The scene opens in the luxurious Ela Beach Hotel in Papua New Guinea. It's a beautiful, albeit soggy, Tuesday evening. The camera pans the space, the sound of silverware clanging against plates and bowls, the chatter of dining patrons providing a layer of activity over an otherwise quaint evening. Fairly nice cars zoom in and out of the hotel parking lot, its patrons mainly wealthy travelers with little to no connection to this capital city or this country.



The camera swirls around on its perched position on a hotel patio, and into this room:



The TV is tuned to static. Music can be heard coming from the corner of the room. As the music plays, the camera pans to a very comfortable Tony Santos. Tony is laying on the bed, sheets still tucked in, pillows untouched, mint wrappers carelessly thrown towards the edge of the bed. Tony lays in his usual ragged jeans... one of many with holes in the knees, pockets, and practically a new one sprouting after each wear. Tony is shirtless, his oily hair flopped against the couch. He smiles as the camera peers overhead.

Santos: Ah, hear that? It's my favorite song.

The music continues to play from the left side of the scene.



Santos: Do you hear that? Listen close. Do yah?

It's the sound of Dolly Waters. It's the weight of her words just... floating through the trees.

Wait, wait, camera man, look over there.

Tony lifts his stretched right arm up, pointing at the TV towards the front of the room. The camera zooms in at the static on the screen.

Santos: And that... that right there, in front of the poorly placed couch. That's Dolly's contribution to this title match. That's her respect for the title.

The camera zooms away from the TV and back towards Tony. Tony spends a few seconds humming an unintelligible tune as his tongue slowly slides across his top teeth, into the front gap, and back towards his molars.

Santos: Let's see, who was Dolly's last opponent? Oh yeah, Kid Kool! A man who was run from the XWF for being an ADD-addled nuisance. One day he'd been owning some sort of sports mega-empire, the next he'd be proposing five ring, steel cage death matches where the winner gets to face him in a retirement match for two XWF titles, three titles he created in his garage, a bottle of Kid Kool branded hair gel filled with unicorn dust, two sets of Rain and Snow souvenir bobbleheads, and $5,000,000 in Monopoly money, in a falls count anywhere battle through the streets of Somewhere No One Will Ever Visit, Oklahoma, where the streets are lined with...

Tony stops, his eyes squinting as he looks above the camera. Tony lets out a quick grunt, and then continues.

Santos: Alright, I'll stop. The point is, Dolly defended her title against... that guy? She seemed oh so confident when facing a glaringly inferior, joke of an opponent like Kid Kool.

And then... THEN! While insulting the walking... clown car that is KK, she manages to give a gutsy take on the entire XWF roster. A roster that would no doubt not be looking her way for a main event that was so utterly bland, and so laughably lopsided, that these same guys and gals wouldn't be paying attention when she called them... let me check my notes here...

Tony pulls a piece of paper from the one pocket not entirely torn open, unfolds it, and scans it. After 20 seconds, his eyes open wide.

Santos: Ah ha! Here it is. Yes, yes...

Chock-full of freaks just like Kiddy Pool. A goddamned whos-who of Autism Digest cover boys chasing one another around with shit-filled condoms and great ideas.

Autism! That's funny, right? Condoms are funny, too! They're practically bags for penises, keeping people from producing failed humans like the one and only KK... or Dolly Waters. And it's even funnier when they're filled with poop! Shit-filled condoms!

Poop is funny! Condoms are funny! Poop in condoms... COMEDY GOLD!!!

Tony cavalierly tosses the paper to the side of the bed. He smiles that toothy, glib smile, as he closes his eyes, the camera still fixated on him as he becomes less interested in it.

Santos: See, this is what I should have expected. Peter Gilmour, then Bearded War Pig. Two opponents who I laid waste to with ease, in matches I should've never had to take part in in the first place. Two matches that were my proving ground of sorts. Having been gone from the XWF for years, it was fair to book me in matches to see if this 30-ish alcoholic still had it.

And I did.

But then, after I deal with the "RULER AND GOD OF XTREME MEN!" and a dude in cargo shorts who talks about dicks and oinks like a pig, I get my shot. My shot for some god damn gold against someone who seems like a worthy adversary.

And what happens?

She doesn't even fucking show up. Dolly Waters doesn't even have the respect to give me a ring, say she's not worthy, and concede the title. Nope. There are no bruising zingers about how I likely have a mental deficiency, some hypothesis about me eating dinners out of toilets, or some witty back and forth with her best friend and mid-level troll, Sarah Lacklan, where they smile for the camera while poorly attempting to knock me down a peg or ten.

Not even a bad attempt at an insult! The NERVE!

But that's fine. I didn't come here to feel respected, or loved. I came here to win the matches I shouldn't have squandered five years ago. I came here to win titles and not lose them in a matter of weeks, or even days. I came here to make up for my losses to John Madison, Theo Pryce, Eli James, Luca Arzegotti, Mr. Radio... Egyptian Snow Pharaoh. All the competitors I was good enough to get booked against, but not talented enough to finish off in the ring.

I'm here to show that I'm meant to sit atop this entire organization. I'm here to win gold, even it means dying in that ring. And that ain't hyperbole, that's just the truth.

But most importantly...

I'm here to make some god damn money. Lots and lots of money. Whether that means going through Robert Main or a broom with a picture of Vinnie Lane's lips on it. Just give me my belt and the cash prize that comes with it, and I'll fight whoever you want, whenever you want.

Tony opens his eyes, staring straight into the camera.

Santos: Dolly, just show up tomorrow, okay? Step in that ring, wave to the crowd, and then drop to the mat. Lay there, staring at the lights, dreaming of your future vacation, on a beach like this...

...and I hope you bought yourself a few extra days, because it is BEAUTIFUL out here! Especially when you have nothing to do.

But lay down, wave me over, and let me pin you...

1...

2...

3.

The bell will ring, the crowd will be somewhat disappointed (but not entirely surprised) as the heart you once contained crawls out of the ring, and I will raise that title. I will carry on the legacy that you could only dream of creating. I will be a worthy champion, and you will be just another flash in the pan in the memories of the people you show so little love for.

And then, after I raise that belt. After I climb each turnbuckle, basking in my championship victory, soaking in the adoration of the fans...

I'll hit you with a Final Destination... Just, because.

Goodnight, Dolly Waters. Sleep well.

Show up.

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion