Jackie Peppers recently had to escape a burning hospital because his manager, Black Angus, decided to set it on fire to teach him some kind of lesson.

We see Jackie, Angus, and Bob sitting together on a public transit bus. Jackie is sitting cross legged, to hide the plain view of his junk since he's in a hospital gown. Angus is sitting spread eagle, to enhance the plain view of his junk since he's in a kilt. Bob is standing, picking his nose and scratching his ass, then switching, but maintaining perfect balance on the moving bus.

Alreet, lad, yer reddy fer the nixt stip.

O-Okay, Angus, if you say so.

Ye need to shew dat lousy, virgin doofus dat yer experienced in the XWF, that nun uf de championships he ever held meant a damn thing compared to what you've done here. Why, you've eliminated Peter Gilmour hisself frum a Battle Royale! Who can ferget what yew did at de last Savage?

We cut back to the huge main event from the last Savage. Specifically, the moment in the match were Jackie Peppers springboarded off of Pestalance's shoulders, did a missile dropkick to Scully, riding him down the entire way, doing a handspring off of Scully's body to hook N.A.Z.I. in a head scissors, whom was whipped into Ron Cena before pinning...

Well, you REMEMBER who he pinned, who could forget?

Lad, tis tiem to lit 'im know yer a force ta be reckoned wit!

O-Okay, Angus.

Scott St. Pierre.

I'm a force to be reckoned with.

Angus facepalms as Bob starts to smell his own hand.

Nae, lad, ye need to remind not just Scott St. Pierre, but de worl' dat yer gunna beat de shit out o' 'im in de ring!

Okay.

I want Scott St. Pierre, and the whole world for that matter, to know I'm going to beat the shit out of Scott in the ring!

Angus facepalms again. Bob starts to scratch both his underarms by reaching across his chest with both arms and digging away.

Lad, yer nah gunna git it...

Angus looks deflated. The bus comes to a stop, and Angus looks out.

Well, lad, tis our stop.

Angus, stands, as does Jackie, and they walk off the bus with Bob. They are front and center at the TD Garden. There's a huge scene at the back entrance, as a dozen police and an EMT are on the scene! Angus, Jackie, and Bob walk up, befuddled by what they see. A police officer approaches.

Sorry guys, no autographs, some asshole just mugged the security staff at the door, and then a bunch of junkies, outlaw bikers, lunatics, perverts, murderers, druggies, rapists, and pedophiles went in!

I think that's the XWF roster.

Yep, murderer, checking in.

The cop eyeballs Jackie.

Oh, I remember you. You didn't kill anybody.

The cop winks at Jackie and claps Angus on the shoulder. Jackie takes a heavy breath, reconciling his past once again, and how there was a huge conspiracy of a cover-up to the murders he was responsible for because the XWF had him under contract.

O-Okay, sir.

The cop walks away as Jackie, Angus, and Bob walk in. Inside it is absolute chaos as hundreds of fans were allowed to walk in, willie-nillie, because some moron knocked out the door security put in place to protect them. Families. Children. People who are obsessed with having sex with a famous person. Fat, ugly dudes wearing Bombshell t-shirts. Seriously, there's a grown man cosplaying as Jenny Myst. The carnival like atmosphere backstage is hectic, to say the least. Several children have actually engaged Bob in a game of hide and seek. A family of four approach Angus.

Can we get a picture?

Feck aff!

Angus hoists his kilt, showing his gross old man PENIS to the father, his wife, and their two boys. The boys pose on either side of Angus's member as their mom takes a knee and actually holds the head up in between her thumb and pointer on her left hand. A flash happens from dad's phone as the snapshot is taken. Angus lowers his kilt. He then turns to Jackie and smiles.

Aye, these ar de folks dat need ta hear it most, lad.

Need to hear what?

You'll know when ye says it.

Angus wanders off to mingle with the fans who made it backstage. Jackie walks alone down a hall, many of the fans there noticing him, but his malaise overtakes him. The inner torment, the guilt. The fact he was nineteen, rich, and had never even seen a boob in real life, let alone touched one. He goes down another hall and sees a body on the ground next to a clip board. Jackie's eyes go wide. An EMT is with the man.

Oh my god, Larry? Is Larry okay?

The EMT turns.

He'll be fine. Someone jumped him back here, it was pretty rough.

He's the head of catering, he was probably trying to figure out where to put the coffee, donuts, and stuff!

Well, he'll be out of commission for the time being, I'll let him know you asked about him.

Jackie, as forlorn as he's ever looked, stands.

I, well, I don't get it. Why does stuff like this have to happen? Why do bad things happen? Why do they happen to decent people? Larry, the head of catering, is a nice guy! All those people at the hospital earlier. I guess, well, I guess they happen to teach you something, so you can get better, so you can grow.

Heh.

That's what's going to happen to Scott St. Pierre.

He's just this snow white, untouched, pure virgin around here. I, I mean, um, he says that everybody around here sounds the same, but does he even realize how samey he sounds compared to, like, half the people who have ever been in the XWF?

Jackie makes a funny face as he impersonates Scott St. Pierre's accent. It's a lousy English accent, but it's better than Michael Caine's American accent.

'Ello, I'm 'ere to win, because I'm the best, yeah, because every little terd of wrestling world fell to me, because I'm the biggest shit around.

Jackie looks dead at the camera.

Welcome to the septic tank, big shit.

You might have impressed the fans at the fucking flea market, the bingo hall, the local county fair, or at the opening of a tire and brakes specialist, but this is the fucking XWF.

My fucking home.

Sure, I'm not a champion. I don't have some fucking resume, but god damn if my resume around here isn't better than yours. You showed up, muttered some bullshit, talked about how much attention you got. That's it.

You have my attention. Oooh, big fucking deal. Everybody, who here gives a fuck about Scott St. Pierre besides Scott St. Pierre and his, well, not girlfriend Charles?

Did I hear you right? You called that girl 'Charles'?

That's a guy's name.

Wait, you secretly want to have sex with Prince Charles, don't you?

You can imagine it now, you on your knees, in a courtly manner, some such hidden corner in Buckingham Palace, the Prince of Wales right in front of you, his dick at rapt attention as you swaddle it with your tongue. Giving it the care and "attention" deserving of such a dick. Sucking, slurping, and sliding the royal PENIS along your tonsils until super special, ultra regal royal semen trickles down your uvula and you gulp with pride. Then, only then, does he remove himself from your skull, and with a dab of his shaft on each shoulder he knights you.

Sir. St. Pierre, the royal cocksucker.

You can keep your fucking name. I don't want it anyway. You're Scott St. Pierre. Who gives a fuck?

Your shit just got Jacked.

As Jackie finishes being vulgar, the XWF fans all go nuts for him!

*YOU GOT JACKED!*YOU GOT JACKED!*YOU GOT JACKED!*YOU GOT JACKED!*

Angus looks and winks at Jackie. Bob is on the ground getting beat up by a group of adolescent boys. Jackie turns, and sees a platinum record on the wall, and beside it, a tall brunette. She's wearing a jacket with an exposed bra.


Wow, are you Jackie?

Y-Yeah, I am!

Sweet! I'm your biggest fan! I love all your matches! Now, I forgot my meds today and instead had a bunch of cocaine, but...

Oh, that sounds kinda dangerous.

The girl laughs in a very unsettling way.

Look, do you wanna touch 'em? Pure, all natural 40 E breasts.


Without hesitation, Jackie answers.

Yes. Yes I do.

His eyes go wide and a dulcet smile creeps across his face. The girl smirks.

Are you sure?

Yes. Wait...

Jackie looks around. He spots a handy nearby bucket of water, which is common to be found in the backstage area of XWF shows. He douses himself. The girl giggles.

Okay, not hallucinating. Let's do this.

Jackie claps his hands. The girl shrugs, and...


Jackie nods in approval. He begins massaging the girls breasts. He looks at her face. He quickly looks back at her huge breasts. She steps away.

Hehe, save some energy, you have a match. See you later?

Jackie looks at the girl's face, then back at her tits. The girl responds.


Maybe.

The girl giggles, blushes, then smiles at Jackie. She resituates her bra.

Well, cool, I guess. My name's Strep.

Strep?

Yeah, ever have Strep Throat?

No.

She grins. She leans in and kisses Jackie on the cheek.

Maybe you will.

She turns and skips off. Angus walks up and takes his thumb and jams it right up Jackie's exposed bare ass crack, since he's wearing a hospital gown. Jackie shrieks, turns, and glares at Angus.

Ye lost yer focus!

You're disgusting.

Har, aye!

Angus pulls out his ass whiskey and drinks. Bob is literally being strangled to death by five boys, someone should go stop that. Larry, the head of catering, is being carted off as several members of the XWF staff and locker room stand and wander aimlessly, no idea where to get coffee. Fans meander here and there. Jackie looks down the hall at the fascinating creature with the so-so face and the bajillion dollar tatas. Not much of a butt either, but meh.