As our feature film starts rolling we see a wide shot of Charlie Nickles seated in a tattered lawn chair atop a shoddy porch in a rough looking neighborhood. There is a small folding table set up in front of The Nickleman and a large home behind him. The house is covered in chipped white paint, but ironically enough, it’s only partially covered by a roof! On one side of the roof there is just a black tarp where shingles and a chimney were supposed to be. The windows of the derelict home have all been boarded up. On either side of the home stand two chain link fences, each six feet tall, that stretch all the way around the once vacant manor. 

With his lawn chair situated on the rotting planks of the deck, the shoeless Nickleman rubs his socked toes over the rusty nails poking out of the porch. He looks down and reaches into his pocket before pulling out a plastic bag of Flintstones vitamins and a pack of blueberry swishers. He tosses it all onto the small folding table before cracking a smile and looking up towards the camera.

I bet you didn’t think you’d be seeing me again so quick, huh? I mean, how many shows can one man headline, am I right?

Charlie chuckles softly as he opens up the swisher package and dumps out one of the prerolled cigarillos.

You pry thought there’d be bigger and brighter stars that could main event Warfare by now, dincha’? I mean shit, how many times have I main evented this show since April? If you guessed ‘more than anyone else’, then congratulations, you’re right on the fucking money. And of course, I’ve pretty much won all of them. Nowadays I’m doing on Wednesday Night Warfare what I used to do on Saturday Night Savage, just without the title.

The title I never lost.

TWICE!

The Nickleman huffs to himself as he stares back down at the contents on his table. He grabs the plastic bag of vitamins before tossing them back onto the table and squishing them into a fine powder with the palm of his hand.

Title or no title, I treat each and every main event like it’s the single biggest match of the century- even if it’s only against someone like Finn Kuhn. I’ll still come down the ramp next Wednesday night like this is the most important main event in XWF history.

Like it was Charlie Nickles vs. Alias at Leap of Faith.

Every show, every main event, every opponent. That’s where my mindset is at these days- it’s why I’m such a problem for guys like Mark Flynn and Raion Kido, who have never once beaten me in the main event. They lose to me in the main event, ALWAYS, EVERY TIME, because I am a one-man main event mafia.

Do you catch my drift, homie?

One-man main event mafia. The man that put the hit out on Kuhn is the same man that will squeeze the life from his lungs and leave himFin, once and for all.

I put the target on that motherfucker’s back myself in the booking room. So next Wednesday night, I’m rolling down to the ring and I’m coming to collect a big ol’ victory check from Smokin’ Bob. I’m going to swing for the fences with my 2-by-4,  but I’ll probably just end up taking out Kuhn’s knee caps! So after I leave this badboy wannabe laying in the dust and pushing up daisies, you don’t gotta ask me why I did it. I did it for the fucking bag, the fact that I’m going to have so much fun doing it is just an added plus!

Nickles sneers into the camera before he starts busting down the blunt wrap, opening up a gap in the leaf with his fingers before dumping the tobacco guts onto the deck below.

Finn, Finn, Fin.....

You motherfuckers pry thought I’d be ‘fin’ myself by now, huh? After that little brush in the bush leagues with Flynn on Savage, you motherfuckers pry thought that I’d be off running roughshod in the minor leagues, licking my wounds and rebuilding my confidence down in the O-C-dub’. You thought maybe I might just be leaving the scene, that maybe someone else could finally step up and become a headlining star.

I mean, that’s what the fatcats thought would happen, right? That’s probably why they didn’t even bother to book me for those 3 nights of Relentlessly mediocre programming. They had new names, new stars, new talent up and down the card! We got Buster Gloves, we got Goths, we got thisnits and thatsnits - but there was no Charlie Nickles on the card….the brass didn’t think I should be on the big show.

The Nickleman rolls his eyes before placing the now empty cigarillo wrapper onto the table. He grabs the baggie of powderized vitamins and opens it carefully, being sure not to spill any of his ‘drug dust’.

I guess those fatcats had enough of Charlie Nickles stealing the show and devouring everyone’s hype. They don’t want to see Charlie Nickles in the main event no mo’, not after all the stunts I’ve pulled, not after all the names I’ve crossed out of this company for good. Instead of booking Charlie Nickles to headline Relentless, the top brass chose ‘the guy that was beaten twice by Charlie Nickles’ and ‘the other guy that was JUST beaten by Charlie Nickles’ to main event the show!

Hmmmph.

Nickles carefully pours a blunt full of vitamin dust into the blueberry cigarillo before resealing the powder bag. Then, he looks back towards the camera with all but a tinfoil hat!

I’m sensing a conspiracy against me.

But it’s not really a conspiracy, is it? How can it be a conspiracy when the GMs will just hop on the microphone and run their motor mouths about me, telling the whole world they’ll never give me a fair shake? By this point it’s not even a conspiracy against Charlie Nickles…it’s XWF standard operating procedure!

Nickles shakes his head from side to side, throwing locks of unwashed hair back and forth.

Well I’ve never been one to play ‘Doctor’ with strange men in dark alleys….unless I’m the one that gets to do the operating!

Charlie cackles to himself before he sets to sealing up the blueberry cigarillo filled with Flintstone vitamin powder. The Nickleman slowly brings the blunt up to his mouth so he can lick it shut. Charlie nimbly tucks one piece of the open wrapper underneath the other so that his saliva can create a stable seal. Once he’s done rolling his blunt he places it back on the table.

The pussyboys in suits have been rooting against Charlie Nickles ever since I first stepped foot into this company two years ago. They don’t like the way I look- they say it’s not marketable. They don’t like the way I fight- they say it’s not family friendly. They don’t like the way I end careers- they say it’s ‘unnecessary’.

The pussyboys in suits have never liked me, but truthfully, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Prissy little metros like Theo Pryce and Finn Kuhn never could stand me, because they know they never could stand like me.

The Nickleman stares into the camera with a scowl before picking up his dusty blunt and pulling a white bic lighter out of his front pocket.

I’m the kind of man who will stand his ground, always, no matter how unsteady the soil may be. No matter what I’m facing, I never need to run, I never need to ‘be supported’, I don’t need nothing but my own two feet to dig in and make my stand. I’ll take on any and everyone at the drop of a dime- I’ll even do it two at a time- because I’m the muhhhfukkin’ Nickleman baby!

Charlie excitedly nods to himself as he tucks his blunt between his lips and sparks it. The flames take hold quick, and within seconds a blackish green trail of smoke starts to rise. Charlie inhales it slowly, savoring the taste, before releasing the smoke towards the camera.

But a lot of people have been asking me lately, ‘what exactly IS a Nickleman?’.


Well, a Nickleman’s the kind of man who would proudly bear the harsh winds of the Antarctic in the full nude, with his heavy hog standing at full attention, just to show you that he could! Nicklemen are just wild men like that, y’know? They’re all about their pride and they’re all about standing tall. They’re all about showing up and showing out, they’re all about opting in and never pulling out!

The one-and-only Nickleman takes another puff of his powder blunt, and this time, he launches into a regular coughing fit- complete with hallucinations and all! When he’s finally able to get control of his body again he shakes the cobwebs out of his head before ashing his cigarillo and turning back towards the camera with bloodshot eyes.

So what if I opt in to a few matches in other companies? I usually assault someone every Monday night anyways, why not get paid to do it? We all know the XWF is the major leagues, and if you pay enough attention, you start to realize that the XWF is my sandlot.

Just think about it, Finn. Just think.

The Nickleman taps the side of his head with his pointer finger as he looks into the camera with a grin. Offscreen, we can hear the sounds of some rowdy kids playing baseball.

The XWF is my sandlot, and the main event scene is where I like to play with my balls. A once bustling scene of cheery activity, now rendered an unoccupied wasteland. Just look at the golden cows this company holds up on a pedestal, and see for yourself the scars I’ve left. Finn, if you’re brave enough, just stroll through the XWF cemetery and see for yourself all the ghosts made in my wake, see for yourself what’s in store for you next Wednesday night! Tell Betsy Granger I said hi….

Charlie snickers before hitting the blunt again. In the background we can clearly hear the sound of a wooden bat cracking against a baseball.

A first blood match? Pfftt….

Finn Kuhn will be lucky if he ever bleeds again after I’m done with him!

The Nickleman stares into the camera as he presses the blunt out against the plastic, and now smoldering, tabletop. That’s when we see a foul ball come flying in overhead near the top of the screen. The baseball smashes into one of the boarded up windows of the house before it falls harmlessly to the porch and rolls over to The Nickleman.

Now what’s this?

Charlie looks over his shoulder with a sneer. We hear two childlike voices shouting through the chain link fence from offscreen.

Our ball! Fuck!

Oh no! Mister, mister, will you throw our ball back to us?

Charlie turns back towards the camera as he stands up out of the tattered lawn chair.

I think these no good BASTARDS just broke my fucking window!

And with that, The Nickleman flips the table over and launches into a seething rage! The scene fades to black as Charlie starts stomping over towards the six foot tall fence with baseball in hand…