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"The Wolf of Afghanistan" Joshua Schuler · (10-29-2017)

"Part One"

Columns of Oak press into the back of Bearded War Pig. He sits in one of his Great Grandmother's dining table chairs carved by hand. Lifting a handle of Jim Beam, Devil's Cut from the black cheaply made Wal-Mart coffee table. Scattered amongst the table top are an ashtray overflowing with Marijuana Cigarette roaches, a loaded Smith and Wesson .40 SVE with one in the chamber, a variety of different pills for PTSD, a few pictures of his two brothers who died from wounds sustained in War, a notepad, pen, and almost a dozen empty beer cans. Looking for answers in all the wrong places BWP presses the mouth of his Devil's Cut to his moist yet chapped lips, gulp after gulp, and air bubble after air bubble. Down goes an eight-ounce glass of the good stuff, the stuff that will put hair on your chest.

Pig slams the glass jug of liquid courage down on the cheap coffee table. His eyes lock on to one of the pictures, it is of both of his fallen brethren. A tear begins to form in the corner of his eye as his fists quench tightly almost cracking his own bones. The droplet of regret, pity, and blame begins to stream down his face until it absorbs into the forest of facial hair. Another droplet falls from the opposite side. This time BWP wipes the tear away with his right quenched fist, angry with himself to the point he is obviously contemplating suicide. Something Pig would never have ever imagined himself in this position being headstrong, not having a care in the world, and fuck it chuck it attitude he's always had. His left fist smashes into the table at knee level in front him; particles of the table and dust fall to the floor as one of the open pill bottles fall over.

BWP's eyelids fall heavy as his thoughts are engulfed by darkness. Alone in darkness, naked, motionless, defenseless, cold, and worst of all this is the precise reality for Pig. No more was he secure in his great grandmother's dining chair, in his mind no one cares for him, he is the enemy, and only deserves emptiness. Bearded War Pig opens his eyes and begins stretching awake, still engulfed in darkness but no longer motionless. His lost positive energy still fights with the very little fight he has left. Disfigured spirits of the loved ones he has let down begin to spiral and illuminate the darkness with sadness. The spirits slowly begin to screech "Why... why.... why!" Pig climbs to his knees with his arms raised high toward the sadness. Their screeches soon turn to hisses "Die! Die!" Pig collapses to all fours as death begins to settle in his bones.

Looking as if he was a weathered old man, weak and useless to the world. Bearded War Pig’s skin begins to melt off his bones slowly like candle wax melting in a jar. The darkness completely engulfs everything, driving the sadness deep within his damaged mind. Heavy breathing begins.

Inhale!

Exhale!

Inhale!

Exhale!

Inhale...

Pig’s reality becomes just that again, reality, he is back in the comfortable air loom. Catching his breath from the intense hallucination of what his life is like in his mind. BWP quickly, yet very sloppily reaches for his half-empty beer can. Dazed and confused he slams the rest of the beer and smashes the can on his forehead chuckling a little.

“Bwarhahaha! Fuck!”

Pig tosses the crushed can on the floor to the right of him where a pile of seven to ten equally crushed cans rests. Almost falling out of the oak chair BWP grabs the wooden armrests with the feather-stuffed leather pad. With as much intensity and aggressiveness, he would have with a detainee in war or an opponent in the XWF. Stabilizing his very intoxicated and inebriated body he falls back into the chair completely dead weighted, bruising his back on impact. Bearded War Pig’s eyes begin to fall heavy and his head begins to bob for cock. Blinking three times before miraculously energy surges through his body and brain.

A very alive and animated BWP rises from his throne and yanks the jug of Devil’s Cut from the table. While slamming another eight-ounce glass worth Pig stumbles into the coffee table knocking over the still standing pill bottles. Placing the over half drank handle of whiskey back on the table. His right-hand grabs a hand full of mixed spilled pills and tosses them in his mouth. Grabbing multiple empty beer cans on the table that he hadn’t crushed with his head before finding one with some liquid left. Pig tilts the warm can back and begins chugging the yak piss to help swallow the pharmaceutical cocktail. Every little pill and drop of liquid washes down his throat. Pig slowly falls to his knees with guilt, shame, and failure dripping from his eyeballs like a leaky faucet. Flailing his arms in the air as he begins cursing out to what seems to be "God!"

"Why!? Why!? Why my brothers and not me?! Do you fear what I would have brought to the next life?! They had plans of starting a family, I had plans of fucking any and all broads that would let me and pray not to catch anything... Why!? Why!? Why take lives that had meaningful and lively plans. Yet spare the unplanned soul, the rebel, and the dirtbag? You Mother Fucker!"

Pig falls forward placing his palms out and down to embrace this fall. His last words barely muttered from his mouth as saliva drips from the build up in the corner of his mouth. On all fours, BWP is foaming at the mouth like a grizzly bear with rabies. In an instant, his flat hands ball into fists as he begins beating the hardwood floor of his man shack. Blood begins to trickle from his knuckles from wood splinters slicing away at his hardened fists, fists that knock little boys out could. BWP lifts himself up to his knees as he wipes the blood from his knuckles in his beard. Inhaling from his diaphragm Pig climbs to his feet before exhaling followed with depressing laughter. Knowing his questions would not be answered for a very long time if ever. Most likely the reason he allowed his anger to cause damage to his own body, to help numb his self-hatred.

BWP grabs the handle of whiskey one last time and slams as much as he can before it begins seeping out the side of his mouth. Like the slob he has become he ignores the spillage. Slamming the almost now empty jug on the table, he hazily reaches for his pistol. Before grasping what he aimed for he knocks a few more empty cans over, not worrying about the sanctity of his firearm is very unlike him. Now with the pistol in hand, his two dogs that are locked in kennels in the room begin to bark and flip shit. Feeling the darkness that has engulfed their father and worried for his safety. The howls for help and love have no avail; Pig in his clouded trance begins marching toward the exit. As he opens the door and steps out into the cold and dark outdoors, his biggest dog Anubis busts through his kennel door but is trapped behind the shed door. Pig quickly but staggering maneuvers through some junk to the edge of the woods where a trail is cut into the dark thicket of northern Michigan forest.

Following the trail for a couple minutes before arriving in a clear-cut that looks to be a bonfire party spot. Wasting no time BWP flops down in a throne-like chair carved out of a massive Oak tree stump. Pig’s hand with the pistol rises to his mouth level pressing the barrel in and upward to make for a clean brain shot. Sweat and tears begin to flow as a bunch of dark memories begin to flash through his head. His eyelids closed and his finger slides from straight and off the trigger to gently resting on the plastic half-moon. BWP’s trigger finger knuckle begins to bend slowly...

Caw-Caw!

Caw-Caw!

Bang!

To be continued...

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“Hello XWF Universe, Motherfucking Bearded War Pig here and I just wanted to first say, I truly am sorry for my disappearance out of nowhere. I was in a very dark place. Which doesn’t excuse my actions and I’m willing to do whatever it is to prove to you the fans, I’m not going to disappoint again. For fuck's sake, you all are who inspire and motivate me to make my opponents permanent diet liquids only, like that fucker Finn Kuhn, a disrespectful bitch boy. Now that I am back and my fucking head is in the right game and healthy again. I’m ready to dominate anyone that wants to step face to face and toe to toe in the Motherfucking squared Circle! Seriously though I hope you all can have it in your heart to allow me to honor you and honor this great sport that we all love again by just desecrating every opponent that I stare down as the bell rings. Win or lose I will give you all, the fucking show of your lives!

Sometimes our demons from the past come back and grab us. Grab us by the throat, grab us by the ankle, grab us by the arms, and begin to try to dismantle every little bit of our humanity. What happened to me is something that we don’t want to talk about sometimes. But I am learning that it’s better to get it out. I want to share with you my fans, my glory, and my heroes that I was suffering from PTSD. Some really bad shit, dark things, and I fucking mean some depraved shit! The quicksand of death grabbed me by the mother fucking balls and pulled me down to the lowest I’ve ever been in my life. Now that it is over, I promise there’s going to be a whole new blood lusting Bearded War Pig! I’m saying I’m here, I’m fucking healthy, and I’m ready to get down with the best of them. Oh and nothing and no one is going to break me like the shit that happened when I was fighting in Afghanistan ever again!

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I would like to address a couple other things. You know, like my role in the Motherfuckers, my goals in the XWF, my match with Finn Kuhn, what championship pool I might dip my dick in, a tale and most importantly all the fuckery that will be going down! Because we all know I am the type of man who likes to beat off to the sound of his own war drums! Hell fuckin yeah! B! W! Fuckin P! Is back and ready to wreck some fucking shop!

So I’ve noticed since I’ve been gone the team of Robbie Bourbon and myself has evolved. We are now a force of 4. Not just any four. No we are the four Motherfuckers who get the people off their Asses and on their feet in undying excitement. The Motherfuckers are a prideful, powerful, fuckable, and devastating force. Our belligerence and good old fashion American attitude are exactly why the XWF is as glorious and rowdy as it is! Soon we all will just be a bunch of Motherfuckers! I know, we all know that it is the time XWF is officially fucked, in a good way though. You know this sense where you feel loved. It may not be the most romantic love but its love. We the Motherfuckers, in my eyes, in my head, well we simply are here to whip our dicks out and make sweet yet violent love to the XWF. Until the point that we blow our massive, sticky, and glorious seed everywhere! Metaphorically of course, in other words, what I’m getting at is the Motherfuckers are about to fucks with yall! That means if any shit zipper backstage, on the roster, off the roster, in the crowd, or any fuckin where messes with my brothers… Well, you best prepare for war! The Motherfuckers are taking over, bitchehhhhss!

Hopefully, I’m not putting anyone to sleep. I am a little rusty on the microphone and in the spotlight, but I promise my in ring rust isn’t as bad. Everyone is wondering what my goals are here in the XWF because on paper I haven’t really achieved too much. Well, that is about to change because as of right now my goals are to help establish the Motherfuckers as the most BOOMTASTIC band on the block! Secondly, I’m going to reignite that flame in all of you who now don’t believe in the hype that is, Bearded! War! Pig! Third, I’m going to make sure that every man or woman that collides with me will remember our War. Last, but not least I will make the statement: Oink, Oink motherfucker! Be the last thing you’ll want to hear...

Holy fuck do we have some fucking talent in the asylum these days. There are too many great champions to really only want to stick the tip of my dick in just one pool. I’m like a fish that likes to find streams and creeks to hop from pond to pond and fuck everything. Then there’s the fact that Robbie Bourbon, a brother to me is our Universal Champion and my other brother Engy is the X-treme Champion. So I believe the only two straps that would even catch my interest as of now. Would be the Hart Championship and the Television Championship belts. Which I’ve never had the honor to hold either, so maybe both champions should be worried. Because either one that I decide to go for leaves the other open for another one of us Motherfuckers! So I guess what I’m saying is. I’ll leave it up to the people or management to figure out what pool they want these big hairy swinging nuts to be diving into!

Now I want to discuss Finn Kuhn, the man who I will face on my return match at Warfare, November eighth. Finny boy if you are out there and happen to be tuned in or catch this broadcast at some point, please pay careful attention. See I have recovered from some very dark shit like I have told the fans. What I didn’t tell them is now I am able to tap into that dark shit! Without losing control... Meaning all that negative and powerful energy is stored, ready at will to be used not just on my enemies but the enemies of the Motherfuckers! Finny when you rejected my gentlemen like handshake and introduction, you officially became an enemy not just in the squared circle, but outside as well. Your cockiness and pretty boy attitude officially put your ass on standby for much-needed ass whoopin! Well, would you check that out I am wearing my old ass-kicking boots, seems like destiny is calling for me to play your daddy and teach you some fucking manners!

Lesson one don’t go starting wars with motherfuckers with WAR in their damn name, what are you a DUMBASS?! Seriously boy, what the hell is wrong with your brain wiring, someone neglect you a little. Maybe drop you on your bitch boy head a little too much. For fuck's sake, I haven’t even had the chance to knock my boots around a little bit and some boy band fucktard wants to play fuck, fuck games?! Come on Finny, I’m a Marine, the fucking Corps created fuck, fuck games. Play stupid games; win stupid prizes, something you should also remember for future reference. If you would have just shook my hand and acknowledge me as a competitor in the sport of mankind, yes wrestling. I wouldn’t be flipping my humanity switch off for our bout. No I was going to just compete for victory and for the people! Now, this is more than just a competition and a sacrifice to my higher powers the XWF fans. It is now a message, fuck with a Motherfucker and get FUCKED!

Some may believe my reaction to the disrespect as overboard or uncalled for. Finn Kuhn was just upset and disgusted with being cheated out of a victory, BOO fucking WHOO! I’m a Motherfucker; I give zero fucks, Finny boy fucked up, and now he gets FUCKED! No, not the good fucking either, I am talking bareback prison FUCKED. The kind of fuck you shouldn’t want any part of. Who knows though you might be a weird fetish type fucker, who gets off on pain and humiliation? Please tell me that it isn’t true, if it is, just let me know, so I can get it approved for a ghost pinner, so I don’t have to touch you. It would be easy to find one worthy of pinning you, since you are the type of man to blame one's faults on others. Don’t worry when you are pinned against the canvas for the three count in our match, it will be clear you are the only one to blame, I promise you that fuck stain!

Now one last thing before I end this transmission to the XWF Universe and you Finn Kuhn, I want to start a story, Tales of Two Crows. Symbols to my mother, guardians they are. Spirits, souls, angels, or whatever you’d like to refer them as. See when I was a young arrogant, invincible war piglet; I deployed to Marjah, Afghanistan, ranked top three deadliest places in the world... Was I scared? Fuck no! Did I need spiritual guardians? Hell no, I had my brothers they were my guardians and I theirs. My mother, on the other hand, was scared and did need spiritual guardians. She prayed to my GREAT Grandparents Gail and Wanda Oberholtzer, they had already left this world. She asked with all of her heart that they would send her two crows to allow her the comfort of my safety. Guess what happened?

Her prayers were answered! Every day my feet stepped one foot after another on foreign soil in a territory never seen by outside forces, my mother on the other side of the globe was blessed with the presence of her guardians. Even more so when I was in more intense and immediate danger, thirteen hour-long firefights, and the presence of her crows one week concerned her. Her motherly intentions were spot on because that week was when I miraculously stepped on an IED, for those that don’t know, Improvised Explosive Device predicted by EOD or the Marine Corps Explosive Ordinance Exposal team to be between fifteen and twenty pounds worth of explosives. Theoretically, I should be dead, pink misted, blown to bits of chunky soup, unnaturally I was unscathed, and almost completely injury free, besides a little Traumatic Brain Injury. Point is I now believe in the power of will and spiritual beings, is why I’ve developed a new finisher, Tales of Two Crows, hopefully, I get to reveal it to the higher powers of the XWF, the motherfucking PEOPLE!”

Bearded War Pig turns around from the camera capturing his transmission for the XWF Universe and begins stepping towards a six-wheeled Hummer slightly stretched blacked out to the point it is obviously a government vehicle. It’s not one of those pussy ass civilian style Hummers either, I am talking straight up old school military grade with updated paint job and hardware. Most likely equipped with an automatic turret style machine gun that pops up out of its sunroof of death and destruction. Before making it even three steps to his getaway vehicle he turns back around. Quickly the camera zooms in on a close up of his upper body.

“Oh, I almost forgot, Oink, Oink Motherfucker!”

Before the transmission cuts, the camera switches angles to catch a glimpse of General ‘Mad Dog’ Mattis...

Fade black...

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