Our scene begins inside of an undisclosed traphouse in rural Ohio. We see Charlie Nickles seated atop a torn up leather chair, surrounded by walls with degrading floral wallpaper. Others are in the room, as well - unnamed men and women in black ski masks and BOB t-shirts are standing around a table furiously packing marijuana flower into ziplocked bricks. Goldilocks is seated next to Charlie Nickles in an equally aged chair, with an ornate dagger tucked between the red straps of the belt to make it appear as if Goldi were ‘holding’ it. Charlie reaches into a nearby canister and places a disgustingly large amount of tobacco chew inside his bottom lip.

Oh, wait- are we doing the promo now?

Charlie looks around in a brief bit of confusion as his speech is clearly inhibited by the grotesque amount of dip next to his gums. The various masked BOBers behind him all just kind of nod sheepishly at the question.

Fuck, this shit makes it impossible to talk.

Charlie reaches into his mouth with his dirty fingers and pulls the tobacco out before flinging it off against the sidewall.

Fuck, alright- give me a second before we roll. Wait, we’re already rolling?

Shit.

Charlie curses as his eyes avert the camera. But then, Charlie figures out how he can tie this shit all back together again. He turns his head slowly until he is staring directly into the camera.

Hey, Centurion: quit smoking those shitty little cubans. Start chewing on dip like a REAL man! But fuck Andy boy, you’re not a real man at all, are you? I bet you wouldn’t even like chew. Your ass-licking lips are probably too sensitive for the dip. You know why I like chew more than gars’, Andy? Cause the chew cuts. I like the dip because it feels like eating god damned glass, motherfucker! The chew is the reason why every word that comes out of my mouth is so damn bloody and disgusting. All those cigars are probably the reason why every word that comes out of your mouth is hollow smoke long since removed from any semblance of a flame.

Charlie leans back and smiles, clearly satisfied with his little wordplay.

You know how I know you’re not a real man, Andy boy? Because I was pounding all up on that green pussy you’re so sweet on, and you didn’t do a damn thing about it! You sat back and watched for weeks as I mocked and degraded your lime-banana receptacle. I told her everything I was going to do, I told her how violent I was going to be….and a Family Man always keeps his promises. So on that lovely little Saturday night I came out to the ring and did exactly to Ruby what every other creepy scumbag out there dreams about doing to her...

And where was Centurion?

The Nickleman looks around the room with a sick grin on his face. The masked BOBers behind him take a momentary break from packing bricks to play along with Charlie’s bit. The BOBers shrug their shoulders and scratch their heads in feigned confusion at Charlie’s question. Once Nickles turns around to address the camera again the masked BOBers go right back to work.

See that? Nobody knows where Centurion was! But I got a theory bout’ where Andy was…..I think Andy was in the back jerking it while I was pounding Ruby! He’s not a real man, so the fuck else would he be doing? Just watching the TV disinterestedly while the love of HIS life takes the beating of HER life? A beating that was anticipated, prophesied, for WEEKS beforehand? Eh, maybe. But if that’s the case, he must not give much of a fuck about the bitch. Hell I can’t blame him for that tho- I don’t give a shit about that bitch either!

Charlie throws his hand to the side in a dramatic gesture.

Ruby has serious substance abuse problems, so no wonder Centy isn’t breaking his back to save her health. I swear every time I see that bitch out of the ring she’s hitting the booze. Fucking aye Andy, get a hold of your trick! She’s starting to drink more than I do!

Speaking of…

Charlie reaches down slightly offscreen. We hear plastic breaking apart, then we see Charlie Nickles coming fully back into frame with a can of natty ice in his hand. He cracks the tab and takes a refreshing drink of the foul beer before smacking his lips together and getting back into his rant.

You know what I’d do to you, Andy, if you came for my Goldi the way I came for your Ruby?

Charlie Nickles holds his booze with one hand and strokes his Goldi with the other. The Nickleman looks inquisitively at the camera, as if expecting an actual answer. Charlie uses this pause in his monologue to pound down the rest of his natty ice. Nickles belches loudly while throwing the can over his back and onto the table behind him, much to the chagrin of the masked BOBers. Then, Charlie finally answers the rhetorical question himself.

Exactly what I’m doing right the fuck now, Centy- because you’re coming for my Goldi right the fuck now, Centy, and I swear to God you’re going to go through the ringer for it!

See I’m not like you Andy, I’m not like you at all. I won’t sit around on my hands and knees while another man conquers my woman. I’ll defend her with every fucking thing I have! So shit, it’s no wonder Ruby’s becoming a full-blown alcoholic. If I treated Goldi like you treat Ruby she’d probably develop a drinking habit, too!

Demeaning her in your promos, talking down on her, castigating her failures, calling Peter Vaugh hot while implying Ruby is nothing more than hot garbage....it’s all too much!

Nickles shook his head in derision while the masked BOBers disposed of his beer can before they went back to packing and trapping.

Centy said my mind games only work against the weak willed and vulnerable. Centy said I could never beat someone who is as solid as a rock. Well, someone had better tell Raion that Centurion thinks he’s weak, that oughta lead to a fun rematch. BUT DAMN! I didn’t expect Cent to throw little Rubes under the bus like that! She got so tripped up in my mind games that they found her strung up by her feet like a god-damned cattle-hog waiting for slaughter! Well fuck, she sure looks the part, doesn’t she?

Charlie gives a funky smile to the camera before he wets the tip of this thumb and runs it through his matted hair.

Centurion doesn’t treat well the woman he’s got, so why the fuck should he be given another? What kind of fucked up Mormon cult is ol’ boy tryna start over there in Pennsylvania? Progressive democrat my ass….this guy even LOOKS like a midget Mitt Romney! Someone better call up Quintin Quinn and tell him Centurion can start working double-duty across divisions!

But you know, I’m glad Centurion thinks he’s immune to my mind games. That just makes it all the more funny that he lost to Boots fucking Lichter! I’ve been fucking with him for weeks, having Jenny mess with the ring before Centurion's Anarchy matches, but hell I guess none of his anxiety over ~what was Charlie gonna do next~ played into his embarrassing loss! Nope, guess not! That Thursday night loss was just Centurion at the best he’s ever been, just two days before he publicly proclaimed that he’s on a HEATER, one of the best stretches of his entire career!

Charlie can’t help but guffaw with great gusto as he slapped his hand on his knee.

A self-proclaimed fucking HEATER! My God, Andy! If losing to Raion Kido, Peter Vaughn, and Boots Lichter makes this one of the best stretches of your career then we should revoke you from the Hall of Legends IMMEDIATELY! Was losing the Anarchy championship belt to Elijah Martin the beginning of this ‘legendary’ heater you’re on? The same Elijah Martin that I had beaten just a few weeks prior to defend MY championship belt? You might have taken too many big bumps in your career, Andy, because it seems clear to everybody except you that you’re in a major league slump right now! Losing multiple matches in a row is never a good sign, no matter how much you try to polish up those turds you dropped!

Charlie continues slapping his knee until his laughter gradually slows to a stop. The Nickleman wipes a joyous tear away from the corner of his eye.

You crack my ass up, old chap. Won’t crack me open, though- you can bet on that. My sweet ichor runs too hot and too deep for you to ever touch, old chap! Every time my blood pumps through the fire in my heart it boils inside my veins. But you, Centurion? I bet your blood runs colder and more shallow than your ‘love’ for Ruby.

Charlie dismissively waves away Centurion’s deeply-held affections with a gesture of the hand.

Face the facts and face the music, Andy. Whatever ‘heater’ you think you’re on is going to grind to a slow and bloody halt at March Madness.

Charlie leans forward in his chair so that his ugly mug is closer to the camera as he starts wagging a finger at the screen.

But know this one thing, Centurion…

Charlie retracts his finger as he looks off camera briefly. The Nickleman shakes his head from side to side before looking back towards the camera.

I don’t play these mind games we all love so much because I need them to win.

I play these mind games because it’s the only way I can have any fun at all while pummeling the shit out of inferior competition week after week after week after week after week, and pretty soon, after week! Plus- all the theatrics help sell tickets and move my merch’!

The masked BOBers behind Charlie begin removing the ziplocked bricks from the room. They balance them on their shoulders as they carry them somewhere off screen.

I didn’t need mind games to dispatch Raion Kido in less than ten minutes: all I needed for that was a barbed-wire deathmatch. The mind games just made that lopsided match-up the most hyped TV title defense on Savage in years! You know damned well every Tom, Thad, and Corey that follows professional wrestling watched that match and cheered for Raion after all the public humiliation I put their little lion through!

HA! All those bitches tuned in just to watch Raion eat steel for 8 minutes straight. Serves them right for rooting against jolly Saint Nick, because this jolly Saint always delivers the goods to the names on his list! And unfortunately for you, Andy- well you just made the list.


One by one the masked BOBers come back into the room, only to grab another brick of kush and repeat the process of escorting the marijauna somewhere offscreen.

But even a broken clock is right twice a day, and Andy, you were right exactly twice the last day I saw you. I know how to keep my Goldi, and I didn’t want an actual one-on-on match with you. You called those spades as you saw them. It’s just a shame you saw them through rose-tinted glasses…Cent, I hate to break it to you bud, but there’s no causal relationship between those two facts you so astutely managed to point out.

I know how to keep my Goldi, and I knew I could do that no matter which match stipulation I chose against you. You’re just not a threat to me, Centurion. Boots Lichter proved you’re not a threat to anyone anymore.

But it is still true that I didn’t want a one-on-one against you at the pay per view.

Charlie grinned like a dog as he reached for his championship belt.

I figured it wasn’t ever going to be a real one-on-one, was it? I mean, my girl was going to be there…

Charlie pulled the championship belt off the chair, letting the blade caught in its strap fall harmlessly to the floor. The ornate dagger clattered along the floor as Charlie threw his Goldi over his shoulder.

I figured yours should be there too! It’s only fair, and it’s more fun!

One of us is going to squeal like a total bitch in front of the woman of our dreams. Then, whoever wins is probably going to go home and fuck the loser’s girlfriend, I mean, that’s usually how these things work. I’ve pounded Ruby once before, I’m sure it won’t bother you if I do it again. You said it yourself, you don’t “need” to win this match.

Charlie snickers to his Goldi as he uses Centurion’s own words against him.

Oh don’t you worry Centurion, I’m just kidding. I’m a taken man! I have no interest in defiling your masked piglet. But I do have interest in defiling your manhood in front of her.

You see, Centurion, I still don’t think you’re a real man. Not one bit- and it’s time you quit playing pretend. I know Ruby is going to call this match right down the middle: she’s too honorable to give you any type of advantage. So you know what that means, don’t you, lil’ Andy boy?

Charlie grins like a dog as he looks offscreen over in the direction of the packing and trapping BOBers. Charlie rubs his chin before turning his focus back to the camera in front of him.

It means Ruby is going to be right there on the mat with us as I bleed you out, watching you suffer, doing nothing except asking you “Are you ready to quit?” over and over and over again. How long is your pride going to force you to hold out? My guess is not long…pride is a man’s downfall, and after all, you’re not much of a man by any standard.

But maybe you can prove me wrong, Andy boy. Maybe your pride will force you to stick it out, to fight through the blood and the pain. Maybe you won’t submit when I start ripping ribbons of flesh from your back, maybe you’ll just bleed out and die right there in that fucking ring, in front of your Ruby, all for pride. Now wouldn’t that be something incredible? It would be a good thematic way for you to go, Andy, doing something you loved but were never particularly good at.

THAT’S my final fantasy, Andy Cuntinovis.

The Nickleman flashed a sadistic smirk at the camera as he held his Goldilocks close to his chest. Then, one of the masked BOBers suddenly approached Charlie and whispered something into his ear. Charlie turns and nods at the BOBer before looking back at the camera.

You shouldn’t ask me questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Now forgive me, Centurion, but I've got some business to handle. I’ll finish flaying your sorry hide this Sunday.

And just like that Charlie abruptly stands up and begins walking off camera in the direction the BOBers were hauling the weed. The camera, of course, suddenly changes positions and begins following behind Charlie. The masked BOBers all stand in a single-file line saluting Charlie and Goldi as they pass en route to the metal door on the wall. Charlie pops open the metal door and the camera quickly escorts him through it.

As Charlie walks into the evening light he’s immediately standing next to a beat-up brown pickup with a BOB-branded tarp covering the truck bed. What’s under the tarp is, of course, anyone’s guess.

The Nickleman reaches the front door of the beat-up truck, but before he opens it he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone. He types in a few numbers before he holds the phone up to his mangled earhole. Charlie waits outside the truck for about thirty seconds, until the universal look of annoyance flashes across his face.

He got sent to voicemail.

Hey Jenz, we just filled that special prescription your psychiatrist wrote for you and it’s bouta' be inbound. Trust me, this Burn The World is the best medicinal bud you can find. But you still remember our deal, right? I ain't got no hard feelings bout what you had to do to Demos in that match, I just think it's time I got my ear back. Vinnie Lane told me it's all systems go over here: as soon as I beat Centurion we can slot you in for the next TV title match. I'm fulfilling my end of our bargain this Sunday night. So…when are you giving me my ear back? Let me know. Talk soon.

Nickles finishes his message and tucks the phone back into his pocket before popping open the door to the truck and hopping in. Charlie gently sets his Goldi in the front passenger seat before buckling her up for safety. The Nickleman leaves himself unbuckled as he twists the keys in the ignition and lets the bumpy engine stutter to life. Charlie revs the truck for a few seconds, causing a string of black coal to smoke through the system’s exhaust.

Ohhhh listen to that baby purrrrr, Goldi!

Charlie adjusts the rearview mirror so that he doesn’t have to look at the idiots who’ll be driving behind him. Instead, he angles the mirror so that he can only see his Goldi in it. Then, he shifts the truck into drive before starting the radio up. The radio clicks on and the musical stylings of #86 Ink blasts through the speakers as Charlie hits the gas and roars off into the distance.

Man a’ hear thunder, man a’ hear gun clap
Slap his bitch like a dirty scumbag
Aye, aye