"I'm sorry sir, but you're an XWF Legend, and this event is for local talent only!" Says the frumpy 40-something-year-old woman assigned to approve sign-ups for the local talent gig that's replacing Anarchy this week.


Graves, hoodie up, darts his eyes left and right to check that he's clear before speaking softly.


"Listen, I know, but the XWF hasn't really booked me since I was buried alive. Lane even used some obscure stipulation in my contract to restructure it from a talent contract to an office gig."


"Sir, what's your point?"


Graves huffs. "My point IS that THIS is the only action I'm getting these days, so LET ME IN!"


There is not even a shred of empathy from the local talent sign-ups lady.


"I'm sorry sir, but as an XWF veteran, you are not allowed to compete in this event... Unless?"


She studies Graves up and down. Particularly the goofy constipated look on his face. That's his resting expression.


"Unless what!?" Graves pleads.


"You're not a member of the Rabb family by chance, are you?"


"DOG FUCKER!?!" Graves shouts! "You think that I'm related to DOG FUCKER!?"


"I'll take that as a no. Once again, I'm sorry sir, but you are not allowed to compete. Now if you could please step aside for the next sign-up..."


Micheal looks behind him. There's absolutely nobody else in line behind him.


"There's nobod-"


"Sir, please step aside for the next sign-up..."


Graves palms the desk with both hands as he leans in for a more intimate conversation.


"Listen, please, there has to be something that we can do!? I've been trying to get the XWF to book me in a match forever now, but Lane says that there's no place for me in today's XWF, and that I'd be better suited isolated to the Madness brand as an authority figure of sorts, but the thing is, I don't know the first fucking thing about being a boss! I'm literally drowning over there! I was blown up last month! A fucking landmine, right? Can you believe that? I WASN'T EVEN IN THE MATCH! I made $150 working the show as a fucking referee, got blown up, and didn't even wrestle! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT!?"


Still, no sign of emotion as she responds. "I'm sorry to he-" Graves cuts her off! "You should be! Because if you don't let me into this match, then it'll be on you once Vinnie finally books the match that kills ole Gravy off once and for all!"


Even still, no reaction or emotion. This lady is a stone-cold killa!


"Great, then I'll be a hero and a celebrity, and I will finally be able to quit this job!"


Graves' jaw falls agape!


"What!? I can't believe this! You'd REALLY do that to me!? You'd sentence me to death!?"


Finally! Graves scored a reaction! A scoff and an eye roll!


"Listen, the only way that I could allow you into this match is if you signed up under the classification of jobber. Do you want that, son? Because once you go jobber, you can never go back!"


Graves contemplates for a moment.


"They said that about my pedobear antics too, but here I am!"


A deep breath and a couple of raised eyebrows accompany her response. "Yes, here we are... Fill out this forum."


Graves takes the form and fills out it, handing it back to the lady.


"So I'm in!?"


She carelessly looks the application over.

Name: Micheal Graves Height: 6'8 Weight: 320lbs ALL MUSCULE! W/L/D: 0/99/1I MAY BE A JOBBER, BUT TK COULDN'T BEAT ME! Experience Level: (please select1) | local talent | jobber | student | weekend warrior | Brenda-verse alien | legit entire Raaaaaaaab family | BUT I'M THE KING OF THE JOBBERS! Pay for the event: (please select 1) | $100 | A Ham sandwich and an 8-ball of coke | 1 week of free training at THE GENERIC SCHOOL OF WRESTLING! | ONLY IF THIS IS THE KIND OF SCHOOL THAT GET'S THEIR STUDENTS BOOKED. OTHERWISE 8-BALL AND SANDWICH PLZ

"Sure, have a great time."

Gravy's Closet/Office/Closet Of Bad Gimmicks

"Ha! I've skirted the rules! I've entered the Local Talent Match! I'm GOING to be on TV, WRESTLING! Life is good! Life, however, will absolutely NOT be good for whoever signs up for this match! Local talent? Jobbers? Green as grass HGH's who inexplicitly flip from spoiled rich kid to VEGO THE DESTROYER on a whim!? Weekend warriors!? What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? Did you go to wrestling school just to work matches on your days off from Burger King? Oh shit, is Big D going to be in this!? Tell him to bring it, I've kicked his ass before!"


As soon as the words leave his lips, Graves catches the slip!


"In checkers! Brenda verse aliens? Nobody knows what that means! The only alien I know is Random, and I think he did ask me to call him Brenda once... Aw shit! Another easy win! All that leaves to worry about is the Rabb family, but let's be real, even if "Dog Fucker" or any of his ghoulie-looking siblings were stupid enough to not get the joke, I could easily kick all of their asses at the same time, even after suffering that wicked nasty eye-gouging incident that happened to Barney a few weeks back! I may be a jobber, but I'm damn sure not a dog fucker!"


Graves laughs at his dog fucker line that really wasn't that funny when he used it a year ago.


"Mark your calendars boys and girls, because THIS is it! Today a jobber, tomorrow the world! XWF, I'm coming home!"


The video fades to black, leaving you to wonder if they will REALLY let this idiot into the match!


You also are praying that someone good shows up.


You understand this is jobbers and such... But c'mon.


After 30 seconds of Graves yellowed toothy smile, you also wonder why this feed hasn't cut off ye-