"Dude, like, when you said you had decent wheels for this trip, you weren't kiddin'!"

Calypso drove while Barney Green sat shotgun in a green 1995 Dodge Caravan.  They were in a heavily wooded area (B.F.E.) traveling down a dirt path just wide enough to fit them.

"I mean, the gas mileage is in-CRED-ible!  It's a smooth ride!  Just an all-round green dream machine, bruh!  Freakin' mint!"

“Gotta love the fact this vehicle still has a cassette player. Everyone knows that the last true great era of metal was the 80’s. Anything after isn’t even worth the time.”

"So, like, where we going?"

"To the final stages of your training."

"Oh, sweet!  I think it's gone pretty well, so far.  Minus the horrendous hangover each morning, I mean.  How do you think I'm coming along there, Xtreme Legend Master Barn-o?"

While he was yapping, Barney somehow slipped off his work boot unnoticed then threw it hard striking Calypso in the face.  The van veered slightly to the left and almost smacked a tree head-on before swerving back on track.

"DUDE!"

"You're still not ready."

(Sigh…)  "Here's your freakin' shoe…"

He handed it back, holding it like it was a rotten pair of underwear.

Calypso then flashed back to earlier in the week when Barney smacked him over the head with a microwave as part of his training.  The memories were there, but they were blurry as hell, yet slowly coming into focus. 

"Xtreme Legend Master Barn-o?"

"Yes, apprentice?"

"I'm not, like, bashing your training or anything…  But is binge drinking and hitting me over the head with stuff all week really going to help us win?"

“You gotta be tough in order to survive in this business. Look at me. I am 5’10 and weigh almost 250 lbs. I’ve bled for a living. People remember you when you are willing to make sacrifices that might seem a bit much but the fans know who I am at this point. They expect a bloodbath when the bell rings. They get one.”

"It's not like I'll be able to utilize any of these skills during our standard match against, ya know..  Our fellow losers, Isiah King and Vagabond.  Even though Peter Vaughn has screwed me over with dirty tactics in, like, every match we've been in…  I'm still not to the point of stooping to his level, or God forbid, Jenny Myst's.  With my luck and the tilt of this officiating lately, we'd most def be disqualified, bruh."

“This should be easy pickings at the end of the day. I may be getting old but I can still throw hands. The trick is to just outlast your opponent and keep getting back up. Whatever they throw your way, You gotta make your shot count. Make them feel it much worse.”

Calypso nodded in understanding.

"So, what you're saying is it doesn't matter what kind of match it is.  The shit you've been throwing at me out of the blue for the last week were metaphors for anything that could be thrown my way.  I mean, we're talking weapons, suplexes, swerves, twists, bangers, shots, sucker punches, low blows, and especially BS!  I thought Vagabond was sending off some pretty good vibes, all while being, like, way-overly pretentious at the same time.  It was breath-taking watching a guy toot his own horn while sprinkling in some self pity.  He's barely left a mark in the XWF and is talking about undefeated streaks and a shiny win/loss record.  C'mon, bruh!  He needs to take a quick look around and see that this ain't Kansas no more, or whatever jam-packed auditorium his last pop was in.  When you board the S.S. XWF, all that luggage you bring with you gets thrown overboard."

"Good pun."

"Thanks!  I've got a million of them, Barno!"

The two rode along the bumpy, dirt path for a while in silence after this.  They've been trucking through the woods for a while and Calypso began questioning their final destination.

"So, like, I know I already asked, but, where we going, dude?"

"And I already told you.  To your final test."

"Yeah, I caught that part, Barno.  What is it, though?  Cuz, if your gonna, like, just throw shit at me as I try to drive, I'm good."

Just as Calypso finished his last word a can of PBR flew past his head and out the opened window.  Calypso slams on the brakes and the van has trouble coming to a final, complete stop.  Calypso then throws up his arms and faces his master.

"Alright!  W.T.F., dude?"

“Each shot you hit, You gotta make count for something. Getting hit with an object does hurt but your body eventually develops a numbness to it.”

"Enough with the riddles, man!  Look, minus the 40mph breaking balls in the form of PBR cans at my face…  I think we could have this in the bag!  These guys think that we're rotten with our time spent in the XWF and we both know they're dead wrong, right?"

Barney just sat in the passenger seat looking wise.

"These guys didn't have shit good to say about us, especially you man, but they don't have a single leg to stand on.  They're in the same loser's bracket that we are and can pretend all they want that it's anything more than 'what they had left'.  We're it, bruhs!  I done told you that we were the March Madness Left-Over's and nothing but filler so they can finish up mopping Peter Vaughn after Goth smooshes him and stains the mat.  They're so caught up with themselves here, Barn, that they don't realize they're crapping in the same spot they're living in.  I mean, it's kinda funny, but, I mean…  We live there, too, so it's kinda smelly."

Calypso manages to get a slight scoff from the hardcore legend.  Poop jokes.

"I kid, I kid.  But seriously, these guys have no idea what they've got themselves into, dude.  We've been through the ringer.  We've been high, been low, seen the best and worst out of some of these guys.  We've been beaten nearly to death and got a few cheap shots in and partook in our fair share of beat downs and good wins as well, huh?!  Who are they to come in here and think that they've got something over us?  These guys have literally proved NA-DAAAAAAH.  And that's the thing about the XWF, when you show at least the littlest, tiniest, little bit of promise….  BOOM.  Chance.  And it looks like they had their chance.  Now they have a little chance at redemption, but unfortunately for them….  Their shot at it is against a couple of P.O.'d dinos that have nothing better to do than play a spoiled sport.  It's what we do, ain't it, Barno?"

The woods begin to clear up.

"We're here."

"Oh, we are?"

The path came out into a field where hundreds, maybe a couple hundreds, gathered together among a large array of tents and booths.

"Where are we, Barno?"

Calypso looked around some more while trying to park the van and noticed that all, not most, ALL of the people attending this gathering were wearing clown make-up.

"The Gathering of the Juggalos."

"What?  Why?  What are we doing here?"

"This is your final–"

"Yeah, yeah.  'This is my final test, blah, blah.'  But..  uh..  What?"

"I've already booked you in a hardcore match for the JCW Hardcore Championship."

"You have?!  But, I..  I don't.."

"You win the belt, Calypso…  And you will be an Xtreme Legend…  Well..  At least on your way to one."

"The Xtreme Hardcore Supreme?"

"Whatever.  Just park the car and get it done."

Calypso did just that and in the center of it all was, wouldn't you know it, a make-shift wrestling ring.

"I'm gonna die."

Calypso said out loud as he approached the ring.  He paused before rolling in and looked back to Barney one last time.

"So who am I even fighting?"

"The Hardcore Champion."

"Well, yeah, but WHO is th–"

"And NOW!  Presenting the challenger…."

"You're up!  Get in there!"

"Look man!  I really don't think a hardcore match before our big showdown on Warfare is a good idea, do you?!  I mean…  I should save my strength, shouldn't I?  It's not that I'm worried about Vagabond or Isiah King…  But still!  The guys are losers and we should totally sweep the floor with them anyway!  I thought that I was feeling down and out after getting literally screwed out of March Madness, but these guys are completely doing everything they can to grab ahold of something to pull them back above sea-level."

"From who gives a fuck and weighing two cum-rags…..  Calypso?  What kind of fucked u—-"

The Juggalo ring announcer continued to run down Calypso as he crept in the ring while still yelling at Barney.

"And his opponents…"

"Opponents?!"

"Weighing a combined weight of 158 pounds!  Mini Morbid and Luchacabra!"

"Wait…  What?"

Two mini-luchadors run out from backstage and slide into the ring!

"Oh, dude.  Ok-ay!  I thought I was about to face some, uh… Weird shit, ya know?"

Barney continued to stand outside of the ring and just smiled.  The Master.

"You totally had me worried for a second, dude.  I mean, it's not like I'm taking Vagabond and King seriously…  I mean, I am…  but not as seriously as, like, my March Madness opponent.  Let's be honest here, these guys are the one's on the rebound…  Not us!  We've proven ourselves to the rest of these chodes and it's on these guys that they're in the position they're in.  THEY are the ones trying to save face by beating US, Barno."

Calypso gave a smile and a wind to Barney before climbing in the ring as the bell rung and immediately taking a head scissor take-down from Mini-Morbid to a loud pop from the crowd.