Flashback to January, 2021

A replay of a familiar video comes to life on your screen, but only the most ardent XWF fans will remember how THIS scene played out…


“I don’t care if any of that makes sense. Fuck each and every one of you in your fat fucking asses.”

“So tell me about yourself. What’s your story?” Steve Sayors shuffles in his chair as he crosses his right leg over his left. The cuff of his slacks catches as his legs settle, pulling up a little to reveal a sock emblazoned with the My Little Pony logo. His glasses sit half an inch lower than the bridge of his nose, at risk of falling off at a moment’s notice. The lenses are either perfectly clear, or non-existent. It’s hard for me to tell in this amber light, dulled further drawn blinds. It’s even harder to predict based on Steve’s penchant for fads that can’t be constrained by time, space, or how it actually makes him appear. Either way, he stares at Alias expectantly through the eyeholes in the frames.

Alias crouches atop an identical chair, perfectly equidistant to Steve’s from a white speck of lint on the hardwood floor upon which Alias fix his gaze. The piss-yellow acetate fabric on the quasi-ancient chairs has been worn down over the years to the point where certain sections of the covering are now a mere hair’s width. In these sections, the cumulative build-up of microbial growth and spilt fluids of both bodily and inorganic origin, has darkened the upholstery by several shades. Every time Steve or Alias moves, samples of the chairs’ memories are released into the air of the low-budget hotel room we are socially distanced within.

Alias flicks his eyes up towards Steve’s face, and then back down at the lint pinned to the ground. It’s easier to focus down there.

Steve is a part of the foundations – a keystone. He’s been the sole percussionist in an evolving symphony of over one thousand different moving parts and has remained in that position even as the conductor changed: Brown; ; Warstein; Raven; Shank; right up to today. Always diligent, never credited. Steve Sayors may be the only person who holds any memory of the time a teenage boy named George squatted down in his mother’s basement, pants around his ankles, and birthed the XWF twenty-one years ago. If Steve’s ambition were greater, he could offer so much insight and wisdom to the world. Instead, he sits in a crumbling, damp hotel room, across from a neurotic, shaggy dog of a man seeking refuge from the rain.

Just one in a thousand, Alias tells himself. That’s all he is. A guy who wrestled a couple of matches before fading into the background – a shadow of the more successful ‘others’.

“Did you hear me?” Steve asks, oblivious to the cockroach that flits across a crack in the painted ceiling just above his head. Alias’s eyes flicker again as he grunts a response. Steve scrunches his lips and looks up at the production team that partners him today. As Alias’s eyes rest upon the speck of lint once more, Alias sees a shrug in his peripheral.

A gentle breeze steadily seeps through a gap in the imperfectly sealed windows. It catches the lint and shuffles it closer to a nail in the floorboards. The lint is temporary, like Alias. The nail, permanent. What would Alias have to do to be the nail? What would he have to do to be a part of the structure, and not a fleeting guest? Is that even something that he wants?

Once… a decade ago maybe? Maybe more?

And now? Right now?

“My story…” Alias mutters, barely audible. Alias raises his head, hoping to find a spot over Steve’s right shoulder that he can substitute for the coquettish lint. He’s used this technique before – it’s not comfortable, but he was told that it would make his audience feel more comfortable. He’s been learning a lot about the evolutionary benefits that interpersonal relationships provided our ancestors. So far, he’s yet to see the practical benefits, but what could it hurt to try?

“My story…” he chirps as Charlie pins him. “Oh dearie, my story is one of wonder and amazement, full of astonishing tales of majesty and myth. Where to begin?”

A referee slides up behind Alias and makes the count as Charlie pins him!



1




2




3!

A shocked Vinnie Lane looks on from the production team, completely distraught at this historically accurate turn of events. He can’t believe it, he can’t believe it one bit. Nobody can.

Damn it Chuck! That's too many belts!

Winner and NEW Heavymetalweight Champion - Charlie Nickles

We cut to a scene of Charlie Nickles and his Goldi sitting on a concrete bench in the middle of a now beautiful and luscious garden. Roses, tulips, and daisies litter the ground as the warmth of the sun shines down upon them with love. This garden has come a long way in just two weeks, but still, Charlie knows there is always more work to do- and he knows he doesn’t have forever to do it.

All life is temporary, Alias. Every life is a moment, but every death is forever. The lint, the nails, the pyre, and the ash will all erode to nothing beneath the waves of time. Your failure to understand this simple fact of life, Alias, will be your downfall.

You’ve accomplished a lot in your time as the golden calf of the XWF, there’s none who can deny it. But success comes with a price. The price of your success, Alias?

Arrogance.

Charlie Nickles purses his lips for a brief moment as he shakes his head from side to side.

You’ve come to take for granted all that you worked so hard to gain. Your spot on the card, your place on the hierarchy, your name on the poster: it’s all become so natural for you. The accolades, the praise, the voracious chants from the crowd…you’ve convinced yourself that there’s no other way. You’ve convinced yourself that the way the XWF is now, is the way it will always stay.

Ironic, isn’t it? The man who ‘isn’t’ leading a global anarchist would-be revolution, is somehow under the delusion that nothing can change inside the halls of this company. The world can be torn asunder, molotovs can rain down upon presidential palaces like acid rain, but still, Alias is convinced the power dynamics of the XWF can never be shifted? Even as Kings, Queens, and Prime Ministers fall into the flames around him Alias is convinced that he will remain at the top of the pyramid here in the XWF.

The delusion. The arrogance. The narcissism. It’s becoming all too much.

Charlie holds up his hands with his flat palms facing the screen.

You’re leading that movement of yours into the inferno along with you, Alias. You know that, don’t you? Or perhaps your arrogant delusions have overtaken you. Do you foolishly believe that Lance, Dani, and every other crackwhore you’ve found to join your little gang will be untouchable, unassailable? There’s bastards running around, Alias, but the worst bastards of all wear a badge and carry a gun, and I don’t think they’re going to take too kindly to this little movement of yours, Alias.

Charlie can’t help but chuckle to himself as he imagines Dani & Lance being tried on terrorism charges in front of the very same judge that let Kyle Rittenhouse go free.

I used to do a lot of crimes back in the day, Alias. I still do a lot of crimes now, but I used to do a lot of crimes back in the day, too!

And you know Alias, I just don’t think you’re going to make a very good criminal anarchist. You’re putting your newfound followers in grave fucking danger, buddy. As soon as that first molotov cocktail from your ‘movement’ gets thrown, what the fuck do you think the boys in blue are going to do?

You put Dani’s face out there on television. You put Lance’s face out there. Lance is managing your twitter account, that means the government already has his IP address, you fucking dolt! You know Alias, you might just be worse at organizing revolutions than fucking Demos. At least Demos only got himself killed, he didn’t get dozens of impressionable idiots strung up alongside him!

In your last little video you gave away the location of your movement’s HQ….your movement’s HQ! Holy shit Alias, did you forget what the fuck this movement you’re part of is trying to do? You might be the worst wannabe terrorist I’ve ever met, Alias, and I used to hang out on stormfont and 4chan!

Charlie slaps his knee with his hand as he continues to crack himself up at the expense of Alias’s already failed socio-political movement.

Tell me, Alias, when those bombs start popping and your movement gets going, do you really think Dani and Lance are going to be leaving that little HQ alive? Not a chance, homie. SWAT will roll up on your friends and roll em’ into bodybags like THAT.


Charlie snaps his fingers to accentuate his point.

You’re an arrogant man, Alias. Your delusions are going to get your friends killed. You think you’re always safe on this earth, clearly. You plan to start a fiery movement against the status quo, and you’re broadcasting your intentions, your faces, and your location to the entire fucking world.

Jesus, dude, have you never fucking heard of WACO? What about the MOVE BOMBING over in Philly? Your communities aren’t going to last forever, you pompous manslaughterer. Coreytopia lasted indefinitely because it was just a socialist retreat for rich kids, but what you’re talking about, Alias? That’s not going to fly like a rich-kid summer camp does. Nu uh, no way.

Charlie shakes his head from side to side before his gaze drifts down to the championship belt.

Alias doesn’t love those people like I love you, Goldi. I’d never put you in harm’s way like Aias has done to Lance, Dani, and every other poor sod that’s been taken in by his snakeoil and false prophecies.

Alias doesn’t even know what he’s doing. He thinks the world is his to shape, mold, and move.

Charlie snickers dismissively as he looks back towards the camera.

Alias’s narcissism is no longer a tendency, for it has now become his entire modus operandi. Every false word that he forces through his lying teeth, every empty threat, every hollow insult…he thinks he’s really doing something, doesn’t he?

Unchecked arrogance can turn even the wisest men into blabbering fools. It seems that Alias made that transition a long, long time ago.

Charlie shakes his head as the briefest expression of sadness can be seen flashing across his face. He expected better of Alias, he expected Alias to take Charlie Nickles seriously. But now, Charlie has no choice but to cut into the obvious lies and distortions that have defined Alias’s movement.

Alias, Alias, Alias….

I get the sense you don’t watch very much XWF programming anymore, do you? I mean, you can’t accept the basic fact that Betsy Granger simply won’t wrestle in the XWF anymore because she refuses to be near The Nickleman ever again. You won’t accept the basic fact that the bastards drove Caedus to madness. You even refuse to acknowledge the simple truth that I, Charlie Nickles, am the greatest television champion of all time!

These are all basic, common-sense facts of the XWF landscape, but Alias’s arrogant delusions keep him from accepting any of it as truth. He can’t accept that I’ve won ten fights in a row, he can’t accept that he was wrong about Raion Kido, by god, this motherfucker can’t even accept the fact that Centurion became the #1 contender to the TV belt at Fire & Ice!

Seriously!

This IDIOT is trying to blast ME, because the GMs booked Centy into a contender’s match and he won it! Fuck, what am I supposed to do when making my champion’s rankings, just pretend like I’m not scheduled to fight Centurion at March Madness? Am I supposed to go along with Alias’s uninformed delusions and act like the GMs haven’t already ordained Centy as the top challenger to my belt?

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

That would be a pretty fucking stupid thing to do. No wonder Alias thinks I should’ve done it!

Charlie winks at the camera before quickly carrying on his diatribe.

You know if you listen to anything Alias has said these last couple weeks, and yes, I mean ALIAS, not Lance or Dani or Tommy or Timmy or Jimmy- all those other fuckers can crack corn for all I care. But if you’ve listened to ALIAS these last couple of weeks, well shit, you’re probably starting to get quite the terrible opinion of The Nickleman, aren’t ya?

If you listen to Alias Charlie ain’t shit, but not only is Charlie not shit, Charlie ain’t even a silent and scentless fart that sneaks up on ya from time to time! If you take Alias at his word he’ll have you convinced that Charlie is worthless in that ring, that ol’ Chucky Murder ain’t nothing but one in a thousand, nothing but a guy who wrested a couple of matches before fading into the background.

If you listen to Alias’s stories, you’d start to think someone like ME could never beat someone like HIM….

Charlie cracks a grin as he looks up towards the sky, as if he were looking at something playing out above him. A few seconds pass before Charlie lowers his gaze back to the camera.

But of course….I did beat him. I beat him one-on-one, for a championship belt and everything! We all know that by now. He was telling stories to Steve, just like he has been for these last two weeks, and I ran up on him and got the dub’. It was a funny joke, wasn’t it? At least, I was laughing as I walked away with Alias’s belt.

Charlie wipes away a bit of excess saliva from his mouth as he continues to expose his opponent for all to see.

Alias, Alias, Alias…

If Charlie Nickles is so awful, so uninspiring, so mediocre…how in the hell did he pin the ‘all-mighty’ Alias for an XWF championship belt?

If Charlie Nickles is such a cakewalk, such a loser, such a sorry son of a bitch…then how do we explain our history? Shit, how do we explain everything Alias has said about me in light of the fact that I beat him one-on-one with no tricks, no gimmicks, and no weaponry? How do we reconcile everything Alias has said these last two weeks with the simple truth that I just walked up to the guy, pinned him for a belt, and then walked away while Alias and Stevey finished up their story?

What’s the reason for your failure, Alias? Why’d you lose the Heavymetalweight championship? Was it….was it just because you never saw me coming? Was it…was it just because I caught you off guard? Oh Alias….do you think that right now, just maybe, I’m catching you off guard again?

Do the people in the movement even know Alias’s shameful secret? Has he told any of them about what happened the last time Charlie Nickles attacked him? I bet he hasn’t. Do you think they’d still be in his movement if they knew he couldn’t even kick-out against the lowly Nickleman?

I bet you everything he’s only told them his stories about dog walking Demos. He’s building that movement based on lies and distortions. He’s building a movement that will collapse as soon as the truth is revealed.

That’s strike three, Alias- which means it’s time for me to send your ass back to the bench!

Charlie’s face grows visibly angry as he spits a big fat loogie onto the ground.

Alias is going to find out soon enough that I’m no fucking communist. Never have been, never will be. I’m just Charlie fucking Nickles, no more, no less. Next time you pull your rhetorical trigger, Alias…make sure you’re aiming at the right target. I’m not Demos, I’m not Thrax, and I’m certainly not your next meal little Oliver twist!

I am the muhfukkin’ Nickleman, boy, and you’d best start putting some respect on my name. The longer you disrespect me, the longer you throw dirt on my name, well…the longer it will take to erase the stains of your failures against me.

I was an XWF champion when Alias came back to this company last year. I was an XWF champion when Alias left. And then, of course, I was still an XWF champion when Alias came back again. Alias, it seems, comes and goes: but The Nickleman stays a champion forever.


Charlie slings the championship belt over his shoulder before standing up off the bench. Charlie takes a few steps as if he is about to walk away from the camera, but as Charlie crosses over to the other side of the screen he pauses, and looks back to the camera with a smirk.

Alias’s story…

Charlie chirps cheekily. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Oh dearie, his story is one of wonder and amazement, full of astonishing tales of majesty and myth. Where to begin?

Well, the next time he tells his stories perhaps he ought to begin with the time he lost to the Nickleman…AGAIN!

Charlie laughs maniacally as he walks away from the camera.







The four official members of BOB sit in front of a long row of huge marijuana plants. The camera pans briefly along the vegetation and you can see each cannabis crop is more plentiful than the one before it. A variety of orange hairs are clearly visible on the buds of the plant. The dank clearly looks fire.

I can’t believe you had the seeds from the old grow-op, Barney! Cross-pollinating our old BOB supply with Charlie’s new strain has created some of the stickiest icky I’ve ever seen! This is amaze-balls!

*long, slow inhalation sound* Ahhhh yeah, Bobby, this cross-pollination is hitting HARD! *cough, cough*

I always knew it was worthwhile to hoard my old socks! You never know when they will come in handy!

You’re a god-damned genius, Barney. None of this ever would have been possible without you. Best. CFO. Ever.

The camera pans back to TK, Bobby, Barney, and The Nickleman. All four men have suddenly pulled out massive blunts and they’re each smoking one. TK is smoking on an irish dutch, Barney is smoking on a green leaf swisher, Bobby is smoking on a russian cream backwoods, and ol’ Chucky Murder is smoking a blunt wrapped in a coca leaf. Yes, THAT coca- because Charlie’s getting his high.

And to think, this whole garden was deader than Alias’s championship reign just last week. God damn, Chuck, did Barney lend you his green thumbs?!

Oh Tee-Kay you already know Barney was helping me cultivate this smoke! You all helped me!

That’s what BOBs all about, Charlie. We’re a family- a brotherhood, even!

The four men continue to smoke their ganja as a thick cloud of smoke begins to surround our not-so-loveable antagonists. They’re ashing their blunts just wherever they want: on the ground, on themselves, on each other. No one cares, of course, because they’re far too stoned to be bothered by such minutia.

I’d love to take the credit, but you really outdid yourself with this grow Nickles! You took some seeds off an old sock, mixed em with some ditch weed, and now we are all smoking some of the best weed on the whole planet. I haven’t had the munchies this bad in years! I feel like I could eat the whole world!

You make a good point, Barn. Just a week ago there was only one tiny and shriveled up weed plant in this entire garden. Charlie added some seeds from a sock, and now we have dozens of fertile plants ready to be rolled and smoked. That’s….that’s a bit weird. What’s your secret, Charlie?

Bourbon, Barney, and TK all turn towards Charlie and look at him with curious stares. Charlie looks between the three blunt-blowin’ men and remembers all the blood, sweat, and masks it took to grow this marijuana.

Oh you know, just some family secrets. A splash of vinegar and a tablespoon of garlic can do wonders for every garden!

Vinegar? No wonder it has that kind of weird after taste! But fuck it, if it works it works!

Exactly! If it works it works, so who really cares about the details?

Bourbon and Barney shrug. They’re willing to go along with just about whatever when they’re this lit.

So shit, what are you going to call this new dank? As soon as we get a clever name we can start mass producing it and putting it on shelves in every dispensary across the country! The whole country will be smoking on your grown soon, Charlie!

We could uh….we could call it Barncoin! It could be sold under the Barncoin umbrella!

The other members of BOB all look uneasy with the idea.

Ehhhhh I’m not sure about that one, Barney. The consumers might get confused about what we’re actually selling.

Barney begrudgingly nods: he knew it wasn’t a good suggestion, but he was hopeful nonetheless. The bastards sit in silence as they smoke their blunts down to the end in thoughtful contemplation. As the bastards finish their personal rolls they each swallow the blunt roach on the last puff: it’s a BOB thing, you wouldn’t get it.

We could call it….The Bud of Bastards! AKA BOB!

The other bastards sit and think about the name for a moment. Charlie and Barney seem convinced, but Bobby Bourbon interjects.

That’s a bit derivative, TK. I think we can probably do better. What about….Also Known As?

AKA?

Yeah it’s an old school name. A throwback, for sure. It’s like when you’re all smoking the same weed from the same supplier but he tells everyone a different name, so some people are calling it Blueberry Yum Yum and some people are calling it Pineapple Express! Some kids call it grass and some kids will call it green, but really, the name doesn’t matter- because it’s Also Known As the best weed in town.

TK and Barney look at each other and shrug. They like the name enough….but Charlie’s not so sure.

Also Known As…eh I don’t think I’m feeling it. You know Bobby, I’m not sure our weed needs to have that many aliases. We’re growing good shit, we don’t need to hide its name like it’s something we’re ashamed of. I mean, isn’t that the whole point of an Alias? You create nothing out of something, tack a couple of forced metaphors to it, and then you pretend like you’re not just an average guy named Joe anymore? Nah, I don’t think that will work, Bobby.

Bourbon shrugs nonchalantly. He isn’t offended at all, he’s just stoned.

Fair enough. Well it’s your cross-pollination, Charlie, so what do you want to name this strain?

Charlie thinks about the question for an unreasonably long amount of time. The other bastards look at him, then around the garden, then back to him, then to each other, then around the garden, etc etc as Charlie ponders the question for a good, long while.

When Charlie speaks again he doesn’t answer the question, but instead, poses another.

Tell me…how does this smoke make ya’ll feel?

TK is the first to respond. He jumps up and starts shouting enthusiastically.

I’m feeling fucking great, Charlie! I feel like I could run through an immovable wall, I feel like I could rip Thor’s hammer right out of his hands and beat his ass with it!

Barney Green jumps up right after TK. He is also overcome with excitement and euphoria.

I feel like I’m ready to be a champion again! I feel ready to kick ass, take names, and throw garbage all over the ring!

Charlie smiles with joy at the exuberance of Barney and TK. The Nickleman then turns to Bobby Bourbon, who has until now been a bit more reserved than Barney and TK.

Then Bobby jumps up in excitement, too!

I feel ready to make another run at the uni! This sticky icky goes right through the lungs and reignites that FIRE in my heart!

Charlie chuckles to himself as he watches his compatriots lose their collective shits over the potency of his grow.

This flower, this smoke, this ash….it’s a powerful force, isn’t it? It gives you chills, it gives you goosebumps, it gives you that tingly little feeling inside your brain that tells you anything is possible.

This flower, this smoke, this ash…it makes you hungry, doesn’t it? Hungry for more, hungry for it all. When my lungs filled I could feel my stomach grumbling, starving for more, even though I had just devoured an entire Arby’s kitchen two hours ago.

There’s something about this bud that’s different. When you spark it, you can sense right away that it packs a potent punch. Just the smell of this finely-crafted smoke alone gives you a contact high like nothing you’ve had before. Think of all the people passing by us, just getting a WHIFF of our heat, now feeling like THEY’RE the shit- because that’s how strong our smoke is.

My smoke has flavors, flavors you won’t find anywhere else. My smoke has textures, layers upon layers of meaning, so many layers of meaning that even Alias won’t be able to find his way home after just three hits of this.

Bobby, TK, and Barney all take a seat as they listen to Charlie’s sage words. They all pay careful attention to the Nickleman as he spits pure heat.

This type of smoke can make men believe they are gods. This type of smoke can turn gods into little bitches in the eyes of men. This is the kind of flower that can make the whole world go up in that smoke.

When this smoke burns it fills not just your lungs, but also your heart. As your lungs fill with the ganja your heart fills with desire, with ambition, with purpose. As this weed turns your lungs brown, so too will it turn your heart into an inferno.

Bobby, TK, and Barney all nod along with Charlie- because they’re feeling the effects of the new strain themselves.

Some smoke makes you settle down, some smoke helps you get comfortable for a long night.

Some smoke makes you relax, some smoke helps you take it easy.

Not this smoke. Not my smoke.

My smoke stings, baby. It overtakes your lungs as it chars the weakness out of your soul.

My smoke turns boys into men, my smoke turns David into Goliath.

My smoke….will Burn The World!

FUCK YEAH! BURN THE WORLD!

I’m smoking on that Burn The World, and I ain’t never going to stop!

Burn The World….I like it.

Nickles and his boys all nod their heads in agreement at the name of their new cross-pollinated strain.

This fire is set to blaze and there’s not a damn soul who can stop it. No man, no movement can stop us now.

You’re right, Charlie- but we can’t get cocky! If we get as arrogant as Alias we’ll end up making fools of ourselves! Our game is strong….but I think we can make it stronger. You got the rest of those files I gave you, Chuck?

Charlie Nickles reaches down into a conveniently placed drawstring sack laying on the ground. He pulls two manila folders out of it.

Of course I do, Tee-Kay. I know how important this mission is.

TK nods as Charlie shows him the rest of the folders.

Good. We add those two names to our roster and we will literally become unstoppable. You come up with a plan yet for getting them to #joinBOB?

A knowing grin begins to spread across The Nickleman’s chapped lips.

Oh, I have a plan alright…I know exactly how we can bring Oswald and Unknown Soldier into the fold.

What’s the plan? Are you going to do what you did with me and let them use BOB’s money to buy Barncoin? I think that’s a pretty good plan!

Bobby and TK are shocked into silence at the realization that BOB money is going straight into Barncoin. The Nickleman, however, can never be caught by surprise…because he’s the one who plans most of all the trappings and trickery!

What’s the plan, you ask? Well really it’s quite simple. I’m going to turn Alias’s body into a lifeless fleshlight, and then, I’m going to throw him headfirst into the flames. After those boys see what I do to Alias they’re going to be begging for a spot in BOB! Fuck, after I beat Alias -again-, everyone is going to be trying to get a spot in BOB!

You gotta remember Barn’, I’m not going to beat Alias just for ME, because that’s not the BOB way. I’m going to beat Alias for EVERYBODY- because if Charlie can do it, so can you! If the most disrespected, most ridiculed, most loathed man on the roster can turn Alias into a grilled weenie- what could everybody else accomplish?

BOB isn’t just for us, Barney- it’s for every wrestler in that locker room that’s been passed over, scoffed at, spit on, and ignored by the top brass. I’m going to take Alias down, and when I know, everyone in the back will see that their time is NOW. You don’t need to wait in the wings for Theo Pryce to hand you a title shot from down on high, you don’t need to kiss-ass and play politics to get ahead in this company: all you have to do is be a bastard! And once people know that, once I SHOW people this truth....they'll be tearing down the gates of this garden and begging to join BOB!

The screen fades to black as the bastards all blurt out in laughter.