XWF FanBase: The IWC (gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)
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But Starbucks isn't paying us, why should we give them free publicity?
Inside, Bobby and Schism sit at a beaten-up table. The Revolutionaries both sport cups, blending with the un-named coffeehouse’s typical rabble.
Schism’s cup initially appears to be a regular-sized 12-oz beverage.
A closer glimpse reveals the cup is empty. Bone-dry.
That does not stop Schizz from periodically raising it to his lips.
Bobby has a massive, clear cup of what looks like… just pure darkness.
Schism’s eyes dilate as he evaluates Bourbon’s midnight-black brew.
“Caffeine is a sense-dulling poison, only serving to corrupt the natural high of contemplating the madness of the social order.”
“I know, I know…” Bourbon sips. “But I’ve already been kicked outta both heaven and hell. What difference does a little ‘corruption’ make?”
…Schism’s eyes alternatively widen and narrow as Bobby’s response pulsates down to the core of Schizz’s warped mind.
“...Your words occupy both ends of language’s possibility. Hyper-literalist poison *and* allegorical honey. Like Schroedinger’s nine-lived test subject… Most revealing when unobserved.”
“I take words like I take my coffee.”
“Literally.”
Schism sips his empty cup… as he rifles through his sweatshirt pockets, retrieving… a napkin. Bobby quaffs mightily from his drink, finishing half of it.
“Y’know, bud, places have napkins. You don’t gotta take that one everywhere. Need to wipe up a spill of…”
Bobby eyes Schism’s cup, noticing that its emptiness.
“...Nothin’?”
“No liquid rests upon my lips, but an ocean of possibility has stained my mind. And I’d not wipe it away that stain for all of Midas’ gold… Its image drives me forward, to find… IT. To lead us all to within paradise’s gates.”
“For this holy scripture…” Schism raises the napkin. “Carries within its fibers… the one, true path… to the Big Rock Candy Mountain.”
“Oh! That napkin again…” Bobby scratches his head. “Wait, ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’? Didn’t the president sign an executive order renaming the Canadian Rockies to that?”
“Preposterous. Man cannot rename the mountains anymore than he can rename the gulfs… and/or Greenland!”
FACT CHECK: We’re not sure?
Schism sets the napkin down between he and Bobby.
Bobby rubs his chin, mulling over the doily’s deeper designs.
The napkin’s caked with washed-out ink.
Bobby’s eyes scan the mad scrawl… Sometimes, he thinks he sees a word … But, every time, turns out to be a Rorshach-esque blot…
That one looks like a man, dying of thirst, trying to drink from his waterbed…
THAT one looks like the Grilling Guerilla Gorillas taking a family photo, but the camera has no film…
Bobby blinks, waking from a dreamscape.
“So, um, did the gorilla scribble this?”
The view shifts through the window, where A.L.Gs seated outside with his beverage. There’s a sign on the door to the coffee shop that reads ‘No Gorillas’, as is the norm for any location knocking-off Peet’s or Dunkin’.
“The orange-colored soul, in a flash of unfiltered vision, scrawled a spiritual epiphany so profound that even the author was blinded from its enlightenment. I was granted the mission of performing this passage, written in the language of polyphonic splendor… The longer I basked in its wisdom, the more enlightenment flowed like the rivers of Babylon. Until sharkwater washed away the words, but revealed the ultimate truth. The words I’d once thought held the secret, only obfuscated the scroll’s true meaning.”
“Ah. Makes sense now.”
Bobby and Schism look again. Bobby pivots the napkin, checking a different perspective, then folds it into thirds.
“...Looks like Mickey Mouse putting relish on a record-player.”
Schism shakes his head. “Not at all. But, also, exactly so.” Schism nods.
Bobby squints, re-examining it,
“Hmmmm, how would Mark look at this?”
”Ahhh, how would the artist analyze his masterpiece? By redefining what ‘napkin’ means, re-ordering the entirety of language? Diving down into written word’s atomic structure… With an electron microscope, made of the mind’s eye.”
“Hrmm. No, that’s science hogwash, ‘electron microscope’ is more something I would do and you wouldn’t let me put in a particle accelerator.”
”Why would we accelerate? We’re exactly where we want to be.”
…
“Also, your scientific method is… ‘let’s just do it. For funzies.’ Which… orange-soul would rebuke and revile.”
“...You’re right. Mark wouldn’t do anything ‘for funzies’. Mark would cross-reference the napkin’s handwriting, the message’s relative position on the napkin, and then the motivations of the original napkin’s inventor”
Bobby retrieves his phone as Mark paces into the coffee shop. Schism waves as Bobby is absorbed by his digital rectangle. Mark approaches, sneering with disgust as he absorbs the scene around him.
“Why the FUCK are we meeting at Starb-“
“Shhh, they haven’t paid for product placement! No free plugs!”
Flynn sneers at Bourbon for shushing him… Before gesturing furiously at this den of non-decaf.
“Coffee… once the beverage of the collective spirit. Take a cup, free-of-charge, throw in a nickel when you can spare one. The coffee pot was the laborer’s watering hole. Where grumbles of corporate greed would blossom! Ground-Zero for the meeting of revolutionary minds.”
“Now?”
Flynn spits on the coffee-shop-which-shall-remain-nameless’s floor.
“The working class has been DUPED into SUPPING ON SIX-DOLLAR SUGARY SWILL! Drive-thru isolation! Order in our app made by sweatshop coders, chug raw energy to maximize your productivity, then GET BACK TO WORK.”
Flynn nods at Bourbon’s cup.
“Case-in-point! Bourbon, whatchu pay for that cuppa coffee?”
“Oh, this?” Bourbon lifts his cup. “Brought it from home. They legally can’t make it how I take it.”
…Flynn curiously peeks at the cup’s contents.
The drink doesn’t reflect enough light to create a reflection.
It’s blacker than the darkest night, the deepest ocean, AND the farthest reaches of space.
Flynn whistles, impressed.
“…That coffee’s so black, the NRA supports gun control in its neighborh-“
“Shhhhhh”
“STOP SHUSHING ME!”
“We’re trying to figure out what you would do right now.”
“…What?”
Bourbon raises the napkin to Flynn’s face.
“Schism’s napkin. I tried looking at it like a Magic Eye poster from the nineties, Schism called several psychic hotlines but they charge by-the-minute.” Bourbon sips his jet-black beverage. “It’s been a shit show. Neither of us can figure it out…”
Flynn squints at Bourbon incredulously “There’s nothing TO figure out! I wrote a pitch for the Revolution on a goddamned DENNY’S NAPKIN! An-”
“Anyway, since WE can’t solve it, we’re trying to figure it out by thinking like YOU.”
…
”...Oh.” …Flynn blushes, clearly flattered by Bobby’s comment.
”…ALRIGHT!” Flynn rubs his hands together. ”Well, the CORRECT approach to… napkin-deciphering… is OBVIOUSLY t-”
”Flynn, seriously, couldja keep it down?… you’re interrupting us. You’re breaking our concentration trying to emulate your concentration.” Bobby shakes his head. “How are we supposed to think like you if you won’t stop thinking aloud?”
…Schism’s eyes widen.
“Whoa. The reflection mirrors the man, but the man himself is an obstacle to the reflection appearing real.”
Flynn snorts FURIOUSLY!
“I WILL NOT BE SILENCED.”
“Whatever, Mark, just go order what you want while we figure out how you’d approach this situation.”
“FEH! I’m not giving this hellhole ONE RED CENT! This Sta-”
…Bobby points, reminding Flynn not to name the place.
“Establishment...”
Bobby delivers a thumbs-up.
”Is another form of capitalistic imperialism. An energy vampire, sucking the last remnants of our human souls like a fat kid sucking a chicken wing’s hidden meat caverns!! To its deepest core, it’s… ANTI-UNION!”
”What?!?” Schism’s eyes widen, as if seeing the space anew! ”Imagine! We few shrews, consorting in a den of vipers! Surrounded by moneylenders! ACK! Poison courses through my veins!”
Schism pushes away his empty cup, as if it’s brimming with toxic sludge.
”Well, I don’t think the *air* here is poisonous…”
”The essence! I’ve been supping the seeping spectral spirit of unethical commercial exchange! Your-soul-for-a-dollar! Sunlight-by-the-ounce! Oxygen-in-a-can!”
Schism spits the… nothing… from his mouth onto the coffeehouse’s floor before tossing the cup as well. The other patrons look on at the awkward scene.
“The natives are onto us!”
Bobby grips his half-full cup, realizing that, after considering who’s profiting, it’s really half-empty.
“So, uh, I shouldn’t finish this or something?”
”...What?”
”Y’know, out of solidarity. Not giving my money to… This.”
”Bob, we already established you brought your coffee from home!”
”But, like… the airwaves! Can I catch capitalism if I’m within six feet of it?”
”...Bourbon, what the f-”
”By God, man!” Schism shoves past Flynn, eyeing Bourbon’s cup like it’s a grenade. “Pitch that plague-bearing poultice before you become patient zero of a plutocratic pandemic!!”
Schism knocks the large cup outta Bourbon’s hands, causing a ton of coffee to spill on the floor!
A barista, (so they’re called), calls out to the trio.
“Look, are you people just here to throw shit on the floor or are ya gonna buy something?”
“THE CORPORATOCRATIC AGENTS ARE HERE! THEY’RE DEMANDING WE PARTICIPATE IN THEIR WORSHIP OF THE DOLLAR! SCRAM!”
The Revolutionaries bolt out of Starbucks.
December 16, 2024
”WHOA BOY!”
Ironically, you might’ve heard the sounds of champagne corks popping from Flynn’s excited tone as he poured into the locker room(it’s a deep cut), locking an arm around Schism’s neck and reaching out for comrade Bourbon with his other-
”Boys, we FUGGIN DID IT!!!”
Bobby doesn’t need a second invitation. He swoops in, snagging both Schism and Flynn in an exuberant bearhug.
”Dominance, baby! It’s what we do best!”
Schism wriggles in the embrace.
”Bossman, your elbow’s embedded in my ribs.”
”That’s Bob’s!”
Bobby grins, releasing his comrades.
Flynn opens a celebratory thermos, swigging 100% union-brewed coffee. His eyes spark with fervor.
”THIS is what I’m talkin’ about, boys! THE Revolution. We’re the talk of the XWF! NO ONE in this federation is hotter than US! He waves the coffee thermos by its handle!
The hottest? Or brightest? Burning incandescent, we’re the shooting stars destined to pierce the void of apathy.
Flynn ignores him, pacing the space as his heart races.
”Y’all heard it! That crowd? EATIN’ outta our hands! Lucy? Folded. Aurora? Cracked. SEB?” Flynn smirks ”...obliterated. And that CROWD screaming…
‘Revolution’...
‘REVOLUUUUUUUUTION’!”
Flynn swigs coffee, riding this high to its absolute apex.
We are OVER!!! The Revolution’s OVER like goddamn ROVER, baby!
Bobby’s flickers a grin, juuuuust wide enough to catch Flynn’s eye.
Somethin’ to add, Bourbon?
Bobby shrugs, arms folded across his chest like a mountain thinking how to avalanche.
Ask him. he nods to Schism, who’s facing the wall now.
Schism’s wide eyes darting around, seeing the world through a different lens. Seated now, and staring at the unfolded napkin in his hands like it holds the secrets to the universe.
The map… he mutters, his voice barely audible.
The Big Rock Candy Mountain… whispering, his eyes wide and hypnotic.
”The what now?”
Schism stands, almost reverently.
”This napkin. It holds the way. To the birds, to the bees… To the cigarette trees.”
Schism holds the napkin aloft like a holy weapon.
Flynn rolls his eyes, waving it off.
”Eh… Whatever… the Revolution’s UNSTOPPABLE!”
It’s also… ambiguous. Look, we’re hot, like a vat of oil. But are we “over”? What even IS “The Revolution”, Che? What are we sellin’? Chaos? Order? Anti-corporate rhetoric served with a side of Schism?
Flynn narrows his eyes,
We’re sellin’ WINNING, Bob-o. Victory of the working man! Tonight PROVED that. Didja see SEB’s face when Schism pinned him? The Revolution is whatever the HELL we can dream of!
Bobby shakes his head, turning a grin,
”Nah, Trotsky. You want it to be whatever YOU say it is. But you can’t just slap a name on a thing and call it a movement. Do we look like VLI? Or Syn? People need to know what they’re buying. We have no warchest, remember? Just three guys kickin’ ass, and a lot of bluster.”
”FEH!” Flynn waves off Bobby’s cautionary call. ”The warchest has become a NON-issue! We have the most-important asset a Revolution can have… The People’s HEARTS and MINDS”
Flynn wraps Bourbon and Schism in another embrace.
”I’m telling y’all! We beat SEB, Aurora and Lucy Wylde! THE XWF’S THREE TOP CHAMPIONS!”
”I guarantee! Everyone in the wrestling world knows what The Revolution’s ALL ABOUT!”
Meanwhile
Outside the arena, Steve Sayors interviews XWF fans.
”After their thrilling Warfare debut, we're talking with XWF fans about The Revolution!
Two young men grin.
“Man! The Revolution’s CRAZY!!”
“Yeah! The way Bacchus came out to lead them to attack down SEB… And Prince joined him! The Revolution is HUGE!”
”Uh, actually, that’s VLI…”
“No, wrong. See, The Revolution is *actually* a re-branded Crucible.”
A little girl...
“I think Revolution make playgrounds and popsicles but I don't like lime.”
A young lady dressed-in-black…
“It’ll poised to expose the wrestling world’s lies…”
She smokes her cigarette.
“Matthias Syn IS the future! An-”
A fat guy dressed in cosplay like Sebastian Duke shoves his way to the microphone.
“I LOVE THE REVOLUTION! THADDEUS DUKE’S A GENIUS! YEEEEEEEEEEAH!”
A man wearing a suit made out of foam fingers and an oversized cowboy hat with a tiny cowboy hat atop it approaches.
“HOT DIGGETY DAMN, I STILL XWF LIKE IT WAS 1999, BABY!”
Who’s your favorite Revolutionary?
The young men.
“Mine’s Grace Leary.”
“Mark Cuban!”
The little girl eyes the camera.
“Santa.”
A dude wearing sunglasses-at-night...
“...Johnny Bacchus.”
The man wearing all wrestling paraphernalia is amped!
“WHOOOOOOO! EVERYBODY KNOWS IT’S ELI JAMES!” (Note: He was once an XWF mainstay.)
”Who should they face next?”
The dudes.
“I mean, probably Them No Good Bastards.”
“Or, maybe like… Flynn and Ned Kaye.”
Utterly unaware Bobby nor Mark are actually IN the Revolution, they give each other a failed no-look fistbump.
The little girl...
“I like unicorns.”
The goth woman…
“Syn should take on SEB, Dickie Watson, and God… in that order.”
The walking flea-market merchandise-stand.
“I OWN THE CLIP-AND-CHEW, WHERE YOU CAN EXPECT FINE SALON TECHNIQUES AND HONEST DINER CHOW. HAVE AN OMELETTE AND A SHAVE, A TRIM AND A CHOP, OR A PERM AND A PARM! CLIP-AND-CHEW, SOME PEOPLE LIKE HAIR IN THEIR FOOD!”
“THE REVOLUTION SHOULD FACE MORBID AND SOLDIER!!” (Note: they were an XWF tag-team once.)
PAUSE!
The clip freeze-frames on the TV…
Bourbon, Schism and Flynn sit around a conference table…
…
”So…”
”NO ONE knows what the Revolution’s all about?”
…Bourbon flips through his notes..
”Nope. Some people think the Revolution is Bacchus’s VLI stable… Some think it’s…” Bobby flips the page. ”…*just* Matthias Syn.”
”Others think it’s… a smoothie-based lazy susan sold by #VilaroFit?”
…
Flynn’s eye wildly twitches, as he squeezes his union-brewed coffee tumbler…
”S’not *all* bad news…” Bobby flips the page over to a nearly-full pie chart. ”Over 95% of respondents like what they *think* The Revolution is…”
”But NONE understand that… WE’RE the Revolution?!?”
…
”Correct.”
”FFFFFFFFFFFUCK.” Flynn smacks his tumbler off the table…
”Dear…” Schism tsks, as he examines the napkin, admiring a blot he hadn’t noticed yet. ”A thousand voices scream change… but the discordant, divergent deluge of decibels only defeans… A thousand overlapping choices on the menu, all unreadable. And the people starve as they struggle to pronounce… Rev-o-lu-shun…”
…Flynn exhales.
”THIS… is obviously the result of a COORDINATED DISINFORMATION CAMPAIGN!” Flynn smacks the table. ”The XWF’s corporate SNAKES have BURIED our revolutionary message in a SEA of COUNTERACTIVE, FALSE MOVEMENTS.”
Flynn gestures at the screen.
”Matthias Syn? Johnny Bacchus? OBVIOUS PATSIES, designed to SATIRIZE and DEMONIZE our movement! A corporate power-play to block out our message with sound-alike noise!”
Bobby’s ears perk. ”Ohhhh. You’re saying we need to wipe-out the competition! The market’s oversaturated with discount-brand revolution, diluting our market share!”
”I wouldn’t have said it that way *or* used those words.”
”Obviously, we’ve gotta take back the narrative! Shine a light through the FALSE revolution darkness, so that lost ships in society’s shores can find our lighthouse of truth.”
”The solution? We need a comm-”
”Ooh, let’s do a commercial!”
”I WAS SAYING THAT.”
…
”Let’s do a commercial.”
”Mmmmm.” Schism’s eyes narrow. ”Battling commercialism with the corporate operator’s tools? Are we subverting our corporate masters? Or bastardizing our movement by becoming their mirror image?”
”What’s wrong with Bastard-izing something?” Bourbon waves off Schism’s skepticism. ”You got the best product? Want people to use it? You gotta ADVERTISE.”
Bobby grabs blank paper, and starts manically drafting a script.
”Now, we gotta approach this commercial like Mark would.”
…Flynn grins ear-to-ear. ”Finally! Some goddamned respect! Now, what *I* think we sh-”
”Hush, Mark.”
”NEVER SHUSH ME!”
”Mark would want everyone to know the Revolution’s the solution to all their problems!” Bobby rapidly scribbles. ”Like he said, all society’s problems are based on the suits holding down us working folk!”
”...You’re still a CEO, right, Bob?”
”So!” Bourbon ignores Flynn’s comment. ”Obviously, if every problem stems from corporate greed… And the Revolution *solves* corporate greed! The Revolution is the Solution to EVERY problem!”
”...Eh. t’s not… BAD. But, it doesn’t attack the core problem! The OTHER Revolutions!”
Flynn grabs his own blank paper! ”We need to GUT our competitors! Make it clear that Bacchus and Syn are as revolutionary as drinking Pepsi over Coke! Seeing DC over Marvel!”
”Reading Heathcliff over Garfield!”
”...Sure.”
”Listening to Chicago-style polka-pioneer Marion Lush over East-Coast-style polka-visionary Eddie Blaz-”
”NO MORE EXAMPLES.”
…
”Point being, *their* Revolutions are a TRAP. DUPING the dissatisfied into financially supporting the status quo. Changing your shirt from red to blue… As the shirt factory still pockets your dough!”
”We’ll reveal exactly what Bacchus and Syn are!”
”TRAITORS TO THE MOVEMENT!”
Bourbon and Flynn rapidly scribble their ideas in unison…
Schism squints at his napkin.
”The problem, they say, is too many words… The solution, they say, is more words.”
HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?
A hapless, hopeless gentleman walks down the street. He looks at his phone. Behind him, in a floating text bubble, we see his text message like on every show that does that.
“I'm sorry Dave, but it’s OVER between us. I’m taking all twelve of the cats, the goat, and our son and staying with my mother for a while. Also, you’re fired. Your work performance has been subpar. We’re gonna have to let you go. Bill will be by with your things Thursday. Also, your test results are back. Unfortunately, you'll have to come in for more testing to pinpoint the root of your symptoms. Also, your radiator’s going out, we need to replace it *and* your front brake pads, it’ll run ya $700 altogether, excluding parts and labor. Also, your subscription could not be renewed, please visit…”
Dave lowers his phone, dejected.
“Life gotchu down?”
We see Dave, pulling a trash bag out of a bin…
The bag breaks, spilling garbage everywhere.
“Tired of unsavory kitchen odor?”
We see Dave trying to open a can of peas. The can opener slips! The can skitters across the counter!
“That old can opener just TOO INCONVENIENT?”
The can skitters across the floor into a can-tower! They collapse onto Dave!
“Are your household’s can-towers tearing your marriage apart?”
Dave’s head emerges from the can-tower avalanche…
But is bopped back inside as a Roomba bounces into his face!
“Robots?!?”
Dave looks dejectedly at the camera, nodding in affirmation to all of the above. Suddenly, a rad guitar riff blares!
Bobby skateboards into the room, freeing Dave from the inescapable can mountain!
“REVOLUTION!”
Bobby high-fives Dave, 540-McTwists off the wall, then returns to Dave.
“Down low!”
Dave goes top-to-bottom! SLAP!
Bobby hops off the skateboard, which runs right into the Roomba, destroying it.
Bobby produces a black, spherical cartoon bomb.
“Revolution!”
The bomb explodes into glitter!
STARWIPE!
A quaint country kitchen. A sweet lady in an apron. Dave enters. The woman embraces him.
“Just like mom used to make. As comforting to the soul as chicken soup! A blanket fresh outta the dryer! Or a mother's embrace.”
Dave accepts the hug, embracing not only his mother but the idea that he’s worthy of love.
Dave’s Mom backs away and produces a plate of cookies, picking one up as she places it directly into Dave's mouth. Bobby frowns.
“Weird!”
Bobby shakes his head as he walks outside to lean against a pickup.
“Hi, I'm Bobby Bourbon.”
Schism emerges from a barn, and Flynn rides into view on a horse, dismounting it.
“We're The Revolution. You may not recognize us, but we're the best trio in wrestling today!
”And when we say that… we’re not horsing around!”
…
”Did I ride a horse *just* for that li-”
”Not only that, we're the best Revolution in wrestling today. Sure, some others out there might be saying it's time to take a stand, but we're united under a whole capitalized “R”.
Cut to Dave, desperately wiping a beet-red shirt-stain with two rags. ‘VLI’ is written on one, ‘Matthias Syn’ on the other.
Both wholly incapable of stain-removing! In fact, the more he applies the inferior rags, the worse it gets!
“Uh-oh! Dave's using BRAND-X!”
“When you need someone to stick it to the man, to stand up for the little guy? Rely on the best.”
Harmonica music plays.
“We're lampooning Three Amigos this time, right?”
Schism and Mark eye eachother, then Bobby, shaking their head.
“No, my burly comrade-at-arms, we aren't doing movie spoofs.”
“How many times…”
“Okay, we won't lampoon, geeze.”
Suddenly, the screen’s black-and-white…
A Johnny Bacchus image drifts dramatically left-to-right…
“Johnny Bacchus CLAIMS he wants Revolution… But does he?”
The image suddenly goes all photo-negative!
“Bacchus CLAIMS his ultimate target is corporate STOOGE, Universal champion, Sebastian Everett-Bryce!”
…
“If so… why’d it take TWELVE MONTHS from Bacchus’s debut, last JANUARY to challenge SEB!?!”
“Bacchus CLAIMS he wants to defeat SEB… But, TURNED DOWN an opportunity to face SEB one-on-one!”
Quote:I stepped foot into this ring, dumped our illustrious champion on his head, and took a bow — on the next show, when he confronted me and offered to throw down the gauntlet right then and there, I looked him in the eyes and said, “No.”
The tape stops, right before valuable context might add nuance to that statement.
“Bacchus CLAIMS he wants Revolution! …But he’s in NO RUSH to change ANYTHING! NO RUSH to improve the XWF! And NO RUSH to take down Sebastian Everett-Bryce!”
Quote:ITo this day, I have yet to face off against Sebastian Everett-Bryce in an XWF wrestling ring once more, and I could not be happier with that fact.
- dead money.
“Jonathan Bacchus! In no rush to beat SEB! In no rush to Revolution!”
“This message, Paid for by People Reminding You Flynn AND Bourbon have TWO wins over SEB, and Schism pinned SEB!”
…
“And we didn’t FUCKING WAIT FOR MANAGEMENT TO TELL US WHEN, BACKY!”
…
“As for Syn…”
Flynn’s suddenly standing on-stage like a tech CEO.
He clicks a handheld slideshow advancer.
Snapshot from that Syn promo where he sat in a tent on drugs.
“Syn’s idea of opening his mind? Doing ayahuasca in the desert… Like a Republican Senator’s daughter at her first Coachella.”
Click.
Paused video of Syn promo-ing…
“Syn claims to want Revolution, but talks about female XWFers like… Well, let’s watch together.”
Quote:Can you fuck it? That's my question. If not, I don't see her usefulness.
…
“Okay, that was… rrrrROUGH. Does context make that snippet better? Bobby, keep it comin’!”
Quote:Does she at least cook and clean or does she just… wrestle?
…
“...Fuuuuuuck. THAT.”
Flynn frisbees his clicker into the crowd!
“Matthias Syn’s ideal future? One giant step BACKWARD…”
“To when women only entered wrestling rings to smile, wear bikinis, and hold signs reading ‘Round 1’.”
“Does that sound like ‘Revolution’?”
“Or Regression?”
…
”The Revolution’s not playing a waiting game.”
“The Revolution’s not here to exclude.”
“The Revolution is here… NOW!”
“And it will
“CHANGE…”
“EVERYTHING!”
Warm music intensifies as all three Revolutionaries walk side-by-side-by-side through a waft of smoke in edgy-yet-sensible clothes.
“When you need the best, don't rely on any old revolution.”
The trio enters a park where businessmen with business-briefcases do business. Bobby holds up a pack of mints labeled Revolution. Bobby pops it open, sliding one into his mouth.
“Rely on THE Revolution.”
Upbeat music plays as Bobby redirects a horse-and-buggy into chasing off the businessmen.
…
CUT.
”PERFECT!” Flynn grins, squeezing his co-revolutionaries by the shoulders.
”We just made The Revolution’s mission!”
”CRYSTAL.”
”CLEAR.”
One Focus Group Later…
”WHADDYA MEAN THEY STILL DON’T GET THE REVOLUTION!?!”
Flynn and Bobby hold clipboards with fresh data.
”Yep. Apparently, a quarter of people thought it was a commercial for tin-can towers…”
“A third of people tried to google ‘Bobby Bourbon mints’…”
“Aaaaaand…” Bobby flips the page. ”One guy left the focus group mid-commercial and camped outside of an Apple Store to *pre-order* Matthias Syn.”
”FUCK.” Flynn frisbees his clipboard against the wall.
…
”Whaddywe do now? We have THREE Revolutions. And they’re all INDISTINGUISHABLE to wrestling fans!”
”Do we truly have THREE revolutions? Or one?” Schism, sitting at the table, folds his napkin into thirds… ”Are the lines that separate our movements mirages?”
”What?” Flynn squints. ”Of COURSE we’re against Backy and Syn! They’re corporate puppets! PLANTS! Sabotaging our movement!”
”The Hatter and Tyler Durden… Misguided, but genuine. Their answers incorrect, but they understand the problem. While the unenlightened fool may not understand wind’s science, he feels what way the breeze blows!”
”As you noted, bossman. The world clamors for Revolution. Their only confusion is… which Revolution?”
”Ex-ZACTLY! How do we make it clear WE’RE the Revolution? And THEY aren’t?”
”Aren’t they?”
”...What?”
”Your Corporate Masters trained you, to see fellow revolutionaries as your enemies. Instead of allies.”
”Two letters… V-S… Is all it takes to make a divide between aligned sides.”
”Your name’s beside theirs… They must oppose you.”
”But these lines…” Schism raises the napkin. [white”]Are just blots on paper.”[/white]
….
”Fuuuuuuuuuck!” Flynn’s eyes widen with excitement! ”Of course! We’ve gotta UNITE OUR REV-”
”Hey! We should unite our Revolutions!”
”I WAS SAYING THAT!”
”FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK.”
…
……
”*sigh*”
“We should unite our Revolutions.”
I used to get fat-shamed and told “Robbie Sucks”,
Now I’m a living legend while most of you are cucks.
I’m not celibate, I just give zero fucks.
Make the most of your time now because who knows what passes or stays.
Roxy’s hubby’s promos have aged like hair that grays,
and I’ve done it all in the ring while Game Girl was just a craze of a phase!!
Scoops McGee ain’t never been a heavy hitter,
best of the smallest bunch and pick of a lousy litter.
Well now Bobby’s in a posse,
with ole’ No-Win Flynn and Schism leave ‘em dazed, eyes glossy.
We’re opening the show because we get the party started, like buffalo wings, we’re spicy and saucy,
The Revolution feels what Bobby’s laying down. Wanting in, they jump in, as they’re welcome and expected; after all, they’re far from soft and flossy.[/bobby]
And y’alls goose is cooked; plucked, portioned, and fricasseed?
They’re applying for unemployment because we’re being bossy?
Nah, fellas, time to leave them feeling like a martyr crucified on a cross, see?
That was…
Nothing compared to what I’ll do in that ring. Y’all bring the genius, I can bring the violence. I am not a thinker, no plan, though I’m often found contrarian.
So we see, comrade.
You’re a God-DAMNED barbarian!
For the people?
Goddamn right.
Hell, I could probably powerbomb all three of our opponents at once, solo. Roxy weighs as much as a box of napkins. Game Girl might have gone from pixel-to-polygon but still gets glitched out by the electricity we bring to the ring. Scoops McGee should just retire, not even a has-been but an ancient never-was.
Now somebody take this mic and bury it, because I already killed it.
There’s a question that keeps questioning. A Riddle circling the drain of human understanding. The question isn’t what the Revolution is. No, no. Too easy, kids. The question is always… Who’s it for?
The world watched us prove only one thing when we guillotined their kings last time out… that The Revolution isn’t some exclusive club.
It’s not a word.
It’s a reflection. A cracked mirror held up for the exploited to see.
A napkin smeared with ink stains, like shadows of things we’ve tried to forget.
The Revolution is for all of us.
The overlooked. The underpaid. The misfits, the dreamers.
It’s for you, Roxy.
A working woman swept into the very austerity that exploited her. Bound now by chains made of US mint. Of sex. Of pigs who told you your value was only what they could take from you. They dressed it up. Made it sparkle. But it’s a cage.
You’re the Queen now. Married to the big Bene. Living in a castle built on top of a graveyard. Stuck in this awful soma loop, too busy counting pennies to notice the bones of humanity under your feet.
Schism produces the infamous napkin, raising it to the light. The running ink stains almost look like bars, some makeshift prison.
The Revolution isn’t here to tear you down, kid. It’s here to set you free.
Even if we have to drag you outta that castle.
The Revolution’s for that kind soul lost in the abyss too…
The one searching for meaning in a world moving too fast. Trying to make sense of the caprice with a heart of gold.
Game Girl’s as lost as the rest of us. Programmed by a vulture to extract profit from the human love of entertainment and art. She’s lost. Staring into the void and praying it doesn’t stare back.
Your kindness is leaned on like a fix for the masses, your empathy drained.
They’re using you.
Telling you that being ‘good’ means staying quiet. Staying small. Playing by their rules.
Being good won’t save you. It doesn’t save anyone.
The Revolution isn’t here to punish your goodness, Gamie. Nor to extract and squash. It’s here to show you that goodness without action is just another form of compliance.
And compliance? It’s the system’s favorite weapon.
The Revolution’s for the old folk hero. The dirty vagabond. Decades giving his blood to an industry that deems him expendable. An industry that chewed him up and spat him out.
Always promising… ‘this time will be different.’ The flowers for Scoops get lost in the mail? You get the glory fix you were lookin for, your moment in the sun?
How many times has the big Bene lied to Scoops? Yet, here he is. Still fighting. Still trying to prove yourself to a system that never deserved you in the first place.
You don’t owe them anything.
You don’t belong to them. You belong *with* us.
You three are pages torn from the same novella. Same as me and the boys. Same as everyone who knows the revolution, even if they don’t know The Revolution.
You’re not enemies. You’re comrades.
You’ve been lied to, exploited by a machine that only knows how to take. But it doesn’t own you. It never did.
And The Revolution?
Is for you.
You might not see it yet. We might have to blur your vision. Plant you on your heads like we did the “emperor”. You might have to fight. Call us mad. But when the dust settles and the lies crumble, you’ll see the truth.
The Revolution isn’t your enemy.
It’s your abolition.
But sometimes you’ve gotta burn the chains to break ‘em.
When you feel that heat, when that chain breaks, and your cages crumble at Snow Holds Barred, don’t thank us.
Just breathe, kids.
Because The Revolution isn’t just for us.
It’s for everyone.
“Damn right.”
“Who are The Revolution’s opponents?”
“GameGirl? Roxy Cotton? Scoops McGee?”
“Or the management that commanded us to battle each-other?”
“Peter Principle, Acting on Thaddy’s orders… shoved Bourbon, Flynn, and Schism together… against XWF’s three top champions.”
“Management tried to kill the movement in its crib..”
…
“Yet, somehow.”
“We survived.”
“No.”
“We thrived.”
“NO.”
“We took the VERY BEST THAT XWF’S CORPORATE OFFICE COULD THROW AT US!”
“ON OUR UNION’S DAY FUCKING ONE!”
“AND WE KICKED FUCKING ASS!”
…
“Now?”
“They shift tactics.”
“If having us publicly executed didn’t work… Principle’s next move is the logical opposite.”
“Shoving us into the opening match.”
“Forcing us on as ticket-holders still scramble for their seats.”
“The Revolution will pull off the greatest trick in wrestling history.”
“Making the ‘versus’ between us and our opponents...”
“Disappear.”
…
“All my career.”
“I’ve thought like Mark Flynn.”
“Like THEY taught me to.”
“I’ve GUTTED every opponent management forced into my path.”
“I’ve dissected my brothers-in-labor.”
“Shoved men off the Mountaintop.”
“To bask in its warmth alone.”
…
“I can’t take back my career.”
“I might not have enough years left in my body to outnumber the years of wrong I’ve done.”
…
“All I can do is? Is learn.”
“And change.”
…
“Thad.”
“I betcha felt *clever* picking our opponents.”
“A trio of corporate loyalists if there ever was one.”
“GameGirl. Video-game character. The creation of a billion-dollar industry, built on one-hundred-hour workweeks and routine layoffs after project releases. The brainchild of hypercapitalist greed.”
“Roxy Cotton. Boss’s wife. Culture war profiteer. Whose livelihood and comforts were built upon the sweat of thousands of exploited wrestlers.”
“Scoops McGee. A Legend from Wrestling’s Dark Age. The territory days. Blackballing talent that crossed boundaries. Gatekeeping. Smacking down idealists who wanted change. OLD MEN RIGIDLY DEMANDING THE STATUS QUO.”
…
“Could you even find three better representatives to oppose The Revolution, Thad?”
“...Y’know. BESIDES those three that FAILED?”
…
“That’s…”
“ONE WAY.”
“To see our opponents.”
…
“Or.”
“Are we facing…”
“A creation of the independent game industry. Built by a man in his garage with a vision and free weekends! Tweaking his creation, not for profit, but to bring something from his imagination into this world.”
“A former sex-worker. Judged, beaten, spat on, by society’s norms. Who found the strength, not by complying with the world as it was, but by defying it. Succeeding in spite of it.”
“And a Legend… on HIS terms. An INDEPENDENT Icon. Who spent his forty-plus-year career, wrestling in barns, high-schools, bingo halls… convention centers, arenas, STADIUMS….”
“With as much fire in his heart, before crowds of ten, as before crowds of ten-thousands.”
“Who entered the XWF at sixty-some-years-old.”
“Because it was another mountain to climb.”
…
“Thad.”
“I betchu thought you’d found three anti-revolutionaries to counter-act us.”
“Nope.”
“You brought to the recruitment line.”
“Three minds that fit perfectly…”
“In the Revolution.”
…
“We’re done playing your games, Thad.”
“Done creating enemies…”
“Because you wrote their names across from ours.”
“This Sunday.”
“Opening the whole FUCKING show.”
“You’re gonna watch six people…”
“Bring so much GODDAMNED HEAT.”
“That Canada’s gonna MELT.”
…
“This match…”
“Will be…”
“TRULY.”
“Revolutionary.”
Today
”Because what IS this napkin, gentlemen?”
Flynn waves Schism’s napkin before his co-revolutionaries!
Schism’s eyes wiiiiiden, like Flynn’s dangling an infant by its leg.
”This napkin… has NO meaning…”
…
”Literally.”
”But figuratively. It’s a symbol that draws us together.”
“A memento of our joining.”
“Just as our uniting was unlikely…”
“So’s the idea that a leftover napkin would be of such historical significance.”
“A relic of The Revolution.”
Flynn turns around… setting the napkin into a frame.
Hung on the wall of the Revolution’s new coffeehouse.
The Big Rock Candy Mountain Coffee Co-op!
A big sign reading "union-brewed" glows neon-green.
…
”Nah.” Bobby shakes his head. ”Mark wouldn’t think that way.”
”I LITERALL JUS-”
…
”Whatever.”
Schizz beams with pride at the napkin’s new home.
”This establishment, of the disestablishment, is the next clue of the map, the sway of the stars itself.”
”Exactly.”
”...Seriously, d’ya gotta a clue what he’s talking about?”
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