”Gee willy jillikers, and all that stupid ass 1950’s excited shit. I get to face off with the second biggest joke in the XWF. But, we’ll take a minute to appreciate that you managed to take the title from Mystica. Saved me the trouble of actually having to work for this win, instead I just get to sleep in late, watch Taylor Swift music videos, and reruns of Parks and Recreation. See, I’m not concerned with beating you. I don’t have to worry about whether or not I’ll lose, because the answer is simple. I will not lose. No not even that; I cannot lose.

How could I possibly lose to you? You’ve no real wins to be proud of, you’ve done nothing of note here except get your ass kicked every step of the way. I’m not going to parrot Flynn, I’m just going to remind you that none of your opponents you claimed victory over actually mattered. Not a one, except that little gold you got now. Except, let’s examine the truth of it. You didn’t beat Mystica for it. You pinned him and he fell asleep because just being near you is so boring he couldn’t stay awake. Let alone having to listen to you talk. God, you’re just so boring and stupid. At least Peter’s entertaining in his stupidity. Give me a billion Peter’s over 1 of you any day of the week.

What makes you think you could have taken Mystica in a match for real? Seriously, you would have had no chance. Count yourself lucky, luckier than you were in the botched scramble you used to use to pump yourself up. ‘Oh, I held the Ark title for a grand total of 45 seconds, twice. Once was 15 seconds and the other was double that. I’m the best. Kiwis for all.’ That’s you, by the way, some dipshit with an Australian Accent. But again, thank you for making my job even easier. Now, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do after I win this title from you. I’m going to hold it, polish it, and keep it safe for 55 days. 55 days exactly. Why? Because it’ll be just longer than Peter and Flynn. Then, the day I lose it, I’ll cash in my briefcase and get the Uni title. Which I’ll hold for a bit then, lose it to someone who I think deserves it, and over all give up on giving a shit. After properly cementing that I am better than you.

That’s the key part to my plan, Mastermind, remind you who is your superior. Where your place is in this food chain of XWF. A clue, not anywhere near the top or middle. You are that dog little Suzy wants, but she failed to train you so you just shit on the carpet every day. In the exact same spot, every day. Shane is Suzy, he wanted some little lap bitch, but forgot to train you. Now we have to put you down. Suzy will cry, and her mother will promise to get another puppy to replace you, but that new puppy will never come. Because Suzy’s an irresponsible bitch. Eventually Suzy forgets the puppy, goes off to college, gets drunkenly date raped by twelve dudes, and winds up pregnant. Such is life.

Have I reinforced the point, clearly? Or do I need to bust out the diagrams and charts?



I went ahead and made a pie chart for you. Hope that finally clears up any confusion. If it didn’t, I’ll have to get Tommy Gunn’s nephew to explain it to you. Maybe Peter could. I hope that you’ve been keeping the gold clean for me, don’t cry on it. Tears can tarnish the gold. And we know you’re weeping like a baby at the thought of losing to me.

Hold on, brilliant idea. If you can name for me one opponent you’ve beaten in the XWF, beaten by yourself, that matters one, one that actually counts for something, I will just lay down and let you pin me. Do it in your next promo and you take the win. I’ll wait.”

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Jorge and Crack walk in on Swagmire chilling out on his couch watching the clip of “Frodo” and the Ukrainians over and over again. Instead of his usual attire he’s in his old Police Riot gear, black tactical pants, black boots, a black tactical shirt, and a homemade bullet proof vest. Sitting next to him is a Bennelli M4 Super90 Shotgun. He’s shaking and wringing his hands.

”Charles, what are you doing?”

”Preparing for a fight. I’m going to go to Heyman’s office, demand him and Tommy help me go get Frodo back. And hopefully you two come with us. Maybe Samuels can help.”

”Samuels? Senator John Samuels? The guy hates Frodo, and Frodo hates him. Why would he help Frodo, and why would Frodo accept? That’s a bad plan. As for Heyman, have him fly you to Belize. You’ll probably find Frodo on the beach getting head or something. Dude is fine.”

Suddenly a breaking news report flashing in across the screen, interrupting Crack.

”This is Janine McGillacuddy with the latest news on the terrorist threats involving XWF Superstar Fordo Swagkins… I’m being told it’s actually pronounced Frodo Smackins. The Ukrainian rebels have released another video.”

Quote:Frodo is shown kneeling in a Ukrainian jungle while men in Balaclavas stand behind him holding AK’s. His eye is bandaged up and his face is bloody.

”Hello, America. I am Fred Ward, known to many of you as Frodo Smackins. You were given a deadline to meet in exchange for me, and you have failed to do so. I was slated to die, but Sascha has decided to show mercy on me. Instead of being executed, I am to be tortured. I just wish my good friends Crack, Beef, and Z would help me. Maybe if they would have helped my beautiful wife Sarah would still be alive. Tommy Gunn, if you’re watching please do something to get me home. Talk to people, Paul has to have the means to give them what they want. Martin, help me. KitKat! KITKAT!”

”Well, we do know Frodo is alive now. There is still no word on if President Obama plans to do something about the kidnapping of Mr. Smackins, and the murder of his wife. We will keep you informed as new information becomes available.”

Jorge turns off the tv, and Cracks falls to the floor hugging his knees.

”That really is Fred. When we were in Cali together if he was in trouble at a bar he’d always yell KitKat. No one knew what it meant but me. My best friend has been captured by Russians and I’ve been trying to fuck his daughter. Charles, I’m game now. Let’s do this. I just need a gun or something.”

Swagmire stood up, and grabbed his shotgun. He walked over and helped Crack up, the pair walked to the closet in Swagmire’s hallway. It was filled with body armor, rifles, shotguns, pistols, ammo, and MREs.

”Load up. We’re gonna go see Heyman next. Then he and Gunn are loading up and we’re going to Ukraine.”

”Are these legal? I mean, you actually got all of these legally?”

”I’m a cop. Yes. Except the Grenades. I confiscated those, and never turned em in. Thought I might need them some day. Turns out, I do. Now, let’s lock and load then do this.”

Crack puts on a vest, grabs a Browning Hi-Power, an AR-15, a shotgun, and as many rounds as he could fill his pickets with. Swagmire hands him a bandolier full of clips for the AR.

”It’s all about organization when going into a firefight. Nothing intimidates someone more than a well-armed, well organized killing machine. Except when white people see a black dude in a Hoodie. I support Zimmerman.”

Jorge comes to look at the closet. He sees a lone Hockey stick and grabs it.

”I am ready, eh.”

”We’re taking on a military group, and you only intend to use a hockey stick? Seriously?”

”I am Canadian, eh. This is all I need, eh. Eh, eh.”

Swag and Crack look at each other shrug, and then three of them leave and head to Swagmire’s car.

”Not the Lincoln. That’s for Leda and me. Get in the van.”

Swagmire points to a fully armored Ford Transit Van painted black with a brush guard that’s been reinforced. They load into it and head off towards Heyman.