“Is he gonna make it, doc?”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor. I’m a nurse.”

Silence. Minds working overdrive...or, well, one mind in particular. Working overdrive to solve a fairly simplistic puzzle.

Unable to climb said mental hurdle, the confused voice blurts out, “But you’re a guy.”

A frustrated sigh followed by an aggressively shut door signaled the exit of the male nurse.

“Fuckin guy is on the rag,” the familiar, previously confused, now annoyed voice discerned.

Medicinal sounds filled an otherwise quiet room. A dark screen begins to lighten, illumination for both sight and mind. A bed occupied by a large man looking very much like The Wizard, minus his medieval garb.

The large man looks like The Wizard because he IS The Wizard. The man has seen better days.

Standing at the window, staring out at an innocuous parking lot is Warrick Hill, The WIzard’s haphazard brother. In a wheelchair, across the room, is the motionless, catatonic John E Depth.

Warrick clears his throat, keeping his eyes focused on the window, “I just hope they can fix him. I mean,” he turns around, pointing at his stricken, younger brother, “look at that facial hair. It’s god fucking awful. That has to be a side effect of...whatever the shit he’s suffering from right now.”

---

Yes, The Wizard is sick - again. It seems as though arguably the most magical member of the XWF roster should perhaps seek out some type of potion to boost his immune system. Like Airborne. Or an over the counter multi vitamin.

Alas, he has not, and here he is.

How did he get here?

---

Edward Mof, The Wizard’s manager slash dating coach, stood anxiously outside a local hospital. By his side lingered Father Thyme, prepared to give last rights, should the occasion call for such a drastic ritual.

“They found him in a sewer,” Mof spoke, “speaking gibberish. At the tail end of a rough acid trip.”

“Acid. A lunatic’s drug. How did he fall so far?”

Mof had no answer. The Wizard had cut off all contact with Edward since his incarceration. Turning to the aid of his brother in an attempt to resurrect his ailing career had tripped him, tumbling down a path of destruction.

An ambulance pulled into the parking lot, coming to a stop in front of Mof and Thyme. Thyme produced his signature herb, ready to christen The Wizard. The back doors flew open and a stretcher containing The Wizard wheeled past Mof and Thyme, into the hospital.

---

A few days later, standing over The Wizard, a concerned Mof hoped for some sign of life, “C’mon, kid. Say something. Anything. I won’t press you about your career, I promise. Just come back to me.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Mof turned around, spotting the entrance of The WIzard’s nefarious brother, Warrick. With little time to speak and less time to react, Mof was corralled by Warrick and tossed into the hallway.

“Stay the fuck away from my brother, dirty old man. You’re the reason he’s a fuckin nerd. In the hospital, because he got one bad dose of acid? For fuck’s sake. Weak ass.”

---

Since then, nothing. No response. No reaction. Just a giant man lying atop a cheap, fairly uncomfortable hospital bed with a comatose wrestler in a wheelchair across the room.

Surveying the scene, Warrick took stock of his life at that moment, “Surrounded by cripples. What have I done to deserve this shit?”

---

Some wrestlers take losses harder than most. There are a number of terms for this trait. The most offensive term, raging...or a synonym thereof.

Sure, in a perfect world every loser would accept their fate with a smile and a handshake. “Well, golly gee, boss. I sure do appreciate the loss.” But that’s not life. In fact, if that were life, I’d wager the world would be full of losers...or, at least far fuller than it already is. Some people hate to lose. It’s an unavoidable byproduct of competition.

A personality trait. A flaw? To an extent, sure. One cannot let a loss derail oneself from the pursuit of achievement. But that doesn’t mean they have to like it - not at all.

The term I prefer is competitive. A euphemism for raging. Never in life has there been a competitive individual swallow a loss with a smile. The loss hits like a kick to the nuts. Once the initial pain passes, a desire for retribution emerges.

Competitors feed off of wins and losses. Wins propelling them to greater heights via increased motivation. Losses frustrating them to such a degree that they reevaluate every facet of their repertoire in the hopes of achieving desired success.

It takes practice, though. Every competitor handles early losses with less dignity than the successful veterans they hope to emulate and eventually surpass. Hate the loss, yes. Disagree with the loss, sure. But don’t let the loss spiral into several. Turn the loss into the very thing derived from a win - motivation. Motivation to improve. Motivation to ascend.

The Wizard hasn’t been the same since his loss to Robbie Bourbon for the Hart Championship. The second consecutive (and most crushing) loss of his XWF career. A loss he didn’t agree with. A loss he felt should have never happened. The Wizard took it personally and found himself trapped...imprisoned, stuck in nonsensical situations, and, worse of all, under the influence of potent narcotics.

He spiraled. He failed to pick his shit up and move forward. Screwed or not, the decision was final and The Wizard failed to accept that simple fact. His failure has resulted in a dire situation. His career, like his current physical state, on life support.

A drastic action is needed to bust a bitch, u-turning this man’s career back on the fast track to success.

---

“I never understood how this makes any sense...explain it to me, John.” Warrick lifts his phone, pointing it in Depth’s direction. An advertisement for ‘Horny Virgins’ on the most popular site on the internet, ‘pornhub’ is displayed. “Exactly how can a virgin be horny? Are we talking total virgins or technical virgins? I just don’t get it.”

“Mmmm”

“The fuck?” Warrick swiveled in his chair, staring at his brother, The Wizard. The term ‘horny virgin’ seems to have garnered a reaction...awakening him from his deep, deep slumber. Warrick’s eyes narrow, “Let’s see. Hot Lesbians…”

“Mmmmmm”

“Sexy MILFs”

“MmmmmMMMMmmmm”

“Horny lesbians bukkake creampie squirting orgasm.”

The Wizard shot forward, sitting up, eyes wide open.

Chuckling, Warrick stood, sliding the phone in his pocket, “Might have to curb that porn appetite of yours, but happy to see you’re alive, little bro.”

His awareness coming into focus and his conscious realizing disappointment awaited on the cleared end, The Wizard frowned, folded his arms and leaned back against his pillow. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Warrick leaned over his brother, grabbing at his left arm. He took his hand in a brotherly embrace, “Acid? Really?” His grip tightened and tightened.

“Ouch, let go.”

Warrick slung The Wizard’s hand away, causing XWF’s former star of the month to wince, reaching for his shoulder.

“Fucking idiot.”

Rubbing his shoulder, The Wizard responded while staring across the room at the very-dead looking John E Depth. “Like you’re one to talk.”


“I do the drugs around here, okay? You’re the fuckin choir boy playing grab ass with your stupid little nerd friends. It takes a certain kind of person to handle drugs, especially the hardest variety...and, from what I heard, you are not that kind of person.”

A wave of embarrassment washed over The Wizard. “I don’t want to talk about it.”


“I don’t fuckin blame you.”

“Hey!”

“Shut up,” Warrick shouted back, having obtained his brother’s phone. “I don’t think there’s anything on here worth getting that anxious about. Not like you’re talking to some hot ass female. What’s your passcode?”

Arms folded, The Wizard tried to remain silent and firm.

“You won’t get it back unless you tell me.”

He collapsed like a straw house in the face of a mighty wolf’s huff and puff. “[REDACTED]”

“Phone buzzed a few times...oohh, XWF.”

No response from The Wizard.

“I said,” Warrick reiterated, emphasizing the following portion, “XWF.”

“Who cares.”

Opening one of the XWF emails, Warrick sang a little tune. It was simple and to the point. “My brother is a bitch…” His eyes widened. “Whoa...you’ve got a title match, little bro.”

A look of confusion brought the Wizard to a more curious posture, leaning forward, “Yea, right.” He thought to himself...attempting to figure out how he could have earned such a match. He’d chided Thad Duke a bit on twitter, but that guy was obviously too big of a coward to take him on. So...it had to be someone else.

That, or his brother was lying. Which his brother was wont to do.

“For the...haha,” Warrick laughed before continuing, “they misspelled Heart.”

“No, that’s how it’s spelled. H-A-R-T.”

“Seriously? Why?”

The Wizard shrugged, “Probably has something to do with a foundation. Not entirely sure.”

“Ohhhkay, then. But, yea, it’s for the Hart Title against a couple of guys I’ve never heard of.”

“Is one of them named Bourbon?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

Warrick kept a watch on his brother, through the corner of his eye. He waited and waited. He figured this news would, at some point, fill his brother with motivation to get out of bed and compete. But, the longer he waited, the quicker he reached the realization that his brother truly did not give a fuck.

“So Mr. Work Hard...Mr. I Give a Shit About Winning Championships doesn’t care about a main event title shot?”

“Why even try if I know I’m going to lose.”

---

And therein lies the question.

---

“I don’t get embarrassed often. But to find out that I’m related, directly, to a fuckin douche bag quitter...well, it’s kind of embarrassing.” Warrick threw his brother’s phone at him, disgusted.

“Like you would know.”

“Little bro, I wrestled for nearly twenty years. There isn’t a fuckin thing you’ve experienced that I haven’t sixty-nine times over.”

“Fine…” The Wizard adjusted his posture to a more comfortable sitting. This was going to take awhile to explain.

“A few months ago I was placed in the main event for the Hart Title...out of nowhere, just like this. I tried my hardest. I did my best. It was a chance, in my mind, to finally take that next step up. And you know what happened?”

“Ya fuckin lost.”

“I was screwed!”

Warrick didn’t try to stifle a laugh. Nor a roll of the eyes.

“See? I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“We’ve all been screwed, bro. Try losing to some emo cuck because his wife is running some love triangle with one of the owners. Yea, that happened to me. It’s pro wrestling...you’re gonna get fucked. Promoters have their favorites. They have their agendas. You either fit or you do not. It’s not rocket fuckin science.”

The Wizard’s face appeared appalled.

“Oh, don’t look like I just told you Santa is a fuckin lie.”

“I can’t believe you’re so cavalier about all of this. It’s competition, Warrick. I enter that ring to compete under the idea that the best wrestler will walk out victorious. It’s why I joined XWF. The Shawn Warsteins, James Ravens, Centurions, and Aiden Collins of the world. This is a place where hard work and talent are rewarded...or, so I thought.”

“News flash. Every fed is corrupt as fuck. You just gotta find the feds that are the least corrupt...OR, find a fed that likes you, for some fuckin reason.”

“Well, I can confidently say that XWF does not like me.”

“Do you go to their functions? Do you hang out backstage? Do you share silly images and videos with them? Do you listen to their problems? Do you offer to help out with shit backstage? ARE YOU THERE FOR THEM? If not, then, yea, they probably don’t like you...or, well, at least not enough to put you over their favorites.”

“I refuse to believe you did any of that shit.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how the hell were you so successful?”

“My tag partner - aka my bitch, Derek Mobley...he did all of that lame ass shit. That’s why he won World Titles and I hung around the mid card, winning titles nobody really gave much of a shit about.”

“And you were good with that?”

“It was a paycheck. Kept me in shape. I didn’t really give as much of a shit about it as he did...or, you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Haha, whatever. You nearly killed yourself by overdosing on a drug after being sent to prison all because you lost one, little match. That’s not only caring. That’s caring too much.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks. I do have to take a crap, though. Keep an eye on Depth and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

A lame errand. Depth hadn’t moved a muscle since losing his ‘loser leaves town’ match months back against his rival, Jack Puffer. The Wizard stared at Depth, feeling contempt for the way he was taking his loss.

Until it dawned on him.

He was doing the same fuckin thing.

One room. Two losers.

---

Twenty Minutes Later

Warrick emerged from the bathroom, wiping his freshly washed hands. To his surprise, he located his brother, standing, ready to hit the restroom.


“Nice to see those legs work.”

“Maybe...maybe you’re on to something. I don’t know.”

Walking past Warrick, he had eyes for that toilet. It had been a few days since a thorough bowel cleansing. Warrick removed his phone and snapped a photo of his brother, from behind. Unaware, The Wizard entered, shutting the door behind him.

“Okay. Got his ass out of bed. Still need to work on that pussy ass psyche...but, we’ll get there. In the meantime, let’s see if I can fix this horrid image of his.”

Fucking around in MS Paint, Warrick opened the photo of his brother...from behind, gown split at the bottom, ass hanging out. He looked up “Hot Male Asses” and downloaded a photoshopped ass, sliding it into place. He posted the image to social media with the tag line…

-Nothing can keep THIS ASS down.-

---

Exiting the hospital, The Wizard pushed Depth and his wheelchair while Warrick led the way toward their vehicle. In the distance, Mof and Father Thyme kept an angered eye.

“There they are, Father.”

“Ah, yes, the deviants looking to warp the mind of Mr. Wizard.”

“It’s just Wizard.”

Father Thyme sprinkled some thyme around the van. “We will get him back, Mr. Mof.”

“We’d better. I fear the worst will become of him if he continues to hang around that terrible brother of his...and that comatose porn guy.”

“I despise pornography.” Father Thyme’s hand gripped his bit of thyme with tremendous force.

---

“You know what I loved about wrestling?” Warrick broke the awkward silence as they sped down a commercial interestate. “Shit talking. Only part that interested me, really.”

The Wizard had no response.

“Talk some shit about your opponents. Let me hear what you got. Surely you’ve got SOME of my wit.”

No response. Warrick’s lip curled with disgust.

“No wonder you’re a single nerd hanging out with people who dress like elves and shit. YOU’VE GOT NO BALLS.”

“FINE.”

Breaching his personal protocol, The Wizard looked into the XWF email which had been moved to trash...yet not permanently erased. He sought the matchup. His two opponents were revealed.

“Felix Jones and...”

“WHO?!” Warrick slammed the brakes, nearly causing a wreck on the interstate. Cars honked and swerved to miss him. Warrick’s eyes shot daggers at his brother.

Leaning against the window, trying to prevent being attacked, The Wizard replied, “I thought you said you never heard of these guys?”

“Okay, so I didn’t really read their names. But, seriously, did you say FELIX JONES?”

The Wizard gave a nod.

“That fuckin guy cost me nearly fifty grand on a bet years back. He played for the fuckin cowboys. Taught me two lessons...one, never bet on the Cowboys. And, second...anybody named Felix sits down to take a piss.”

“Kinda strange how you came to that second conclusion but...I’m pretty sure this is a different Felix Jones.”

“So it’s not the football player?”

“No.”

“I can’t believe there are two people in this world named Felix Jones. I kinda want to die.”

“Before you do can you at least finish this road trip?”

“Fine,” Warrick hit the gas pedal and took off, nearly ramming an AUDI from behind. “Felix fucking Jones...so, tell me about him, talk some shit. I’m dying to hear it.”

Silence.

“You seriously have nothing?”

The Wizard grew defensive, “Well, I can’t just go into anything right off the bat. They have this thing called a cold opening where I can’t mention anything specific about our match..or at least anything he’s said about the match.”

“Okay, so make fun of his name.”

“That doesn’t work around here.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I did that against Robbie Bourbon and I lost.”

“I thought you were screwed.”

“I was.”

“So maybe it worked but they were just like ‘ah, I love it when people make fun of their opponents name but this wizard guy just isn’t in our plans so we’re going to put the whiskey guy over’”

“Maybe.”

“Geezus. This is like pulling teeth. Okay, Felix Jones...Felix is like a cat. Cat is a euphemism for pussy. So, Felix Jones is a fuckin pussy. There ya go. Pussy Jones.”

“That won’t work.”

“It’s way fuckin better than saying nothing, ya idiot.”

The Wizard began to pout. Warrick felt like reaching across the car and backhanding him. But, his brother’s psyche was fragile. He’d managed to get him out of bed...more progress than he’d made with Depth. So, he bypassed his carnal, natural urge and sought a more didactic method.

“Nevermind, forget Pussy Jones. His name sucks anyway. Anybody who would create a wrestling personality and either choose the name Felix Jones or fail to change the name Felix Jones is really too dumb to waste much oxygen on, anyway. Who’s the other guy…”

Eyes shut, The Wizard decided to play along, “Notorious Ned Kaye.”

“Notorious...Ned...Kaye…” Warrick looked at himself in the rearview mirror and mouthed the words, ‘oh my fuck’. He was obviously not a fan of the name.

“He’s the champion,” The Wizard informed.

Warrick slapped his steering wheel, showing more than a hint of incredulity, “Well, that does it. Maybe you should join a new fed. I don’t think I want the Hill name being associated with a place that puts titles on people named Ned.”

“I think you focus too much on their names.”

“Well what the fuck else am I supposed to focus on? I don’t know a thing about these guys and you’re not helping, at all.”

“His name is Notorious.”

Finally, an idea. “Carl!”

The Wizard jumped, “Who the hell is Carl?”

“My personal GPS.”

“Hello, Master Warrick.”

“You make him call you master?”

“You bet your fuckin ass.” Beaming with pride, Warrick addressed his digital servant, “What’s up, Carl. I need you to pull up information on some guy named Notorious Ned Kaye. Also take control of the wheel, would ya? I’m gonna be reading some of this shit and I don’t exactly feel like dying today.”

“Whatever you say, Master. Would you like some mood music while I do this?”

“Well, since this guy’s name is Notorious, how about...HOLY SHIT”

Warrick’s groove is interrupted when a photo of NOTORIOUS NED KAYE pops up on the screen of his GPS.



“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?’

“Why, that’s Notorious Ned Kaye...or NNK, as he is sometimes called, Master.”

“Bro,” Warrick turned to The Wizard, “if you lose to this guy I’m going to demand you get that dick snipped to prevent further dilution of the Hill genetics.”

The Wizard had no response.

“Carl.”

“Yes, Master Warrick.”

“There’s only one song...one video worthy of this nerd. Play - Mash up: Dinosaurs vs Notorious B.I.G.”

“May I have a drink?”

This caught The Wizard off guard.

“Sure, pour yourself a Jack and Coke.”

“A double?”

“No. We’ve got another fifty or so miles to go. Start slow, Carl.”

“Oh, alright,” Carl sounded disappointed. An image of a Jack and Coke being made appeared on the GPS screen.

“What’s going on here?” The Wizard asked.

“Carl’s got a bit of a drinking problem. He’s my alcoholic GPS.”

“If he’s got a drinking problem, why are you allowing him a drink?”

“Well, he needs something to function. I’m not a tyrant or anything. Trust me, we’ll be fine.”

Audible sips followed by a satisfying grunt, “Thanks, Master Warrick. It tastes so good going down. Video coming up, followed by more info on NNK.”

A hard roll of the eyes at the mention of ‘NNK’.



“Aww yea, now see, this is what I think of when I hear the name Notorious Ned Kaye. A cool word followed by shit you simply can’t take seriously.”

“I thought the same about Bourbon. He spent time on a space ship and literally looked like a cartoon. And, well, he beat me.”

“Again, he was supposed to win, bro. Don’t take it too personal. It happens,” Warrick replied, grooving out to the music. “Now, let’s focus on Ned Kaye. Let’s mention some key facts about Mr. Kaye”

He’s got a NOTORIOUSLY shitty hair cut
He has a NOTORIOUSLY curious vocabulary...got the word COCKSURE in his profile.
He’s NOTORIOUSLY delusional. His custom entrance mentions coming out in a STADIUM. As if he could ever sell a place like that out.
His name makes a NOTORIOUSLY awful acronym. NNK.
He, evidently, has a NOTORIOUS knee. Better watch out for that one.
He has a NOTORIOUSLY embarrassing background. Indy darling? That’s like bragging about being king of the friend zone.
He has NOTORIOUSLY common strengths and weaknesses. I think a cold open on this guy would probably say all that needs to be said.
And, finally…
He has a NOTORIOUSLY average record of 23-18-1.

“Bro, this guy is about as menacing as a manlet in an Affliction t-shirt. You got this.”

The Wizard remains unconvinced, “I appreciate the vote of confidence. But I can’t win. I’m not supposed to win. Kaye is going to go over.”

“I get that they can and likely will screw you...but they can’t screw you THIS hard. Not against NOTORIOUS ned kaye.”

“It’s going to happen. He’s got a seat at the table. I’m picking up scraps outside the building. He’s in the plans. I’m not. This is just like my last Hart Title shot. Robbie Bourbon and BoB had major plans. I didn’t. I lost.”

“You are such a bitch. Just shut up the rest of the way and listen to this song on repeat for the next forty five minutes.”

No argument.

“Master Warrick.”

“Yes, Carl.”

“May I have another drink?”

“Sure.”

“A double?”

“No, Carl. Not a double.”

“Oh, alright.”

Carl poured himself another drink.

---

THE WOODS OF ELDERDOM.

A place forgotten by The Wizard. But not by The Wizard’s friends - THE LARPING COMMUNITY.

Standing atop a stump, the Town Crier decreed.

“And thus, our champion, our hero, awakened from his slumber with eyes on battle! Another battle for the elusive Hart Championship!”

The dozens of LARPers in attendance replied with a resounding, “HUZZAH!”

At the front of the group stood the ten kids The Wizard was meant to mentor. Some of his teachings had paid off...they were all dressed like tiny wizards. Their robes displaying the name ‘Wiz Kids’.

Hiding in plain sight, Ed Mof and Father Thyme, dressed as full bodied knights, awaited the arrival of The Wizard.

“He’ll be here soon, Father.”

On cue. Headlights turned into the gas station at the bottom of Elderdom Hill. Warrick stepped out. Zooming in, we catch him speaking to his brother through the opened driver’s side door.

“You got that shit on yet?”

“For a guy who thinks all of this is super nerdy, you sure are adamant about me getting all wizz’d out.”

“These are your people. They may be the worst of the people. But they are your people. Anything to get your shit back on track, I will try and stomach.”

The Wizard exited the car, in all his glory...cap, beard, robe.

Warrick held back tears, “Geezus. It’s worse than I imagined.”

“If you’re going to be like that, then forget the whole thing.”

“No, no, head up there. I don’t get it. I think it’s fuckin lame. But it’s your thing. Just...keep your distance from me and, ya know, if there are any cute maidens or whatever the fuck you call women in this group up there, try not to address me directly, okay?”

The Wizard had no response, marching up the hill, using his cane.

“He’s got a fuckin cane.” A mortified Warrick followed...far, far behind.

---

Some battles can’t be won. Or, at least not in the literal meaning of the term.

Despite facing an unwinnable battle, a warrior...a true warrior, must show up.

More can be taken from a loss than a win.

While The Wizard isn’t sure what the hell he’s supposed to take from that Robbie Bourbon loss...he’s contemplating showing up and trying again.

Yes, he knows he can’t win. Yes, he knows this was booked to put Ned Kaye over. But, perhaps...perhaps this time, in defeat, The Wizard will learn something.

Or, maybe he won’t show up at all.

He has yet to make up his mind.