---

---

---

---

[We fade in on the open road, where we see forestry and very little cars heading the duo's way or the other way. The sky has a few fluffy clouds hanging in the sky, cooling the summer heat a little. From the looks of Dustin and Christopher's reflections in the front window, they aren't really enjoying the ride. What would normally be considered serene is ruined by Chris' mother forcefully being taken to rehab.]

Mom: Get me outta this fuckin' car!

[She's obviously not making the already long trip any easier on them. She acts as if she has no idea where she is or why everything is moving but she isn't. As she's flipping the fuck out, Chris leans over the dashboard with his hands running through his hair. Dustin just keeps on driving with his eyes on the road, even though she's starting to annoy the hell out of him too.]

Mom: Where the hell are we!?

Christopher: We're on the road to Fresno, mom. I told you that five fucking times already.

Mom: I ain't goin' ta Fresno, Chris! Turn this fucking thing around!

Christopher: Even if I was driving, I still wouldn't turn the car around. I'm sick and tired of trying to keep you away from the drinks, ma.

Mom: Why'd ya change your mind on me, ya fucking murderer?

Christopher: Stop calling me a fucking murderer! Dad's death wasn't my fault! His death was the very reason you started to drink in the first fucking place!

Mom: Why'd ya change your mind!?

Christopher: You want to know why I broke my promise with you? Because I'm too fucking tired! I haven't had an hour of sleep in what fees like days because you either need more booze, to take a piss, to eat leftovers, or your tampons put into you!

Dustin: You seriously put in her tampons, brah?

Christopher: Yeah, I did! Half of the time she forgot I was there and hit me over the head with an empty bottle. Probably the only moments I was able to sleep while I was still with her.

Dustin: Damn, dude, I'm sorry about that.

Christopher: Nah, I'm the one at fault. I should've done something sooner instead of letting her drink all the damn time.

Mom: Where the fuck are we!?

Christopher: I just fucking told you, mom!

Dustin: Look, let's just get her there and we won't have to listen to her bullshit for a while, alright?

[We see the lower half of Chris' head turn towards his friend's with a small smile on his face.]

Mom: Are you two talkin' shit about me? If you two are talkin' shit about me, I'll fuck ya up!

Christopher: Will you just shut the fuck up and let us take you to Fresno!?

Mom: I ain't goin' ta Fresno! Pull over!

[Chris shakes his head as he looks straight ahead at the open road Chris' mother doesn't seem too happy about how they ignored her.]

Mom: I said pull the fuck over!

[She instantly throws her fatty arm across Chris' neck and pulls it towards her. Chris is gasping for air at this point and Dustin can only watch as his friend tries his hardest to escape her clutches. He tries throwing some back elbows at his own mother, but they can't quite reach far enough to hit her.]

Dustin: Let go of him!

Mom: Not until you fucking pull over!

[Chris is still coughing and trying to breathe in what he can. Has face is starting to discolor into a shade of blue. Dustin, understandably worried about this, starts to slow the car down and drives over to the side of the road. She starts to loosen her grip on her son's neck. This gives Chris enough time to slip out from under her arm and turn towards her. He throws a wicked left cross at her, which appears to knock her out. Dustin looks over at his friend with surprise, knowing that Chris doesn't punch except when he's wrestling or really pissed off.]

Dustin: Holy shit, dude. You seriously just punch out your own mother?

Christopher: I did what I had to. Just keep driving.

Dustin: Brah...

Christopher: Please, just go. I'll talk about it later.

[Dustin proceeds to speed up and gets back on the road. The scene proceeds to fade to something different after Dustin shakes his head, not really knowing what to make of what just happened.]

---

---

Christopher: Hope you all had a happy fourth, America. I know I certainly enjoyed the barbeque, fireworks, and all the water sports. For everyone else, it's just another day where you have to deal with the US, your annoying and kinda slow neighbors. Now that our day of celebration is over, I can go on and talk about my upcoming match with the deep southern country boy, Ellis Bolton. Normally I wouldn't say much of anything on a man who hasn't said much of anything, but this guy's established himself by joining Southern Hospitality alongside Dim, Richard, and Wyatt.

Dustin: Aren't they called the Hatriots?

Christopher: I feel like my name is going to take off more than theirs. Besides, what I call them shouldn't piss them off. If it does, then that would just be hilarious.

Dustin: Any kind of group with Dim in it is bound for failure. You might as well start laughing now, brah.

[This gets a chuckle out of Chris.]

Christopher: Anyways, Ellis would probably consider himself to be a bright prospect in the trashy state of Kentucky. I say probably because I don't know if he's given himself a nickname after running over our X-Treme champ and taking part in his lashing and branding. I guess Lackey number one will do for now. It suits him, too. All he's done so far in this place is take orders from other people. When he does do something for himself, he beats people like Tommy Wish, and I could beat Tommy Wish blindfolded with my hands cuffed.

Dustin: He'd probably say that you didn't pin him and he did, so that makes him a special snowflake.

Christopher: It really shouldn't matter. Me walking out of that match the winner is proof enough that I can take him out too. If he doesn't think so, I'll be more than happy to show him when I kick his ass twice over. You can keep your head screwed on tight while that happens, right brah? I mean, you knew what was going to happen when you challenged me, right? 'Cause if you didn't then prepare to spike the mat so hard, you pop like a champagne bottle.

Dustin: He'd probably call you a since he hangs around with Dim all the time.

Christopher: How the fuck did you get that from champagne?

Dustin: For all I know, he probably thinks those taste testers eat dick for breakfast and take it up the ass for dinner.

Christopher: Explains why they don't swallow, I guess. I know that star of the month picture on the website isn't helping my point, but that's what ya get when you hang with Alice, I guess. Besides, I'm sure he's taken some photos he'd be more than happy to forget. They're probably not something I can find, either. So instead, I'll use some of Jeremy Davies and say they're you.

[Chris pulls out a printed photograph from his pocket and shows them to the camcorder.]



Christopher: I'd say that's you, but I won't stoop that low. Hell, I'm not as desperate Peter anyhow. Aside from that, I can no longer look at this guy the same way anymore. It's such an effeminate haircut on a hillbilly of a man. And that tiara only makes it that much better. Makes me wonder if I should start calling him Elly from now on.

Dustin: You saying he might've pulled a Bruce Jenner, brah?

Christopher: It's possible. And if he did, that'd make him one of the people Southern Hospitality is against. They want pure, white Christians that are men, not chicks that wanted to know how testicles feel against jeans.

Dustin: That's about all you can say about him, isn't it?

Christopher: Now hold on, I haven't talked about how shit he is towards other people yet. He set fire to a perfectly good marijuana farm.

Dustin: He smoked out the weed?

Christopher: He and his family hate fun and eating, brah. They're probably stressed out all the time because...hang on, I got to prepare the worst southern accent in the world.

[Chris clears his throat and spits out some mucus onto the cement he's standing on.]

Christopher: 'Dem darkies are demons from hell ta relax and stop fuckin' our babays because it disgusts 'em. Martha better grab my shotgun so I can blow 'em back to hell where dey belong!

[Dustin is heard chuckling from behind the camera.]

Christopher: Knowing how he keeps looking down at his friend's, cousin's, brother's, however he might be related to Elly, I wouldn't be surprised if he points out how low my pants were in that photo. Again, all Alice's fault. If she wasn't invited at that party, I wouldn't have looked like that at the end of the night.

Besides, brah. Appearances don't matter when fighting. I could walk down that ramp wearing a fucking tutu and a pair of panties and I can still kick your blue collared ass back to the marshlands. Ya know what does matter, though? That opportunity to become the number one contender for the belt. If I wanted to become a champion when I was a kid, there's no way I'm going to let some redneck keep me away from earning a shot at one. Besides, you've only been here a week and you haven't really stated what you want other than being kept on a leash and told what to do.

Do ya want this belt, brah? From what I've seen ya do, you're more than comfortable following the leader. That leader hasn't done much besides win one match and call people from behind the curtain. Should I expect the same from you, or will you break out and say nothing at all?

[The scene cuts to black.]