOSH

Said the blade of the razor as it flew towards the BEST FRIEND’S ear.





A familiar face flashes to life across the screen, seemingly unmarred by the tribulations of his recent past. His white shirt shows no stains of scarlet and his ego shows no signs of bruising. The camera inside the TV is positioned right next to his face, so you just know that droplets of spit and sweat are going to end up on the screen.






You delivered a great promo last time you touched the mic, Alias. Demos must really be shaking in his grave right now. It’s just too damn bad you’re not fighting Demos at Leap of Faith…because I literally killed him one year ago to the fucking day! Is the well really that dry?

Alias is whining that Demos pussied out of a match, Alias is bitching that Demos pussied out of a belt: fun fact, when I met up with Demos on the moon he pussied out of LIFE! For as much as Alias likes to tell stories about the distant future, he just can’t leave the distant past well enough alone. That means I get to give him the gift of being present for the official coronation of the greatest championship run there will ever be, that there ever has been. If you’re talking past, present, and future well then baby: you must be talking about my record-setting reign.

The Nickleman rubs his thumb over his lip, clearing away built up saliva as he glares into the camera.

All the kids stealing mommy’s credit card to watch this pay per view probably don’t even know what the fuck Alias is talking about when he brings up the ancient history, but shit, I’m sure the South Park humor will reel those cocksuckers right back in. But for real, does anyone remember who was fighting for the freestyle belt 15 months ago? Does anyone fucking care? Does it even matter?

Charlie gestures dismissively towards the screen as his brown mane bounces around every which way.

Alias has some peculiar habits, but hell, I guess I’m contractually obligated to indulge them for two weeks. Weirdest of all is his insistence on opening an expired can of worms, guzzling it down like a gluttonous pig, and then giving himself a serious case of the ‘oh shits’. It’s nothing but self-inflicted damage and cleaning it up will be a real chore for him, but Alias just keeps doing it. It’s a shame he used up all his toilet paper last night. That bitch still has diarrhea ass, I could smell it all over that little line about my war games outing.

The Nickleman is a martyr for his men, and you’re god-damned right I’ll go out on MY shield before I let MY men fall in MY battles. I drafted all three of those carnies to my team, and I vowed to defend them that night with every ounce of my fucking being. Straight up. I always look after my soldiers. It’s what a good general does, it’s how a real warrior carries himself. A true Champion fights for his banner in the vanguard, bitch, and that means he falls first if the battle goes bad. Those carnies exceeded everyone’s expectations and we fought like hell til’ the final man, but not every war is meant to be won. Alias will know this soon enough.

Charlie cracks a smile at the thought of finally giving Alias his just desserts.

I took a bullet at War Games so my teammate didn’t have to- and I’d do it again, a thousand fucking times.Because I was the god damned leader of the team, and that’s what leadership is all about. Real leaders don’t hide in the shadows while their followers get plucked and carved like fucking Jack-O-Lanterns. You let Lance lose an ear, and the fuck did you do to stop it? Tweet about it? You motherfucker, I bet you live streamed it just for the views!

You need to take some lessons in leadership from The Nickleman. You need some courses in courtesy, you need a how-to guide for humility. You might as well just sign up for the Nickles Master Class, you dumb piece of shit, because you sound like you need my help with just about everything! Do you need me to defend your championship belt for you, too?

Lazy fucking prick.

The Nickleman spits a big fat loogie on the ground before staring back into the camera.

Alias is more of a performer than a wrestler these days: I mean shit, just look at his work schedule! But hey, I’ll give props where props are due. Alias sure knows how to play the part. His entire smarmy shtick, after all, is just an act. A mask of false bravado to hide the cracks in his glass jaw. The cracks I etched into his universe with my big fucking stones.

These days Alias has been reduced to an illusion, a manufactured projection of grandeur. The man behind the nom de guerre works very hard to maintain himself because he sees the cracks and the holes in his foundation. He’s desperately trying to patch them all while wearing that cool, cocky, and confident smile for his followers. He knows his ship is sinking, I mean fuck, he can see me punching the holes through his hull. But what’s the self-proclaimed Space Jesus supposed to say? Abandon ship? Don’t think so. I’m not getting Captain Sully vibes from Alias, he’s serving pure Jim Jones!

I bet this motherfucker will let a thousand of his followers go missing before he even declares that there is a problem, before he admits that there is a threat to his little cult. But shit, if this paperboy wants his people to go out like Waco Whackos then the pleasure is all mine. Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms? You might as well sign BOB up for that role right the fuck now.

Charlie holds up a pair of finger guns before unloading them on the camera. After a few seconds he brings his finger guns down to his chest and pretends to blow smoke off the barrels. He laughs to himself before shaking the finger guns off his hands. Once the chambers are clear, Charlie runs his hands through the hair on either side of his head.

Alias is so desperate to maintain control over his narrative that he takes hours and hours scripting and performing his little podcast tidbits, his little audio vlogs. He probably takes it one line at a time like a fucking coke whore, rubbing every word on his gums just to make it sure it doesn’t taste too fake. Truth is he’s scared shitless, he knows he’s snorting laced landmines up his nose, he’s praying the bastards don’t explode.

This paperboy can’t come to the camera today, he’s sweating like a lobster on boil, his hands are trembling in anticipation of that final hit. That’s why he can only show his face twenty years in the future! He’s too nervous to stand here in front of a drone and shoot from the fucking hip like it’s Columbine all over again. This skill is an Ohio special, BABY! Just ask Tee-Kay! You think I’m wrong? Check the fucking tapes, you won’t find any drone footage to go along with the paperboy’s little lies.

Charlie places his hands on either side of his waist as he shakes his head in disappointment at the camera.

Alias is like a high grade pharmaceutical manufactured according to all the latest trends. He’s potent, sure, but he’s measured, he’s ultimately restrained by his own process. You know what you’re going to get with him.

But The Nickleman?

Charlie chuckles softly to himself before he imitates the act of smoking out of a pipe. He pretends to hold a lighter beneath the invisible pipe, so you know that it’s definitely an oil burner. He pretends to blow the smoke out as he addresses the camera once more.

I’m like that dirty bag an addict gets off the street! My rocks are laced with meaning you’ll never fucking know! I got a street name, sure, and people know I’m extreme: but you really don’t know what you’re going to get until you try me. I might do nothing, you know, that’s what the Doctor said…but I just might kill ya! That’s what happened to Gra-edus, ain’t it? A baggie of me is as dangerous as it gets. Lil’ Bets and Lil’ Jimmers shot me up one too many times and they fell flat where they stood.

Who has Alias dropped for good? Anyone?

Shit, that paperboy spent weeks following me around and mixing up my words like some kind of dyslexic. The only thing he dropped in the lead-up to this match was the fucking ball!

Charlie rolls his eyes at Alias’s weak ass paraphrasing in the lead-up to Leap of Faith.

Either Alias lies through his teeth, or he really doesn’t show up to work enough to earn his contract. The paperboy talks like he didn’t see any of Jim Caedus’s championship reign, but that Cowboy was riding around the wild west acting like his shit didn’t stink after Alias slinked into the shadows. Alias said Jim Caedus knew he wasn’t shit? How could that be true if Jim Caedus felt like complete shit after I stepped to him on Warfare?!?! It can’t be true, and that’s how I know Alias doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about!

I hit Caedus so fucking hard Lycana thought he was a completely different guy, with a smaller dick! Alias’s theories on Caedus’ Case of the Crazies just don’t make any sense! The paperboy is ducking for cover and spraying blind at this point, because he doesn’t want to talk about the fact that I retired the piece of shit who cashed in on him!

I’ll grant Alias that Petey Vaughn knew he was never shit with that belt…but oh boy…Vaughn. Didn’t they tell you not to go here, Alias? You shouldn’t have responded to shit with Vaughn. Why are you walking on the very landmines that you’re plantin, you goofball? Petey Vaughn knew he was never shit cause he lived in fear of ME! Even you said it, Alias!

Charlie cackles at the inconsistencies.

Even you said Petey Vaughn was DUCKING ME in the lead up to March Madness. Tell me, Alias: why was Vaughn ducking me and not YOU? I’ll tell you my theory, and I think it’s pretty interesting. I think Vaughn squared up to you because every skeleton in your closet was six months old. I think Vaughn refused to go at The Nickleman because I was busy throwing new bodies in the closet every two weeks! He knew his golden goose would get fucking COOKED over here, cause I was proving it week after week! So he tested the waters with the man in my shadow.

Petey picked the pussy’s path for March Madness, and thank God he got fucked for it. Not very deep and not very hard, but I spose’ it was a fucking nonetheless…still, my favorite part of the whole shebang was when Jimson shoved that dolphin fin up your asshole after the cameras cut off: because, why not? If in 2040 my kids are hanging out with the space hobo, then a couple months ago Jimson shoved a dolphin fin up Alias’s ass at March Madness.

To be truthful, it’s not much of an ‘if’ and a ‘then’. In fact, it’s really a ‘because’ and a ‘quick delete’. But I’ve already told you as much, haven’t I? You like to write my living children into your sick twisted fantasies, so I like to write your name on the wall in blood. But it all makes sense, doesn’t it? After all, the shit Alias has been spewing since March has smelled awfully fishy! Heck, maybe it was a tuna fin Jimson shoved up there after all…

Charlie turns his head to the side and smiles as he remembers all the fun BOB had at March Madness. He rubs his bearded chin thoughtfully before looking back at the camera.

But I’m not Jim, am I? And I sure as shit ain’t Marf either…Alias must be a very smart boy for pointing that out. But I wonder if Alias even heard that landmine going off beneath him?

I ain’t Jim Jimson….so who is Jim Jimson, the madman that crashed Alias’s party at March Madness? The complete psycho who cut Alias down the very moment his supposed reign began?

The Nickleman laughs knowingly as he ponders the answer. He quickly shakes his head from side to side, almost in disbelief that Alias would walk straight into this obvious trap.

Who is Jim Jimson? Well….he’s only the worst wrestler that’s ever been signed to an XWF contract. He can’t wrestle, he can’t fight, hell, he can’t even cut a promo! I love Jimson but honestly the boy is as soft as Charmin, and he knows it. Yet somehow HE took down Alias, on the biggest night of Alias’s year!

So if Jim Jimson can run up on the paperboy and shove a fish up his ass, well then, what the fuck might the rest of us be able to do? What the fuck might I be able to do? Do you really think Jim can hit you harder than I can, Cheddar Al? Is that what you want to stake your reign on?

The Nickleman dismissed the foolish idea with a theatrical wave of his left hand.

After stepping on all these landmines I’ll be surprised if Alias can even make it to the ring on the 29th. Does that paperboy have any legs left to stand on by this point? He better cut a couple off that organ donor he keeps in his crew! What the hell else is Cheddar Al to do? But shit, he better not grow too attached to them sons of bitches, cause I’m planning to snatch those away too!

Shit, I’m doing that rhyming thing now….I must be spending too much time with Tee-Kay in those halls of X-treme.

Charlie taps the side of his head a couple of times, as if he were trying to shake the hip hoppin’ out of his vocabulary. He rolled his head around his neck a few times before cracking his knuckles and looking back into the camera.

But you know, I think Alias is spending too much time with ghosts these days. He’s chasing after exiles long gone, he’s hanging out with the same Ned Kaye those bastards turned MIA. He says he wants Jim Caedus, he says he wants Robert Main. He’s probably hanging out with Demos too! After all, they share the same name.

But that’s so surface-level. The ties between my old alias and my new Alias go so much deeper than that, doncha’ know? They both want to build their little movements. They both hide in my shadow, and they both stole my fucking belts. In fact, they both had to take my fucking body just to get their belts!

I’m sure the paperboy doesn’t think he took my body, I mean shit, he’s probably admiring himself in the mirror right now. He’s built like a coke whore and I’m built like a brahma bull; but that body he dropped at March Madness was rightfully mine. I should have Vaugh’s hide on my mantle, everyone knows that prick still owes me a title shot. I made Vaughn the universal champion by crushing Caedus, because this is my universe. It should have been my name across the card from Vaughn at March Madness, just like it should have been my name across the card from Marf last March Madness.

My old alias and my new Alias, I’m pretty sure those boys used to get along like two peas in a pod. I don’t know why Alias wants to act like the two ever had a shred of beef, those two barely ever had a sour word, let alone a match! I know they played their share of touch butt in the X-treme halls, but at the end of the day they are two strains from the same indica flower….because their promos always put me to fucking sleep.

Charlie leans his head back as he imitates snoring. This goes on for some time until he cracks a grin and leans his head back down. He slides an extended finger over his throat in a clearly threatening fashion.

I killed my old alias last Leap of Faith, so I’m going to kill my new Alias at this Leap of Faith! But this time, after I kill my Alias, I’ll walk away with a whole lot more than one man’s soul. I'll walk away with the entire fucking universe.

Charlie Nickles sneers into the camera as he gestures towards his chunky body.

One year ago THIS became reality. I became reality, because I killed an alias.

The screen begins the fade to black as The Nickleman cuts his teeth on a brutal finishing line.

One year later, I have come to take what is mine: this entire fucking universe.

All we hear is the cackling of a crazed champion as a familiar graphic fades onto the screen.







The TV screen flashes back to life with an image of golden sand. A grotesque hand reaches down and defiles the golden grains with four scaly fingers. That’s when the camera inside the TV zooms out, allowing the camera outside the TV to see a long silhouette of The Nickleman cast in a shadow against the sand.

Wherever she went, I know he’s following. I just have to catch his trail.

The Nickleman’s silhouette grabs a handful of sand before shoving it into his mouth and swallowing it. The camera zooms out further, allowing us to see that Charlie is crouched down just a few feet away from his motorbike and his lion, who is seated in the sidecar like a good boy.

Hmmm…tastes like dirt. He must have been here.

The lion cocked a brow at Charlie as if he were questioning The Nickleman’s conclusions. Charlie spit a few grains of sand out of his mouth before using some of his long hair to scrape sand off his tongue. After his mouth is all cleaned out Charlie spits on the ground and hops back onto his Indian Panhead. With a lion in one sidecar and a rifle in the other, Charlie rides off into the desert prepared for whatever hell may come. With the setting sun at his back and a long shadow before him, The Nickleman pressed the pedal to the medal as he turned the horizon into the periphery.

Holy shit….what are those?

Nickles brought the Panhead to a stop before balancing it with one foot to the sand. He grabbed the rifle out of the sidecar and brought the butt of the gun up to his right shoulder. Charlie closed one eye as he squinted down the sights of the gun. He moved the rifle left to right, slowly, observing the odd scene some hundred yards off in the distance. The camera inside the TV changes perspectives, so now the camera outside the TV is staring down the sights from Charlie’s point-of-view.

We see thirteen rotting corpses nailed to thirteen wooden crosses, seemingly placed from left-to-right in order of freshness. The crucified corpses are for the most part spaced out evenly, save for the 9th and 10th corpses, which hang from crosses planted right beside each other. When Charlie lowers the sights he can see that the sand beneath every cross appears bloodstained. Charlie lifts the sights back up and begins taking random potshots at the victims, just for fun. After Charlie unloads an entire magazine from 100 yards out, the camera changes perspective once again. We see Charlie toss Sister Pryce’s rifle back into the sidecar before he rides on ahead to get a closer look.

As Charlie pulls up to the grisly scene we can see that the bloodstains beneath each corpse are shaped in the form of arabic numerals. The 9th and 10th cross both stand above the same scarlet number, throwing the rest of the order off by one.

Wait….wait just a minute. Haven’t I seen these before? Oh yeah….there was a pop-up exactly like this in that antique storybook!

1


2


3


4


5


6


7


8


9


10


11


12


As Charlie looks up from the numbers in the sand he can see exactly which bodies were hit by his rifle fire. The body above the first number was just grazed, but the bodies above the second, fourth, eleventh, and twelfth numbers were shot all to hell. Their insides were turned outside after the shooting, their intestines and bowels laying on the sand in a disgusting pile of vulture food.

Heh, I don’t remember seeing a sexy motherfucker like me ride on Golgotha in the pop-up book. Maybe I should write a letter to the editor!

But before Charlie can ride off from the scene and write that letter, the ground begins to shake. The sudden trembling breaks up the consolidated sand, turning it loose, making it impossible for the motorbike to get any traction at all. The lion in the sidecar looks around in worry as it whimpers quietly to itself.

Shut the fuck up, Thaddeus! No one wants to hear your bitching anymore!

As Charlie disciplines his lion, four terrifying creatures rise up from the bowel-stained sands. The demons roar together in unison before charging at The Nickleman.



SHIT! DEMONS!

Charlie reaches over and grabs the rifle, quickly bringing it up to his shoulder while placing a finger on the trigger. He pulls it repeatedly, but nothing of note happens. He never reloaded the gun.

Fuck! I took all my shots too early!

Charlie tossed the empty rifle back into the sidecar before hopping off his motorbike and rolling up his sleeves. It looked like The Nickleman was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

The demon that rose from beneath the 2nd cross was the first to fall. The Golgothan atrocity took a swing at The Nickleman, but he ducked the punch, then he fisted the demon in its cunt. The demon from the second cross shrieked in terror before internally combusting. Blood and shit shot out every which way, completely coating The Nickleman’s frontside.

The Nickleman wiped the bloody shit from his eyes just in time to see the demon from the sixth cross charging his way. Charlie lifted up a big boot and the hellish beast ran straight into it, causing the demon to fall straight to the ground. Charlie followed up with a quick elbow drop on the demon’s mushy head.

SPLAT!

The demon’s head exploded from the pressure, coating Charlie’s entire upper body in an additional layer of browned blood and guts. The TV God has no time to celebrate, however, because the Golgothan demon from the 12th cross looks mad as hell! The crazed pile of shit starts swinging furiously at Charlie Nickles, causing the most hated man in the XWF to roll out of the way.

After his tactical retreat, The Nickleman quickly pushes himself up to his feet before adopting an orthodox boxer’s stance.

Come and get it, you bloody piece of shit!

The Nickleman taunts the demon on, causing it to shriek wildly. The shit demon places its poopy paws on its turd face as it howls in psychic pain.

Come on! Fucking fight me!

Charlie stands his ground as he holds his fists at the ready. The poopy head demon, however, spontaneously combusts into 63 pieces of shit. The shattered pieces of the demon all flee from The Nickleman like worms, crawling in the opposite direction as fast as they can.

Well shit, that was easier than it should have been.

Nickles turned his eyes to the last Golgothan demon, which was moving at a slower pace than all the rest. Despite arising from beneath the most recent cross, this demon somehow appeared to be the oldest.

You’re the slowest piece of shit I’ve ever seen!

Charlie laughs as he shakes his head at the aged turd. Meanwhile, the lion whimpers softly as four more crosses suddenly arise from the sands behind the motorbike, unbeknownst to The Nickleman. The first cross holds a crucified corpse, the second cross is mounted by a Golgothan demon, and the third and fourth cross are perplexingly empty. As Charlie moves in on the slow-moving turd, the demon on the second crucifix hops off its cross and moves in on the pet lion.

Nickles charges straight towards the aged demon, spearing it right in half! As Charlie flies through the demon’s body it explodes everywhere, creating yet another diarrhea mess that someone else will have to clean up later. Charlie is completely covered in blood and crusty shit by now, but still, he has a smirk on his face the size of Long Island.

Charlie doesn’t even turn his head as he hears the desperate cries of the lion, not until it is far too late. When Charlie finally turns around he sees that the three crosses behind him, as well as the shit demon literally ripping a lion in half hot-dog style.

THADDEUS!!!!!!! NOOOOOO!

Nickles reaches out in agony as he sees the fear and panic in his pet’s eyes as it is visceral ripped into two new pets. At the same time, the rotting corpse from the 10th original crucifix hops off his cross and into a pile of decayed shit. Charlie turns around at the sound, ready for a fight, but the corpse sprints right past The Nickleman. Charlie’s gaze fixates on the running corpse, following it every step of the way as it CLOTHESLINES THE SHIT DEMON BACK TO HELL! The foul creature falls to the ground in a pile of foul manure, a fitting end as any for the youngest Golgothan.

Nickles raises a curious eyebrow as the corpse continues running all the way to the newest collection of wooden crosses. The rotting body begins climbing the third crucifix. Once it has reached the upper plank, it motions for Charlie to climb up the fourth crucifix.

No thanks, buddy. I've got a princess to save.

Charlie looks around at the carnage and devastation before his gaze settles on the pet lion he abducted from the three ringed circus match in April. He sighs softly before grabbing the beast’s carcass and throwing it out of the sidecar.

At least you died in the sidecar, Thaddeus, like a good little doggo..

Charlie pursed his lips mournfully before he straddled the motorbike and revved it up.

But I won’t let Goldi share your fate.

Just as The Nickleman is set to dart off from the scene, the corpse from the ninth cross hops off its crucifix.

Oh come the fuck on…does anyone know how to do a proper crucifixation anymore?

The other animated corpse hops off its new cross before the pair slowly approach Charlie’s motorbike in tandem. The Nickleman looks between the two corpses, then towards the shared number nine that was beneath their original crosses.

I really ain’t tryna’ waste anymore time with this lot of has-beens, alright? Why don’t you boys just mind your business and we go our separate ways.

Charlie slowly prepares himself for another fight as the two corpses stand just a few feet away from his bike, next to either sidecar.

I’m warning you!

Unperturbed, the two corpses stepped into the sidecars before immediately fastening their seat belts. The slightly smaller of the two corpses grabbed the rifle and held it in their lap, patting it gently in appreciation of a job well done. Charlie looked confused by that, but he looked even more confused when the slightly bigger corpse gave him a thumbs up, then signaled for him to drive.

Well….I guess you boys can hitchhike with me for a while. But be warned: I don’t make any promises about your safety.

The two corpses looked at each other, shrugged, then looked back towards The Nickleman. Charlie looked between the walking dead, shrugged to himself, then turned his focus back on the sandy road in front of him. Charlie drove through the blood and guts he spilled, as the sun behind him finally seemed to set on the scene. Our dark knight in shit-encrusted amor rode off into the distance, hardened by the battles he had won, with two new faces riding beside him.