Monday, April 13, 2015
Backstage of US Bank Arena
Cincinnati, OH
…Approximately one hour after Monday Night Madness…

“Daddy! Great job out there kickin’ tail!”

A bloodied Muddy Waters runs up to his daughter Dolly and picks her up, swinging her around before stopping to hug her and giving her a kiss on the forehead…

“Dolly baby, I aint got ah’ person in this world ta’ thank asides’ you! Yer’ the one you believed in me… I love ya’ honey.”

Dolly kinda’ pushes away from her dad, and blushes a bit as she notices some of the fellow XWF Superstars roaming the backstage area,

“Stop it Daddy, yer’ embarssin’ me.”

“Embarssin’ ya’? Yer’ not gunna’ be embarrassed fer too long. No more eatin’ Spam and Beanie Weenie’s fer us honey… Daddy’s gunna’ take you some place REAL fancy fer supper ta’night.”

“Ya’ mean it Daddy?”

“Damn straight I mean it… I’mma’ thinkin’ KFC Buffett. Waddya’ say?”

Dolly smiles real big… about that time Muddy turns to notice Pest creeping by them, starring a hole through Dolly. Muddy looks on concernedly and as Pest walks away he notices Dolly’s new shirt,

“Where the hell did ya’ get that?”

“It’s my new Loverboy Vinnie Lane shirt Daddy! I found it at the concession stands… ya’ like it?”

“…I mean it is awfully purdy, before too long yer’ gunna’ be wearin’ a Muddy Waters XWF shirt.”

“Excuse me… Mr. Waters?”

Muddy turns back to see Kirk MacClay, his black suspenders holding up his pin-striped trousers and keeping his partially unbuttoned white dress shirt tucked in. Kirk approaches, pushing his glasses up onto his nose while his beautifully combed over thin hair is allowing his balding head to shine glowingly under the florescent light bulbs.



“Dolly baby, hows’ about ya’ go wait in my dressin’ room while me and Mr. MacClay talk…”

Dolly nods and skips off down the hall way, goofily bumping into a couple of XWF wrestler her look back at her pissed, Muddy watches her for a moment then turns back to Krik,

“Well, well, well kid! You did a hell of a job out there tonight! Gotta’ say, I honestly didn’t expect that from you…”

Kirk extends his arm out for Muddy to shake it, in which he does,

“Kirk MacClay, it’s a damned honor to meet you sir, and I gotta’ tell ya’, yer’ even hairier in real life…”

“…Uhhh, thanks? Muddy let’s cut to the chase. First things first, Mr. Heyman regrettably wasn’t able to meet up with you after the show, but he made sure to let me know that I extended his congratulations to you for winning the match.”

“That’s good an’ well an’ all Mr. MacClay, but hows’ about extendin’ that fat ass check I’s promised fer’ winnin’ that there match? Five thousand bign’s!”

Kirk seems reluctant, but from his back pocket he pulls a crumbled up, sweaty looking check and hands it to Muddy. Muddy unravels the check and kisses it multiple times,

“WHOO! HELLS YEAH SON! THE GOOSE GUNNA’ BE HANGIN’ HIGH TA’NIGHT HONEY!”

Kirk tries calming Muddy down who’s jumping around like a shit throwing ape,

“Muddy! Muddy… relax for a minute. There’s more…”

Muddy stops and puts the check in his tights near his crotch and begins listening to Kirk,

“Since you did do so well out there tonight, and since Mr. Heyman and I were so impressed with the work you did against Cohen Horne, who again let me reiterate, I thought you had no chance of beating, we’re wanting to offer you a deal…”

“What kinda’ deal?”

“A full time spot on the XWF main roster… and we’ve got big plans for you Muddy, the crowd loves you, your promo work is solid, and above all else you’ve got some natural ability out in the ring. We’d love to have you work for us… what do you say?”

“Buddy boy, that’s the best news I done heard ever in my life!”

Muddy reaches out and hugs Kirk, squeezing him tight and swinging him back and forth. Kirks eyes widen, and his face begins to turn purple…

“Mu… Mud… Muddy… I… can… t… bre… athe…”

Muddy drops Kirk who almost falls on his ass, but grabs his suspender straps and snaps them while composing himself and combing his hair back over.

“Listen… Muddy, I’ve got this contract here. It’s a one year deal, and it’s going to pay you handsomely. Three-thousand a match, seven-thousand a win, plus there will be opportunities for title matches if you perform well enough. Matter of fact, I’ve already got your plane tickets for you and your daughter booked for our show in Boston next week.
Now again, I don’t expect you to win, but you’re going to be facing off against the company’s white-hot superstar Karl-Cross…”

“The XTreme Championship #1 Contender?”

“That’s right, and all we need you to do is go out there Monday, be competitive and put on a good show for the fans.”

“You just show Muddy Waters where to sign Kirk!!!”

Kirk pulls a contract out from the back of his waist line…

“Ya’ gotta’ pen?”

MacClay hands him a bobby-pin

“Uhhh I was thinkin’ more along the lines of ah’ ink-pen.”

“Muddy… we sign contracts in XWF in blood.”

Muddy looks on confused for a moment at Kirk who is strangely rubbing his hands together and looking over his shoulder, but Muddy goes on and pricks his finger, and sloppily signs the contract…

“Kirk, there’s just one thing, I was ah’ hopin’ you’d be able to help me out with.”

Kirk grinning snatches the contract away from Muddy, flipping through the pages, not even looking at him now,

“Yeah, sure, what?”

“It’s my daughter Dolly… I worry about her bein’ backstage here with some of these creepy ass guys roamin’ around and all- thought maybe you’d be able ta’ point me in the direction of a good sitter?”

Kirk looks up at Muddy overtop of his glasses, he smiles a bit…

“I know just the guy…”

Kirk begins laughing a bit as he scribbles down an address on a scrap piece of paper,

“…and even more perfect Muddy, his house isn’t too far away from next week’s show! He’ll be just thrilled to help you out I’m sure of it!”

Muddy reads the piece of paper that Kirk handed him,


“Right on! I’ll be seein’ ya’ in Boston Mast-echutchas fer Mud-Day Night Madness!!!”

Muddy runs off down the hall way while Kirk is standing shaking his head, a shit eating grin on his face,

“…jackass”

Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Boston Logan Airport
Boston, Massachusetts

We see a sleepy and jetlagged Muddy Waters getting off of the plane, hoisted up on his shoulder is his daughter Dolly, sound asleep…

“MUDDY! MUDDY WATERS! A MOMENT OF YOUR TIME SIR!?!”

Running out of the abyss obscure and pompous Pulitzer hopefuls is Steve Sayors along with his ever loyal cameraman side kick. Steve trips over a briefcase on his way to Muddy and falls directly on his face,

“…Fuck.”

Muddy groans, as he sits his daughter down in one of the airport terminal chairs,

“…Remember what Mr.MacClay said, he’s expectin’ big things fer ya’ Muddy, this is just part of bein’ ah’ star.”

Muddy thinks to himself,

“Muddy! Good to see you this morning!”

“Well, well… Steve Sayors, I didn’t know that the dog drug shit in this early. What can I do fer yah’?”

“Muddy your name is buzzing since your win on Monday Night Madness over Cohen Horne, being a huge underdog going in, you shocked the wrestling world in your debut match…

This week, it seems as if you’re a huge underdog again as you’ll be squaring off against one of XWF’s hottest superstars, Karl Cross. What are your thoughts regarding your opponent this week?”

“Karl Cross… Steve Sayors, you ever seen that there film called Shutter Island?”

“…Films again? Yeah… but…”

“Ya’ see Karl Cross reminds me of that there Lenardo D’ Crapino feller, where he’s ah’ runnin around that there looney-bin thinkin’ he’s some sorta U.S. Marshall tryin’ ta’ save everyone, but it turned out he wasn’t nuttin’ but another crazy ass who’d done gone and murdered his own wife and such…”

“Wow…Muddy, , you’re quite the movie buff… but I don’t see how that relates to…”

Muddy snatches the microphone out of Steve’s hand and then looks directly into the camera,

“Steve we’ve done ah’heard’ enough of yer’ mouth fer' the time bein’, now it’s Muddy’s turn ta’ talk…

Karl Cross… I know ya’ yet ta’ speak on Muddy Waters but lemme’ go on and cut ya’ off before ya’ begin with all that yappy-de yap, flappy-de flapn’ of yer’ gums. Before ya’ get on some camera in some random ass room where ah nuttin’ is ah’ happenin’ and start sayin:

“I’m Karl-Who Gives ah’ Flyin’ Fuck, and I’m better than you”

You orta’ bear in mind that yer ass is supposed to be better than Muddy Waters first of all, I mean just look at’cha’ Karl…
Yer’ smarter, purddier, more popular and ah’ better rassler’ and all this and that…
You’ve beat this shitty ass washup after that shitty ass washup…
Yer ah’ tired of bein’ booked against lesser opponents…
Yer ah’ ready ta’ be ah’ headliner, blah blah blah-

I already know what ta’ expect... that's how damned perdictible and overplayed yer' promos have become.

Frankly I’m tired of hearin’ it, and ah’ everyone else who’s gotta’ sit through yer’ whinin’ and ah’ boohooin’ promos is tired of hearin’ it- but what’s supposed ta’ happen since yer’ just so much damn better than Muddy Waters don’t make a damn bit of difference, because if you’ve forgotten this is the XWF, where the sun even dries the mud on ah’ dogs ass some days… and on Monday, Muddy Waters is fully prepared to take his size 12 boot, lace it up nice an’ tight, and stomp it right inta’ Karl Cross’s sweet ass.

Just how devastatin' would that be to a man of such 'intellectual prowess'? Ta' have his tea sippin', soccer watchin', Harry Potter readin', British bitch ass handed to him by a good ol' backwooded, incest country bumpkin' like Muddy Waters? I mean I'ma' sure that's the type of jabs yer' predictable ass is gunna' be takin' at me.. as if I aint done heard it a million times, and comin' from ah' cock sucker such as yer'self I'd expect no less.

So ta’ reiterate on what I was tellin’ ol’ jackass Sayors over here, yer’ not any different than any other rassler roamin’ around XWF these days, but ya’ think yer’ so damned special and ordained to be great. I’ll admit though, ya’ might just be a bit better at runnin’ them dick-beaters of yer’s, but what’s that make ya’? Nuttin’ more than the smartest kid sittin’ in Special ED class droolin’ on himself, with Peter Gilmour as a real, real close second place.

I bet you’s damned full of yer’self once ya’ saw the booking list fer’ Monday, seein’ as how you’ve done cracked the main event again and all… sure, maybe we’ve got the headline match fer Monday, and sure, maybe that’s only because yer in the match, but that don’t mean that Muddy Waters aint gunna’ go out there and do his job; that there job ah’ bein, raisin as much hell, kickin’ as much ass, spillin’ as much of Karl Cross’s blood as possible before pickin’ yer’ Tony Blair lookin’ as up and slammin’ ya’ through table after table.

That’s what the fans wanna’ see, and that’s what I’mma’ here for, to give the good fans of XWF what they want. They want to see ah’ man like me, ah’ man they can relate to and connect with kick the ever lovin’ shit out of some snooty ass British dick-pinch who thinks he’s better than everyone he comes in contact with. See I’m like their George Washington and yer’ Cornhole Wallace and on Mud-Day Night Madness the good people of Boston, MA the home of the Revolution is gunna’ watch Muddy Waters turn TD Garden Arena inta’ Yorktown and send this little Redcoat piece of shit back across the Atlantic with his pants down and white flag ah’ flyin’…

So while we all know that yer’ Karl Cross, and yer better than me, what we don’t know is how good yer gunna’ be lookin’ in the face of adversity. So go on and do and say the same ol’ shit we’re already expectin’, call me a watered down inbred redneck who don’t talk right… but don’t be expectin’ on Monday that yer’ just gunna’ roll up inta’ Boston and face some bitch who’s gunna’ lay down like Ariel Knight, Anonymous, Hero God, Pest or any other of them ‘men’ you been ah’ rackin up wins on…

Yer’ steppin’ in the ring with Muddy fuckin’ Waters, the goddamned pride of Pike Co. Kentucky, and the most bonafide, baddest ass kickin’ machine they’ ever was… boy they aint ah’ thing fer’ me ta’ lose either. The Goose gunna’ be Hangin’ High when Mud-Day Night Madness invades TD Garden Arena… I hope yer’ ass is ready Monty Python.

Muddy storms over to his daughter and wakes her up, he sees he’s escort in a black tux holding up a sign reading:

“Muddy Waters”

But right next to him is another escort who looks an awful lot like Pest holding up a sign that reads:

“Muddy’s Daughter”

“Daddy I think that one is fer’ me…”

“The hell it is…”

Muddy jerks Dolly’s arm toward him as they leave with the escort who doesn’t look like a rapist.

The scene fades.