The playground was swarmed with kids. Some were on the swings, some on the jungle gym, some were sitting on the picnic bench's in the shade trading cards, and some were just sitting under a tree listening to their iPods. On the southern part of the playground there was a big kickball field. There were two teams in the heat of kick ball battle......and one heavy set kid sitting off the the side, pulling grass out of the ground and picking his nose. He seemed to be intently focused on this game, despite the obvious potential distractions, and his eyes followed every time the ball rolled down the now dirt laden path.

Kick.

Fly.

Catch.

Roll.

Kick.

Fly.

Run.

Cheer.

The game seemed to be going as planned. The heavy kid watched more and more intently, his eyes narrowing every time the ball was hit. He was almost on the field, just off to the side. The bell was going to ring soon, and the recess was almost over. As if timed up perfectly, the outcast kid stood up just as the pitcher was about to make the pitch. As the ball rolled down the path, almost as if in slow motion, and just before the ball got to the kicker, the heavy set outcast stepped in front....kicking the ball away in the other direction. It went far.....way off the field, and into the street. It hit a car that was coming own the street, causing the horn to blare. All of the kids turned and looked at the heavy outcast who stood there cackling. Laughing like it was the single funniest thing he had ever seen that they could not finish their game. A high pitched, nasally laugh. The bell rang, recess was over. They couldn't finish their game because he couldn't play in it.

He was just a bully. Selfish. But the truth is that same bully knew that he would have wiffed if he played in the game anyway. He would have been embarrassed. Now he gets the last laugh.

Pathetic.


The room was dark....musky. There was an odd scent. There was a heavy set man, his hands cuffed behind him, on his knees. He had a mask on. The man seemed to be whining a little.

The door behind him opens, and the light from the outside hallway floods the room. A shadow figure walks out into the room. The mans whines increase in pitch now. The man who entered the room slapped the man in the back of the head, knocking him, along with the chair he in in, down.

The man in the mask looks up at him, he eyes welled with tears.

"Not in control of that situation anymore, are you?" The hooded man says.

"HHHRRMM!! EEEEEEIIRRRRHMM!"

There was a clear gag in his mouth.

"Not such a bully anymore now, are you?"

The man shook his head.

The hooded man kicked the gagged man in the ribs and slapped him in the back of the head.

"You aren't the big bad wolf anymore when you aren't in control, are ya? When you don't control the outcome, you're nothing, a pee-on, a nobody. How does it feel to not be in control?"

The man didn't say anything.

"HOW DOES IT FEEL I SAID!"

He slapped the man in the back of the head. Another squeal from him.

He bends down and takes the gag out of the mans mouth.

"Say it."

The man shakes his head.

"I SAID SAY IT!"

"I---I'm Robbbb"

"SAY IT LOUDER!!!!"

He kicks the man in the ribs, causing him to cough.

"I'm Robbie Bourbon!" He squeals.

"Say it again!"

"I'M ROBBIE BOURBON!!!!! AHHHH GAWD DON'T KILL ME!"

The hooded man laughs.

"I'm not gonna kill you.......you've already done that yourself. You are the bully when the camera is on, the bully when the situation benefits you....but when you have nothing to gain, nothing in the horizon, you're nothing but a fat bitch! A fat, whiny bitch!"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun, placing it next to the mans head.

"EEEIIIGH! PPLEEASE!!!!!!!"

"You remember that ball you kicked into the street? Big tough guy then, weren't you? But you never thought what would happen when a bigger, badder, more sinister bully came along.........a bully with something to live for. Why bully if there is nothing to gain? You bullied to make yourself feel better........I bully to advance in life.......I have something to gain...you bully for YOU, I bully despite you....oh what a conundrum we have........."

He clicked the trigger, and a little flag saying BANG came out.

"This time, the bully wins. The real bully ALWAYS wins."

The man had wet himself.

"Say it again, one more time for me."

"EEEHHH!! I'M ROBBIE BOURBON!!!!!!!"

"Very good."

The man left the room, locking the piss soaked man inside.


"Robbie Bourbon,

You're nothing but a bully. You know that? You are a bully that is frustrated because your tactics don't work. You try so hard to get under my skin, you try so hard to ruffle my feathers, to force me into a mistake. How many times now are you going to say the same thing about me in different ways, and pray to whatever God you believe in that one day it comes true? You are so angry, I can hear the venom seeping from your words, even through the big goofy smile you keep on your face.

What's the matter, Robbie, you a little upset that Chris Chaos got the best of you once again?

You don't understand you rotund troglidite, this match was nothing but a warm-up for me. I was playing with house money, still am. This was a match for me to scout out the champion, who I've never before been in a ring with, and see what he has to offer. I had nothing to lose going in, and lost nothing coming out. You see everything I do is planned to the T, Robbie. I knew I would get a shot at Centurion either way........

...but I wanted to make sure it was him.

A Chris Chaos versus Centurion Hart Title match....it's fresh, its unique, its marquee, it's Main Event. Chris Chaos versus Robbie Bourbon? BORING. We've seen that show before. I'm tired of kicking your ass and I am sure you are tired of kicking mine. So, when I was pinned in the match, by the champ, after you did the work, I couldn't let Centurion blow this opportunity. I couldn't let him choke. I had to protect my investment. You mad about a little spear, Robbie? Be honest.....did you expect anything different?

Now we have a 30 minute Iron man match. We have the Main Event. You're welcome. If it weren't for me you'd be wrestling in those stupid game matches against signed up off the street talent while XWF management said they were "giving you a break". And "you eanred it". You've earned nothing. All you have earned is another match with Chris Chaos. I am the one who loses that match and STILL has a title shot, Robbie. I still get to take Centurion to the woodshed, 1-on-1, while you get to watch from the back as I take his title. So this match is essentially pointless. Useless. Nothing but an opportunity for me to shake off the ring rust while it is everything to you. You want to beat me so bad. You want to maim me. All I want to do is is get back into the swing of things.

You don't matter to me, Robbie. You aren't on my radar. Sure, I want to hurt ya, I want to teach you a lesson, to make an example out of you, but this match means a whole hell of a lot more for your career than it does mine. Obviously you're comprehension skills aren't gold-star on the fridge worthy, because you already made an ass out of yourself by assuming I sexualized my doctor. She came onto me. Didn't Sesame Street teach you anything?

But my main point here is that, Robbie, you are nothing but a Vadar knock off. I am disappointed in myself that it took me this long to realize it, but it is so obvious. Everything about you screams Big Van Vader. From the stupid mask to the belly that sticks out further than your dick, to the stupid in ring mannerisms (really, the grunting isn't attractive). Vader was so pyshically gifted, but during the best era in the history of the sport was a curtain jerker. He was used as a crash test dummy for the upper echelon talent, to get them over. Even some of the lower talent. Look at Robbie, this entire show is him........but who is he really facing? The put him in every match on the show, just so that he can lose to me in the Main Event. Is this really your hero? Is this really the role model? The face of this program?

"The Man They Call Vader". The man they call Robbie. Same body style, same stupid mask. He was so dominant when he started---as Robbie loves to tell everyone about his past and how many titles he won--so it was puzzling to see him job out to the stars. It was like Vader's past didn't matter. Robbie, do you really think your past matters? It matters about as much as mine does. The past is the past, but you continue to live in it.

Vader made a living beating the Ahmed Johnson's, the Dustin Rhode's, the Doug Gilbert's, the Savio Vega's. He also made a living out of losing to the Undertaker's, the Kane's, the Shawn Micheals's, the Stone Cold's. Robbie makes his living kicking the shit out of the bottom half of the roster, but when it comes time to face the top tier, where does he go? The reason Robbie looks good to anyone is because he wins over nobodies, and looks dominant. Sure, he is basically a brick wall with legs.....but Robbie will never be the Universal Champion again. Hell, Robbie will never be the Hart Champion again. Robbie comes in, raises hell, causes havoc, beats people up, and has nothing to show for it other than a layer of sweat and a pat on the back. If you remember Robbie, it was Centurian who pinned me in that chamber before taking you to the woodshed. Vader beat the shit out of a washed up British Bulldog to earn a shot at the Undertaker......and lost. You beat the shit out of me, to earn a shot at......well.....me.

Robbie don't you see it? Your time is up, your prime is past. Nobody cares about Robbie Bourbon anymore.

You can beat me into submission out there, Robbie, and what do you gain? You can put me in a wheelchair in this match, and what do you get out of it? I still have that Hart Title shot, and you still continue to face whoever they have an open spot against. Do you see the difference here?

The Worst Big Man Since Kwame Brown Said:because after you cost me the Hart Championship with your little shit move, after you came forward and said you wanted me hurt, I'm going to give you the trauma of a lifetime, and then you can go back to your daddy and ask him to beat you like someone who loves you does.

No Robbie. YOU cost you the Hart Championship. You cost yourself the title because you thought you deserved it. You cost yourself the title because you were too cocky to realize who you were in the ring with. You turned your back on me, assuming I was out of the picture, and I made you pay. I am the ultimate opportunist, and I thought you would know that by now. But no. You just like to hear yourself talk. While you are out making clever puns about how I grocery shop, I am out here with a title shot in my back pocket, living life and enjoying being back. While you have all the pressure of staying relevant, I can lose every match I compete in until I face Centurion and I STILL have that title shot. I am playing with house money, Robbie, and you still haven't won a hand.

Don't you see it? Or is that mask's vision worse than it looks? You no longer matter, are no longer relevant other than being a hit man when someone needs someone else beat up, but will never amount to anything more than that. A condom covered in horse shit is worth more than you, Robbie. You're the embodiment of a failed speed runner who tried to speed run through Iran. You're the type of person to skinny dip with your clothes on. You look like an infant with hair and teeth.

Robbie, this is your Warfare....this is your show.....and even if you come out of it with your hand raised it will be nothing more than another win over Chris Chaos that means absolutely nothing in the long run........

Deja Vu.

I said I wanted to hurt you, and hurt you badly....but no matter what happens in that ring, the only thing being hurt is your reputation.

Can you live with that?


Panting, she buttoned up her blouse, concealing her purple bra. The bra matched the underwear......she planned this.

"I think our session is done for today...but I am fully certain you need some more counselling, there is still a lot more we need to work out."

He moved himself over on the couch, allowing her room to get up. Sliding her heels back on, she put her hair back up in a bun.

Opening the blinds, she let the sunlight back in. Through the window, Chris could see Jenny's pink sports car parked outside, and remembered that he had told her to bring him today because they were going to go shopping after.

"Fuck" he said under his breath.

"So, tell me more about this Bourbon character in your next visit?"

He had nothing to say. What was there to say? Robbie Bourbon was a clown. He said things for shock value and everyone rode his dick because of it. He said things just to say them, there was no substance in his words. That is why Chris didn't take him seriously. A talent in the ring? Sure. But on the microphone........

There was a lot to be desired.

Chris just nodded. "Yeah, umm....sure. Hey Doc, I gotta go. Jenny is waiting for me."

The shrink, now back to her pre-coitus appearance, looked out the window at the pink sports car outside.

"Do you really think she is good for you?"

Chris wasn't trying to hear this. Not now. He got what he needed, his time was done.

"Next time" he said, shoving by her.

Walking out the door, she listened as the old hardwood of the lobby creaked under his sneakers.

"Yeah.....next time...." she said, her lip curled in a sinister way.

She sat back down and flipped through his file. Who put this blood on all of his documents? As she flipped through to the back she gasped, pushing her glasses back up on her nose. In small writing, at the bottom, in ink (surprisingly) it said two words.

SHANE .

She looked out the window and watched as Chris got into the passenger seat of Jenny's bright pink sports car.

Who the hell was Shane and why was he in Chris's folder?