The irritated mutterings of a frustrated madman…

The derelict, demented driveling of a deranged demon.

Turned-over chairs, torn-up papers… A cacophony of chaotic crushed cabinets.

And sitting in the center of the storm… Muttering louder and louder.

Is Mark Flynn. Sitting on the edge of  a stool. Laser-focused on what lays before him.

A gameboard.

His teeth grind… His eyes bloodshot. His hand tremoring, resting on a token…

The camera pans over the board. Instead of a chess set or a checkerboard… Flynn seems to be playing on a set of schematics… A building layout. Entrances and exits are marked…

And his hand rests upon a single black piece, deep in enemy territory, is trapped in a sea of white.

Flynn’s eye twitches… His eyes scan the squares again, desperately seeking the perfect maneuver.

His fingers pulse and shake… As he extends the piece outward a few steps to take a piece…

…

He then calmly stands.

Walks to the other side of the board.

…

And moves one of the white pieces to take the black he just moved.

…

Flynn calmly walks back.

Takes his seat back onto the stool.

….

“AHHHHHHHHHH!”

Flynn collapses backwards off the stool! It clatters loudly to the floor as Flynn frustratedly kicks the tile at his feet.

“Maddening.” The King of the Midcarders mutters as he runs his hands through the thinning hairs on his scalp. “No matter how I route maneuvers, these defenses are… insurmountable for a single piece.”

The board is labelled in the top right corner.

BastardNet HQ.

Flynn crosses one leg over the other, staring at the ceiling. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head… ”There’s no helping it.”

…

“It’s not a one-man job.”

…

Flynn leans up off the ground and slams the floor beneath him, sitting back up off the floor.

“Goddammit, Theo. You ASSHOLE. Why did you FORCE me to eliminate NK…?”

Flynn somberly looks up at the chalkboard of the room. Hanging above is a black-and-white glamour shot of a certain North Korean War Criminal…



Flynn melodramatically bites his index finger.

“...It’s just… *sniff* SO HARD… to say goodbye… to yesterdaaaaaaaaaaaaay.”

Flynn sighs forlornly. He reaches into his pocket and dabs a handkerchief against the corner of his eye… Before casting it to the floor in frustration.

“Godammit. I spent A FULL YEAR writing a playbook built around NK and myself. If I don’t want to start from scratch, I’ll need to recruit someone of NK’s near-EXACT profile.”

…Flynn smashes his fist against the wall. The NK memorial shakes back and forth on its wire.

“BUT WHO?!? Where am I going to find a quick, mouthy, subtly-intelligent socialist with a weird respect boner for Corey Smith?”

…

Suddenly, Flynn’s eyes widen.

…And he gets the most devious smile on his face.

He reaches into his pocket… And grabs his iPhone.

He opens his FindMyFriends FindMyAssociates FindMyAcquaintences app…

And sees a pink dot.

Near a familiar compound in Florida…

“Helloooooo Dolly…”

Flynn strokes his chin.

“Just hope she’s in a mood to fight the Bastards…”

***

“FUCKIN’ BOBBY AND TK.”

Dolly impatiently sips at a styrofoam cup of coffee. Snorting mad, her foot tapping against the leg of the steel folding chair she’s sitting in.

“THOSE FUCKIN’ TWO-FACED SNAKES. They lay a-waitin’ fer me and Vita after we beat the THUGS. They coulda booked a match! They coulda attacked us to our faces. BUT LIKE THE SNAKES-IN-THE-GRASS THAT THEY ARE, they ambushed us AFTER A FIGHT. And that crowd chanted ‘You killed Dolly…’. You. KILLED… Dolly. Whoopin’ and hollerin’. Like the home team won by ten so the whole peanut gallery got a free pizza.”

Dolly restlessly taps her foot. The one connected to the ankle that splintered in half at Relentless last year.

The injury that almost ended her career.

Dolly grits her teeth. Just like Bobby and TK tried to on Warfare.

“How fuckin’ low do ya gotta sink? Everybody knows that Bobby and TK ran outta juice last year. Whatever fuckin’ special sauce they had got spent. The pumpkin carriage turned back into rotten fruit and now, Bobby and TK are fuckin’ MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. Bobby got bounced out of WarGames in record time, TK dropped his fuckin’ X-Treme belt. Now, these punk bitches that want to claim THEY’RE the guys to beat. Lemme fuckin’ say something. If they were so fuckin’ unbeatable, why the fuck are they trying to eliminate competition before the biggest match of the year? Huh? I’ll tell you why, CUZ THEY’RE FUCKING SCARED! Vita and I are going to dismantle those yella-bellied bitches and… uh…”

Dolly’s eyes twitches. Her teeth grind. She glares around the room and sees… concerned faces.

“...Uh, sorry, I mighta gotten off-topic. What was the question again?”

The chair at the AA meeting clears her throat. “Um… Any setbacks this week?”

Dolly’s face reddens as she subconsciously scratches at her leg brace. Turns out, she’s hijacked yet another addiction meeting.

“If I may be so bold.” Calls out a voice in the back. The circle of chairs spin ‘round. And peeking through the doorway, smiling ear-to-ear.

A pair of sunglasses. A black suit.

Mark Flynn.

Dolly’s already wild stare goes near-fully feral in its fury.

“I think Dolly’s made it clear… The answer to that question is yes.”

***
“So Dolly, how’s it be-” WHAM!

Flynn doubles-over, somersaulting ass-over-teakettle twice-over. He’s rolled backwards into a familiar broom-closet-slash-makeshift-interrogation-room.

Flynn flops onto his back… Sitting up, straight into a broom’s brushes. He swats it away… And it naturally pendulums back into his face.

“Damn… Can’t a FRIEND ask how you’re doing without being subjected to a dusty torture? I have SEASONAL ALLERGIES, you MONSTER!”

“You ain’ no FUCKIN’ friend a’ mine.” Dolly mutters, cracking the knuckles on her punching hand. ”Not after you put the comrade into a fuckin’ coma…”

Flynn scrunches his nose… Snorting. He looks down at the floor, dejectedly.

“You don’t even get it, Dolly. You never have.”

Dolly slams the door behind her, rarin’ to keep swingin’. “Don’t get what? Yer fuckin’ optimal path cult horsehit? The only damn one fool enough to get mixed up with you was the Conrade and just as he was finding his footing, you toss him into a goddamn electrical box and send a hundred-thousand volts to his brain. He maya’ been a War Criminal, but he was your fuckin’ friend, Flynn.”

“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?” Flynn says, turning on a dime. “DO YOU THINK I WOULD HAVE DONE WHAT I DID… IF I HAD A CHOICE?

Dolly is taken aback by Flynn’s claim… Then, she scoffs dismissively.

“Oh, sure. So, you’re saying that Theo *made* you do what you did? You never had a choice in the matter cuz Theo would have screw’dja? Get over yourself, Flynn. We aren’t all part a’ some grandiose conspiracy to keep you down.”

Flynn sighs, burying his head in his hands. “Oh, Dolly. If you only knew…”

“...Knew what?” Dolly says, betraying the slightest curiosity.

…Flynn reaches into his pocket and retrieves a pile of papers… “What was REALLY going on…”

Flynn stands up and spreads the documents over the table.

…Dolly curiously peeks over Flynn’s shoulder.

“It’s all a full-scale plot. A goddamned insurrection. The Bastards are planning to bring the XWF to its fucking knees.”

Dolly’s eyebrow raises.

“The Bastards? Those chucklefucks…” Her nose wrinkles. “Wait, I thought yer whole deal was Theo was out to getcha.”

“I had to *pretend* Theo was out to get to me so The Bastards wouldn’t know I was on their trail…” Flynn slaps away Dolly’s criticism with a backhand through the air, pointing downwards towards a pair of snapshots of the BastardNet studio.

“The Bastards have been playing with new technologies for their BastardNet streaming platform. Specifically, capitalistic hypnosis.”

“Capitalistic hypnosis?”

“Precisely. Think about it, Dolly. What prevents you from buying every product you’re advertised? Common sense? Budget-mindedness? The knowledge that material wealth is distinct and separate from happiness?”

“...A couple o’ those, sure.

“What if the chemicals in your brain told you to ignore all of those factors? Nay, what if your brain flushed the synapses that prevented you from EVER THINKING TWICE ABOUT BUYING ANYTHING… right out of your skull?”

“...Why would anyone want that?”

Flynn snaps his fingers pointing at Dolly. ”Great question. Money. BastardNet is entirely composed of Bobby and TK’s bullshit fan-fic movies and re-runs of Match Game ‘76. Netflix is talking about installing ads… Disney Plus is thinking about installing ads… But what if the Bastards could guarantee the best outcome for advertisers if they opted to advertise on their platform?”

“How good an outcome are we talkin’ though?”

Flynn pushes aside the pictures, to show off a bar graph labelled ‘AUDIENCE ENGAGEMENT (BastardNet vs Other Products)’.

“Netflix speculates its advertisements would have a .04% engagement rate. As in, for every 2500 people that watch an advertisement, one would buy the product.”

“Okay… So?”

“BastardNet claims they’ll be at 50 percent. And climbing… We’re talking one out of every two viewers buying.”

Dolly whistles, impressed… then she shakes her head.

“...Okay, even IF I believed your story was worth half a cent. How the Hell would the Bastards invent capitalism hypnosis?”

…Flynn blushes sheepishly. ”Okay… so… You know how I work for the United States government?”

“...Yeah?”

“Well, I kinda… swiped some valuable tech from my bosses. And… put it in the bank… For safekeeping…” Flynn scratches the back of his neck…

“And… Long story short…”

Flynn slides a picture at the top of the stack on the table. A picture of Charlie Nickles running out of the XWF Credit Union with a sack!

“When I got robbed, Turns out Gravy got away with the money. But Charlie went home with the real loot…”

“...” Dolly shakes her head. “Flynn, this is all bullshit! Yer selling me another goddamned sack of magic beans, but that ain’t explain why yer walking off with my cow.”

“...Sorry, cut down the folksy horseshit by 20 percent and try that again.”

“What does any of this bullshit have to do with you cripplin’ the comrade?”

“...NK had been… corrupted by capitalism…”

….Flynn morosely clutches at his heart… He clenches the side of the table, agonized by the memory.

“I thought NK could handle this mission. He so profoundly… so deeply believed in the tenants of socialism. He never shut up about the Collectivist Dream… I thought if anyone was immune to capitalistic hypnosis… It would be good ol’ NK…” Flynn brushes his finger tip across his eye, like he’s wiping away a tear.

Dolly remains unmoved. “So, yer sayin’ the Bastards zapped NK with some capitalism laser beam and he started buying low and selling high? Horse-SHIIIIIIEEEEET.”

“I understand why you don’t believe me… I wouldn’t believe it myself if I didn’t have…” Flynn reaches into his pocket… and retrieves a familiar Motorola Razr. “This.”

Flynn underhand tosses it. The phone flies through the air and into Dolly’s hands…

“The Comrade’s phone?”

“Open ‘er up… Take a look at his BarnCoin CoinBarn…”

“BarnCoin?…” Dolly flips the phone open… And gasps.

“Great green horny toads! The Comrade owns like 400 thousand of these crypto puppies! Last time I heard, he only had 16.”

“And that was before I talked him out of crypto altogether. But somewhere along the line… He fell.”

…Dolly bites her lip… Alternating looking at Flynn, then the phone.

“...But… But why would the Bastards corrupt the Comrade?”

Flynn sighs. “Don’t you get it yet, Dolly? This is all a part of their plan! They want advertisers to flock to their platform… But they know BastardNet sales won’t go up one fucking household unless they get back their championship status.”

…Dolly gasps.

“Wait, the tag titles?”

Flynn taps his nose. “Fuckin’ BINGO. Bobby, TK and Charlie lost FIVE different times against NK and I. HUMILIATINGLY. Every time, we won more and more dominantly. If they wanted the tag belts, they had to get us out of the way… So they corrupted NK, knowing that I would have to take ‘im out. Because I KNOW that my friend would rather be in a coma than a shambling corporate zombie.”

Flynn sighs.

“Little did I know, I played right into his plot… Just like Nickles said.”

Dolly’s mouth is agape. “Nickles *did* say that…”

Dolly scratches her head…

“...Wait, so you mean when Bobby and TK ambushed me and Vita…”

“Yep, now you’re getting it. It was another step in their plan to clear obstacles on their way to reclaiming the tag belts, despite having NO FUCKIN’ ABILITY in a tag-team setting.”

“Those sons-a-bitches!”

“Those BASTARDS…”

“YEAH!”

…Dolly’s eyes widen, clearly incensed… She’s trying to find holes in Flynn’s story, but it’s seemingly more and more rational.

“So… Uh… Well, what do we do? We gotta stop ‘em!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Look, Dolly. This mission will be dangerous. I trusted NK with it… And I might never forgive myself for that…”

Dolly squeezes Flynn’s shoulder.

“I ain’ give a shit ‘bout danger. We can’t let ‘em get away with this. For the Comrade.”

…The corner of Flynn’s mouth twitches. Had he less control, he might have accidentally smiled.

…He nods.

“Okay, I *do* have a plan.”

Flynn sweeps his hand across the table… All of the pictures and artifacts are swept off the surface… Flynn lays his BastardNet Studio schematics before Waters.

“The BastardNet studio?”

“Yes. This is where they keep the famous Bastard vault. Full of content that Bobby and TK made and have never released. Their hip-hop album, their six-season-and-a-movie sitcom… their Bobby Bourbon presidency biopic, starring Bruce Villanch as Barney Green and a talking toilet as Ted Cruz… DVDs of Their No Good Comedy Tour, which closes with TK’s 12 minute, award-winning ‘You Might Be a Bastard’ stand-up routine.”

Dolly gasps. “Flynn, that vault is an urban legend. No one knows if it even really exists!”

Flynn cackles. “Oh, it’s real, all right, I’m sure of it. And I’m CERTAIN, it’s where they’re keeping their secret to capitalistic hypnosis. If we can recover the technology, I can reverse-engineer it back at my lab. We can save the world from shitty Bastard Television!... And we can bring NK back.”

…Dolly nods, full of determination.

“Okay! I’m in. But what’s the heist? How are scorin’ the loot?”

“Never fear. As always, I have a foolproof plan.”

“Great!”

“But… it does require a third member. And… as you so eloquently pointed out before, I’m out of friends…”

Dolly scratches her nose thoughtfully…

“...Well, we don’t need a friend, do we?”

…

“We just need someone that hates the Bastards as much as we do.”

…Flynn’s eye twitches curiously, as it’s Dolly’s turn to smile deviously.

“...Uh. Sure. Who did you have in mind?”

***

The door slowly swings open…

“Helloooooooo, anybody home?”

Flynn and Dolly tip-toe carefully into the room. Flynn side-eyes Dolly.

“Okay, be very, very careful. She’s incredibly erratic, the slightest poorly chosen word could set her off.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh.”

The two skulkers spin ‘round! And discover Jenny Myst!

Sitting in a chair, staring straight ahead. Her eyes were focused, unblinking, and so clear you could almost see into her skull if you were to look into them.

There was a pot steaming on the stove behind her, with a wooden spoon over the top, primed and ready for the next stirring session to commence. The television was showing an old black and white movie, the cracks in the audio coinciding with the cracks from the boiling goodness behind her.

BONNIE AND CLYDE sat on the table--the original from 1967 with Warren Beatty and Faye Dunnaway--the rectangular VHS box faded like the letters on the side of a sunkissed yacht. Wires ran from seemingly everywhere, connecting to a VHS player that sat next to the 80 inch smart TV.

Her laptop sat open on the desk next to the video box, several tabs open on an Internet Explorer browser page. All of the pages were in reference to the 2011 Joplin F5 tornado that leveled the town.

The two remained just a few feet in the entrance of the extended stay motel where she has clearly made her home, looking back and forth at each other as if each were wanting the other to be the first to speak up.

Even if she shushed them, Jenny didn't even seem to know Flynn and Dolly were there. She stood up, pausing the movie, and walked back over to the pot, picking up the stirring ladle. She hummed quietly to herself, stirring the concoction within with childish glee. Bringing the ladle to her mouth, she tested it. "Ahh" she said aloud, "almost ready." Setting the spoon back on top of the pot she strolled over to her recliner chair, putting her feet in a massage tub that sat in front of it. ”AHH.” Grabbing the TV remote and her laptop again. She unpaused the old movie and brought the Gateway laptop (you know, one of those old blocky ones with the red scroll ball in the middle of the keyboard) to her face. The light from the screen illuminated her makeup stained face. Had she been crying?

"A center of low atmospheric pressure was moving down from the Northwest"

A low, stereotypical narrator voice began to drone from the speakers of her laptop. She was watching a tornado documentary on Youtube, at the same time as the old movie.

Hey, some people can multi-task!

"At 430, storms began to rise over Kansas."

"You're a smart fella"

"At 5:09 PM they issued a tornado warning for an area just north of Joplin."

"Next time I'll aim a little lower!”

As if the two were in conversation with each other, both speakers on full volume, Jenny seemed to be fully engulfed in both.

”Uh… Jen? Do you have a sec? We gotta pitch fer y-”

An alarm dinged somewhere within the chaos, and she paused the movie and the documentary. Getting up, her feet slushing out of the watery massage machine, she plopped over to the stove again.

"It's ready!

Taking a plate out of the cupboard above, she used a pair of not-so-fresh looking tongs to pull out what she had been stewing all this time. Flynn and Dolly's eyes go wide where thet stand as it looks like some sort of animal, whole, and skinned like a potato. They couldn't tell if it was a squirrel, a small dog, some type of bird....but it was an animal, no doubt. She put it on the plate, splattering it with condiments that had no business being together in any sort of culinary universe, and walked back to her recliner chair, plopping down in her massage machine.

Flynn stares directly over the plate, curiously.

“What is it?”

”...How the Hell would I know?

”You’re a woodsperson! I figured you’d know every fried roadkill by smell!”

”Fuck off, Flynn.”

…

”But by the aroma, I think it’s marmot.”

”Ha! I knew you knew!”

KERUNCH! The two stop their squabbling. Their eyes shot back to Jenny as she bit into it, spitting it out quickly and shaking her hands. "Ahh! Hot! Hot!" she dropped the animal onto the plate, creating a thud. "Goddamnit".

Jenny reached for the remote, then stopped. Her eyes narrowed into slits, her lip curled.

"Are you going to say something, or just squawk there for another 15 fucking minutes? Ugh. So rude."

She had seen them, apparently. Dolly and Flynn both shrug and come in, shutting the door behind them. The smell inside the room was overwhelming and they both thought simultaneously that the animal on her plate wasn't the only dead thing in there.

Flynn, ignoring the death smell around him, starts laying out his pockets full of papers.

“Well, Jen-Jen, I bet you’re wondering why we’re here… Have you ever heard of Capitalistic Hypnosis?”

Jenny, blowing on her monstrosity before taking a bite, spoke while chewing.

"Joplin Missouri went from a small, nothing town on the southern plains to one of the most booming railroad and trade towns in Central America in the 1800's"

She took another bite, marmot grease dripping down her chin onto Flynn’s pitch documents.

"It became such a popular destination for all walks of life that even Bonnie and Clyde hid there for a couple weeks during their run from the law."

She burped, taking a sip of the apple juice (or so they assumed it was) in the cup beside her.

"A town of 50 thousand......a little gem on the gateway to the west...."

Another bite. More chewing.

"The Joplin Tornado was the deadliest in American History since the 1940's, and the costliest by far. Sweet, innocent little gem, flattened to near rubble by an unstoppable force of nature. Wrong place, wrong time. They even held their high school graduation that day, and then..........BOOM!

She knocked everything but her laptop and the remote off the table next to her.

"They only had 17 minutes of warning. 17 minutes. 161 people died. Swept away to never be seen again, by the same unstoppable and amazing force of nature."

Flynn went to say something, Dolly grabbed his shoulder.

"Hold on a sec… I wanna see where this goes."

"This team, it is a force of nature. It came together in the atmosphere. All of the factors were right. The people of Joplin ignored the tornado sirens that day, the weather station down played it until it was too late. They see tornados all the time, but they could have never been prepared for what lie over the horizon. The Bastards are down playing this force of nature, and they are going to be flattened, leveled, and turned into dust without warning."

She smiled, turned towards her two new friends.

"So, you came here today because you need my services, yes?"

Flynn looked at Dolly, then back at Jenny.

"Besides the match of course. You need something.....bigger......grander........more......expensive...."

Dolly went to say something but Jenny cut her off again. She looked at the paused TV, it was the scene where Bonnie and Clyde had just performed their first robbery and were on the run. They looked so happy!

Her eyes went wide.

"A heist! We're gonna rob the bastards blind!"

Dolly smiled at Flynn.

"I guess she's in."

…Flynn scratches his head, before shrugging and folding his papers back into his pocket.

“Guess no one can say no to a Mark Flynn pitch.”

***

Flynn hits the power button on his camcorder, then takes a few steps back, wringing his hands fiendishly

“We already know that Chuck, Bob-o and TK are going to spew non-stop shit from their gobs. They’re probably going to talk about how fucked we are and how we’re a bunch of R-words and how you can’t say the R-word anymore. #CancelCulture, we’re free-speech martyrs, let’s cry into our millions of dollars we pour into our shit fan-fiction-parody movies. Boo-fucking-hoo. Woe is us.”

“And their dogshit fans buy their t-shirts with Bobby’s ugly mug… And shout out ‘CUZ I’M A BASTARD’ along with their theme song… And chant ‘FUCK ‘EM UP, BOBBY!’... Then sit on their hands as they fuck up and lose another match.”

“The Bastards’ fans at this point are more obnoxious than the Lakers’, Yankees’ and Patriots’ fans combined. And at least those teams have a history of winning. The Bastards won the tag titles… ONCE.”

Flynn beckons with his finger that a camera come closer.

It gets up in his face.

“Let’s hit the real facts: The Bastards have won ZEEEEEEEEEEEEEERO XWF tag matches this year.”

“No. Really. I’m dead fuckin’ serious. Them No Good Bastards… The 2021 Tag-Team of the Year HAVEN’T WON A GODDAMNED MATCH IN THEIR OWN COMPANY SINCE LAST YEAR’S RELENTLESS.”

“Let’s check their stats, shall we? With Relentless just around the corner and the season nearing its end, let’s take a peek at their 2022 record…”

Quote:10/20/21 - Loss vs Flynn and NK
12/25/21 - Draw vs RL & Corey
2/16/22 - Loss vs Flynn and NK
4/20/22 - Loss vs Flynn and NK
6/22/22 - Loss vs Flynn and NK

“Four losses. One draw. ZEROOOOOOOOO WINS. Two of those were tag-title shots. And somehow, these underachievers are going into Relentless FOR YET ANOTHER SHOT.”

“Let’s compare that to… say… Jenny Myst and my record. Y’know, a one-off pairing that had never worked together before and hasn’t worked together since.”

Quote:3/16/22 - Win vs Double Trouble & Erica/Erin

“One and Oh. A perfect record. And one more win than the Bastards have scored IN ELEVEN MONTHS.”

“Of course, if you hear it from the Bastards’ mouths, they still talk like they’re in their prime. And not desperately clinging to a relevance they lost the day they dropped their belts to NK and I.”

“I mean, Bob-o? TK? Most people get cancelled BEFORE they fall down the ladder. You two clowns couldn’t get booked on Madness! You two couldn’t get book a booth at a Comic Book Convention. Hell, you two washed-up hacks couldn’t draw a goddamned picture is how low y’all are on the tag-team division.”

“AND YET! Apparently, The Bastards, after losing to the tag-team champs FOUR FUCKIN’ TIMES. Are ready to…” Flynn glances at his notes. “Reclaim their *RIGHTFUL* place?!?!?”

“Boys, if it were your rightful place to be the Tag-Team champions? You would have beaten NK and I any of the FIVE FUCKING CHANCES YOU HAD.”

Flynn shakes his head in disbelief.

“Seriously, do I have to get my attorney to file a trashtalk injunction on the Bastards? Do I have to get some authority from Planet Fuckin’ Earth to step in here? When Bobby got Thanos-snapped, did he stay too long on some bizarro planet where losing is winning? The Bastards are still out here pretending like they run the world when they’re the seventh best tag-team… IN A SIX TEAM DIVISION.”

“And don’t get me started on Chuck.”

Flynn knocks on the camera lens.

“Heeeeeeeey, Chuckster! Quick question: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?”

Flynn grins.

“Last time I checked, in our big match of the century, we put both of our careers on the line. And you fuckin’ LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOST.”

“Chuck wants to pretend it was all a well-played barrage of mindgames. That he’s just too smart for lil’ ol’ Mark Flynn. That he played me like a dimestore fiddle…. Which is funny, because usually when you’ve dominated someone’s mind, you follow up all those mindgames and pre-match psychological warfare by… y’know… WINNING.”

“A thing you sure as shit didn’t do, Chuck. You rolled your cart of weapons down the ramp. You came at me with every wacky, sadistic trick you had. And all I needed? Were my two hands wrapped around your throat. And I put your punk-ass onto the mat.”

“EASY.”

“FUCKIN’.”

“PEASY.”

“Chuckster, before you pretend that you move the heavens and earth and we’re all your puppets being pulled around in your grand play where you still aren’t the Uni champ… let’s review what actually happened leading up to our match:”

“First, like a fucking child, you bet what you didn’t have: The Universal Title. Then, you showed up to the poker table with nothing but lint in your pockets, still acting like King Shit.”

“But I was still in a gambling mood. I challenged you to put it all on the line. Your future.”

“Then, let’s make it clear what happened: You panicked. You bitched out. Then, you fabricated a second bet with our careers on the line. Then you called me a punk bitch for not responding to it, THEN, you pussed out when I called on your bluff.”

“The cards got dealt on the table. The river went my way. And of course, like every other bet he’s made, Chuck whinged. He pretended we were all stupid for expecting him to stick to his fucking guns and act like he’s got a pair of balls between his legs.”

“Big fucking surprise, Char-Char. You can play dress-up all you like with the other girls at the Bastards slumber party, but you’re no fuckin’ cowboy. You’re no goddamned man. You’re a big fat theater kid wearing a Halloween Cowboy costume. Sporting a plastic goldstar on his chest, squeezing your toy’s trigger and shooting blanks.”

“Which, by-the-by, you shooting blanks is also the reason Tyler and Emily probably aren’t yours. But that’s not my business.”

“Chuck, even if your career isn’t formally dead? Even if you still have a rusty nameplate somewhere in that backstage locker room? It’s over. Your credibility is shot. You could have lost like a fucking man. Shook my goddamned hand, walked up that ramp, checked into a hotel room and fucking died of an overdose, like I FUCKING TOLD YOU TOO. You would have been gone, (and your kids would have been better off) but you would have left this company and this reality with an ounce, with a SHRED, WITH THE TINIEST INKLING… of dignity.”

“But now? Now that you bitched out? Everyone in the back knows EXACTLY who you are, Chuck. You’re that gutless little wormboy. You’re that fucking spineless little pissant who showed up for work after getting a pinkslip and wants to pretend like he still has his big boy job. An office zombie whose sticking around after death, shambling up and down the halls, pretending like he isn’t rotting from the inside-out.”

“And honestly? It’s even better for me. Because for the rest of fucking time, I’ll be the loudmouth asshole lording over you your biggest whinged bet.”

“THAT YOU OWE ME YOUR FUCKING LIVELIHOOD, CHUCK.”

“And someday? I’ll collect, Char-Char. I’ll beat you again. And that sweet day, I’ll have security meet you at your locker, ready to dump your little knick-knacks and personal treasures into a goddamned ten-gallon garbage bag.”

“How appropriate considering your contributions to the sport belong forgotten at the bottom of a dumpster.”

“But for today? For this one night? I’m just going to savor getting one more chance to watch you fuck up another Bastards tag-team match.”

“I’ve beat you on Warfare twice, I’ve beaten you on your precious little Savage show. If we ever meet up on Anarchy, Madness, Shove-It, the parking lot outside the arena, the goddamned frozen food aisle at the grocery store… You can bet your fucking ass that you.”

“Will.”

“Come.”

“Up.”

“Short.”

The camera peels to the right as Flynn barks his closing sentences, and entering the scene is an overly animated Dolly Waters. Gashed up, tooth or two gone, double-blacked eyes worn over. Yet a dubious glow from her grin lights up the the room as she waves her hand in slow motion, the soundtrack to The Bastards burial playing this entire time- and so it continues-

HOWDY-DO, DICKLICKS?!

Talk about coming up short, right?

Shew-we, I’ve heard that losing a singles match against Thunder Knuckles would run even the most talented wrestlers away from the XWF, if for no other reason than the sheer embarrassment of being defeated by a man who’s gone full MAGA because he’s not allowed to say a word that he can’t even spell.

As a side note: Yes,- she throws her hands up in the air, animating a plea for forgiveness -there’s some sad irony baked into the thought of the wrestling community trying to cancel an actual , for using the word ]

She gasps! Then smirks.

[dolly]See. It ain’t heroic. It’s cheap. Just. Like. you.

Mirthlessly with a dead glare: #standwithTK #SILENCEISVIOLENCE

Getting back to it now, I understand all too well about coming up short against the mentally challenged. Sometimes you take it fer’ granted, you watch the Special Olympics, you watch the special athletes, with their special strengths, with a very tender and special place in yer’ heart. You forget that they can be some reeee-specially bad mamma-jammas, and then they smack you in the face with a fluorescent light bulb tube. Dolly points at a particular gash across her cheek with a twisted expression, one she received from Thunder Knuckles a few weeks ago on Savage. In the case of someone like Robert Main, that alone was enough humiliation to run off one of the company's all time greats!

So maybe it’s me who’s a little slow, huh?

Because here the fuck I am.

Dolly opens her arms and torques her neck through the cadence, showing off every inch of the bruises and beatings she's packed on these last couple of months. For Dolly it’s not about hiding her faults. Putting on makeup for a promo shoot like some cheap smut. She wears these as reminders of mistakes made. It’s about selling the war to herself, keeping her mindful of the dream of being a professional wrestler and all that it entails. You have to wear the loss along with the victory, or else neither matters. To some loathsome pricks like the Bastards, reality is optional. For all of the suspicion of the Bastards plot to sell their way to domination of the very real wrestling world, it sure doesn’t seem like they know how to sell anything. Perhaps that’s because they bought WAY too into themselves before inevitably flaming out last year. Dolly doesn’t appear to be buying any of it, her eye twitching, her tone sharpening 


I got NO shame. No pause. No goddamn quarter left for anyONE of you Bastards. Because unlike any right minded individual who’d probably wash their hands of yer’ thoughtless antics, and turn the other cheek, I know it’s worth more than that. Because what better than listening to the three biggest bitches in the wrestling world whining when things don’t go their way?

I’m being honest guys, when Marko came at me talking about this plot y’all are cooking up, I was certain it was just another wild conspiracy of his. But the more I thought about it, the more obvious it was:

The reason Bobby started crying at me during the Savage booking against TK, is because I was messing with his little plans. That’s why he dipped out, and ran and cried in other rooms, trying to distract the narrative away from this singular fact:

The Bastards think they’re OWED something.

Despite, as Flynn pointed out, them having their asses handed to them when they’ve teamed since losing the tag straps, The Bastards believed they should have some dominion over how Relentless would shake out. AIN’T THAT RICH? That’s why when I challenged you chumps to a tag match, Bobby started stuttering louder than a room full of frightened children listening to TK attempt to sing the alphabet. PUSSY! You know how I know Bobby Bourbon respects Dolly Waters? I don’t have to say anything. The footage is all over the XWF website. He knew that declining a match against The Dolls would make him look weak. Which is exactly what he’s going to try and convince everyone of in his predictable ass nothing of a promo. Dismiss. Dismiss. Dismiss. EXCEPT! Don’t dismiss when Dolly is embarrassing you, right Bobby? When you’ve already cried yer’ way out of a match on Warfare. Only to show up anyway and ambush me and Vita?

Well this Warfare there won’t be any sneaking, and no rules to break, no feelings to offend huh? Vita won’t get her payback, not yet, but you better believe me when I tell you I’m going to go ahead and cash my check in advance. And it's nothing yer’ boys are selling. Trust me. It’s no wonder yer’ all so up in arms about the word being banned, they’re yer’ only simps! You’ve gotta’ keep the clients happy, am I right? Face dudes, we have no real data over the Bastards last 5 matches that say otherwise. Even that “draw” against Edgar and Corey, wasn’t that because Bobby got his feelings hurt on Twitter over… wait, THAT’S RIGHT! It’s when TNGB fell apart because of Bobby going all antiSJW or something. What a cruel cycle this must be for you boys… jeez, it even forced you to bring Charlie in. LUUULLLZ!

Desperate times, right? It gets no more desperate than Mr. Desperation himself. Everything to Charlie Nickles is so reachy it’s pathetic. It’s cringe. A man who legit counts Feder and Heavy Metal Weight reigns as top tier titles in the XWF. Who once gushed over having his ass handed to him “I’ll fight you a gabillion times if it means i get to beat you once!” Doc thought it was sweet, but that’s because he’s an egomaniac who enjoys pushing yer’ shit in. To everyone else you just look stupid. That’s all you are Charlie, a wandering, delusional little man who believes in nothing but being heard and being seen as something that he’s not. That’s why you knew everything you said about me leading up to the Cannabis Cup was horseshit, and you even admitted it. So before you even sniff the air around me and talk about failure, I think it would do you some good to just to shut yer’ trap.

Where’s the big Charlie break? Should’ve happened by now. We’ve been listening to you for 2 years. Where the fuck is it? I know, I know! “bUt dOlLy sUx wOrSe!” You can believe that yer’ better than me between those ropes all you want, dude. It might be pretty tough to sell, just as I’ve pointed out with yer’ dumbass before. Just look at you, can or has anyone pointed out the obvious yet? Charlie is a career fucking groupie in the XWF, loaded up with all the good venrial side affects and all. One clique to the next. Using anything or anyone to ascend to the top, and yet it never has worked. Never will either. Being a vile piece of shit on yer’ own landed you a Relentless Main Event for the Uni two years ago. Now yer’ fatass is about to watch from the sidelines while the worthless little drug addict chick he claims to be better than is about to hold top billing on the top show for the second year in a row. Not too shabby, huh? Maybe you should go back to not having yer’ head twisted so far up the ass of anyone dumb enough to work with you. Let’s face it, you were willing to play with the Left Hand’s afterbirth in the Dissentients. Tells you everything you need to know, right Jenny?

"Damn skippy. It's about time that Theo did the logical fucking thing and made the match that makes the most sense. It's like pulling teeth with that guy sometimes. Big molars, sans novacane. But he did it, and we're here, and its pound of flesh takin' time! Everyone loves this time of year. Post War Games, Relentless is-a brewin! The Bastards are running for their loves.

Cock. Shoot. Cock. Shoot.

Load more ammo and shoot again.

The Bastards want to shoot, its kinda their thing. Their problem is, they don't expect return fire. They are bringing a pistol to a tank battle, and they expect us to use an entire chamber then run. Bullish in nature, but so fragile in DNA. They wanna shoot with the best, but they themselves, are a knife in a gun fight. They brought a pen to the test. They say whatever comes to mind, not understanding that they sound like fucking morons and the entire world is laughing at them.....

Not understanding that their kevlar vests are actually made of felt. Blame Charlie's cheap ass.

You know Charlie.....the human reincarnation of PTSD Vietnam dog. Always wanting to bark until he is put in his place, and Flynn has done a damn good job of that, hasn't he? I thought that was a career-for-career match Charles, what happened? You look like the type of guy who smells the seat after a woman gets up off the bus, always on the hunt for a pussy riper than you are. I can imagine you'd just go back to work and not honor the commitment of the stipulation YOU made. I knew you were a creep from day one. Now, I know you’re a dishonest one. I had to get my head shaved and I have to go to work with a goddamn wig on, but you don't get a wig Char Char. You get terminated. But that didn't happen, did it? But you best believe that if you won that match, and IF is being used generously, you woulda went to hell and back to make sure Mark Flynn no longer had a career here.

God you're such a bitch.

Remember in school when all the nerds said that they would grow up to be successful, cool people and you would be the nerd? Just kidding, your meth-addled brain can't remember anything from school. You're still not the cool kid, you only hang out with the cool kids to save face, but the cool kids don't even like you. They use you as the scapegoat, as the fall guy, as their pin-cushion to protect themselves from the wrath their mouths create. You don't see Bobby or TK stepping up to knock off Flynn or face Raion....no, they send you. You're their meat shield. But you love it, don’t ya? You soak it all up because hey, at least someone is paying attention!  You wanted to exploit a loophole because you thought it made you look like the cool kid but what did it do? It showed the world how much of a loser you truly are. You dropped a belt that you didn't have to drop for a belt you weren't good enough to hold. You had the souped up Civic with the custom exhaust and the stupid fin spoiler, but wanted the Alfa Romero with the twin turbos, but you knew you couldn't afford it. You knew inside that you weren't in the market for that, but maybe....juuuuuuust maybe.....if you got lucky, one time, you'd actually find some self worth in this whole shitty mess you call existence and it would all be worth it.

You were playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded pistol Charlie, and you are the one that pulled the trigger.

You brought this on yourself. You launched me like a rocket, while your career floundered like a fish out of water. Have you won a match since? I conquered Centurion, I had the match of the year with Ray Ray, I beat Bobby. You've lost to Mark Flynn more times than I can count, and you've done nothing but make every single member of this roster lose total faith in The Nickleman. Now you sit here and tell us all that you're the rightful heir to the throne, that you deserve another shot. You've never been one to actually DO what you say, are ya? So this is nothing new. Talk and talk and talk but when the chips hit the table you fold and fold and fold. You passed the title on to me with hopes I would shit the bed and you'd look better by comparison. I was supposed to be your DUFF. Instead, you've become the laughing stock of the upper card and I have excelled past anything I ever imagined coming back. I have held the belt TWICE since you failed to get your new shiny toy even once, and have made some new powerful friends in the process. All you have done is live in the shadow of Bobby Bourbon and TK, hoping that one day you'll be the bastard that shows up first in a Google search. You look like the Ancient One from Dr. Strange got stuck in a dimension where she’s a battered housewife. It's so fitting because you’ve become the Battered Bastard……just ask Flynn. Robbie is riding high, ain't he? Probably patting himself on the chest and telling his mirror how good he is for defeating me. That's the only one willing to listen. For Bobby, its about the clout. It's about titles, and his image. It is about what others think of him. It must be terrible to have such a negative self image, Bobby bear! I said from the moment I came back that this wasn't about titles for me. Sure, I got a little attached to Goldi for a while there, but she was my friend and I enjoyed her. But I didn't need her. You need the accolades, you need the fame, you need everyone to be talking about you. You want to be the face of the place, but you're face is hideous. You're a troll, and not the good kind! You're a henchman for the establishment and get rewarded for doing the deeds everyone else has too much pride to do. It's called being a good human being, Bobby, and you've failed worse than TK at a speed dating event! You're hatred for me stems from your jealousy of Chris Chaos, that you could never be what he was. That your title reign wasn't as long as his, that he is Top 50 All time XWF and you're Top 50 All Time Golden Corral. You see me as a reflection of him and you hate it, and when I held that belt if ate you alive. Now you have it, and nobody cares anymore. Charlie made the belt exciting again, and I made it relevant. Now, it will just go back to being a third tier piece of tin held by some pompous brown star who couldn't care less about the title itself, only that HE has it.

NO! MY TOYS! YOU CANNOT PLAY WITH MY TOYS!

You're pathetic in every language.

You seem to want this rivalry to continue. So here I am big boy, lets tango!

That makes me remember TK. Don’t flatter yourself, TK, I know it isn’t often someone remembers you.

I don't have a problem with TK on a personal level. I just think his choice in friends is lacking. And I think he sucks. And I think he is a disappointment. And I think he brings nothing to the table in terms of value. But I don't hate him! Thunder Knuckles, Caitlyn Jenner's back street abortion, all grown up! It's not my fault you aren't where you wanna be in your career, TK. It's also not my fault that you look like you try to trade old Guitar Hero controllers for meth. Your quaffed hair, that god awful jewelry, raggedy clothes, that sour puss! Your face says you are a total loser. Ok, ok, everything about you says you are a total loser. But I don't hate you, I really don't. Honestly. If you weren't drowning in the Bastard's mediocrity I think you could be above average on your own! XWF's very own C student! Think about it. You all have your thing….but what sets you apart? Charlie looks like a homeless rapist, Bobby looks like a douchy frat boy who made it to wall street and now is deadset in proving his dick isn’t as small as Bed Bath and Beyond’s market shares……but what do you have?

You look like you sell Ecstasy pills just so you can abuse whoever or whatever is left unconscious on your couch.

There’s that. So go with that.

Be yourself, because right now being a Bastard just isn't cutting it for you.

Flynn, Dolly and Myst extend their fists outward and join them into a triple fist bump.

”No Good Bastards. We’re about to prove once and for all. When it comes to wrestling? You’re no fuckin’ good anymore.”