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Nightmare!





Turns out, hell isn't all it's cracked up to be. The food's burnt BEYOND a crisp, there's no air conditioning, and unless you're into shoving pineapples up Hilter's butt, or swimming in the Lake of Fire, there wasn't much to do. Needless to say, the number of amenities Satan had to offer were, honestly, quite limited (talk about punishment!) Unfortunately for me, after what I'd been through the past couple days, I found myself envying the bored.

It all started when Jason Cashe touched my penis (sounds like the start of a therapy session). Sure, it wasn't an actual touch. At least I don't think it was. Maybe it was. I could feel the warmth of his arm on it. I don't know. I could be gay. He could be gay. Having bein' beaten up(not off) just moments before, I wasn't quite sure what had happened. It was like paying a visit to Bill Cosby's house, except I actually gave a tiny bit of consent by being Xtreme Champion. Part of me almost WISHES he knocked my ass out completely, but then I wouldn't still be walking around with the Title. However, at the same time, that almost would've been a blessing............


"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEE!!!!"

Cashe's pin attempt set off a chain reaction, showing the residents of hell just how easy it was to get an Xtreme Title shot; afterall, becoming #1 Contender was as simple as pinning my shoulders to the ground. You didn't have to be good, you just had to be lucky. You also didn't necessarily have to be a wrestler, a fact EVERYONE around the started taking advantage of.

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MEEEEEE!!!!"

I went and hid behind some tipped over trash cans, just a few feet away from a burning car. Through the flames I saw my pursuer emerge, jumping on top of the hood and sniffing the air like some sort of predator.



Hee HEE!" He screamed with a Jason Cashe-like crotch grab. "Pleeeeeeease, Daniel, I want to be a starrrrrrr again!" Luckily for me, he didn't seem to know where I was................. but Hitler did!



"There he is!" the fuhrer called out, in German, from the top of a run-down building behind me. His pants were down to his ankles, a fresh pineapple hanging halfway out of his asshole.

"Yaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!" Micheal Jackson cried out with delight. "He's miiiiiiiiiine!"

"Nein!" an aggressive Hitler shouted, before cocking the fruit in his butt like a gun. "The Reich shall reign, once more!"

And, just like that, Adolf jumped 5 stories in my direction, ass first. I didn't know what do to but, in a much more real sense, I knew EXACTLY what to do; sidestepping the former German leader, causing him to crash onto his deriar. The impact of the landing ensured no more pineapple hung out at all. This distraction allowed MJ to hop onto my shoulders in Hurricanranna position, where he proceeded to thrust right in my face(causing me to immediately forgive Cashe for whatever he did to me). I ran around for a minute like a chicken with its head chopped off, as MJ swung his arm around as if he were riding a bull.

"Weeeeeeeeeee!" he cheered. "I'm Peter Pan, I'm flyingggggg!"
I managed to see enough underneath him to maneuver us next to the car, where I proceeded to Powerbomb him, neck first, against the side of it.

"Just call Captain Hook, mother fucker!" I taunted, hitting my chest and barking. "Woof! Woof!" Upon realizing the absurdity of my actions, I took a step back and reflected on them. "Oh God, I'm becoming John Black!"

Before everybody started chasing me, I planned on parodying JB and his buddies by dressing up like a thug, dealin' drugs, and maybe even doing a drive-by; but that wouldn't have been very PC. I could also hear my wife, in my head, telling me that things NEVER go well when I dress up like other people. Which wasn't a lie, afterall, people still haven't forgotten that time I wore a thong in order to beat Lux; and, if they have, they certainly remember NOW.

"Yo, John Black's my homie!"



"Tupac Shakur?!" I shrieked with surprise. "Why are you here?!"

"Jada Pinkett Smith." he shrugged as if it were common knowledge.

"Makes sense," I nodded, leading to a looooong, uncomfortable silence. "You're gonna ice me now, aren't you?"

The rapper pulled out a gun, cocked it like Hitler's pineapple ass, and aimed it at me. "Yup!" He squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet barreling towards my chest. By some hellish miracle, the round ended up bouncing off the Xtreme Title hanging over my shoulder and back at Shakur, nailing him right between the eyes. Upon realizing he'd been shot(again), Tupac uttered his last, last words before collapsing to the ground.

"That's just the way it is..............."

After witnessing Tupac essentially off himself I, ironically enough, ran into Kurt Cobain. He didn't want anything to do with my belt, however, his smoking buddy, Bob Ross, DID.

"Just a happy little pin!" he said with a smile, rolling me up for a Schoolboy.



Being the veteran I was, I managed to follow through the roll, landing on my feet, much to Bob's chargin.

"More like a happy little accident!" I corrected, kneeing him so hard in the head, his face looked like Kurt's AFTER the shotgun. Speaking of which, I was startled by a loud BANG, causing me to turn towards the former Nirvana singer with concern.

"Not again!"

"It wasn't me!"

I heard the bang again, and again, eventjally realizing it was coming from behind me. I turned around and saw someone who'd been one of my heroes growing up.....................



"Not the Intimidator!" I cried out with legitimate sadness as Dale revved his engine, giving me a cold, hard stare that had him living up to his nickname. "I blame Kerry Earnhardt for your being here!"

He tipped his helmet at me, as if to confirm my theory, before driving full force in my direction. I tried to flee, but there was no outrunning an old school, restrictorplate-less stock car. Seeing no other choice, I jumped up onto the hood and held on for dear life. Dale drove all over hell. trying his best to shake me, but I would NOT be intimidated!  Sadam Hussein joined Osama and Fidel Castro hurling shell after shell in our direction, all to jo avail. It didn't matter what ANYONE did to me, I would refused to lose my Championship. Seeing this, Earnhardt slammed on the brake, sending me flying past the likes of Ronald Reagan and your mom, onto a pile of boxes next to what looked like a rundown basketball court in a neighborhood you might find John Black hanging out.

"You okay, big man?" a familiar voice asked, holding out a gigantic hand to help me up. As I got to a vertical base, my blurry vision cleared revealing the identity of the good Samaritan.



"SHAQ?! But.......... you aren't even dead!"

"Neither are you!" he pointed out before turning and missing a shot. "But the endorsement was too good to pass up!" Shaq, once again, missed a shot. "So, how 'bout a Title Match?"

"Tell you what," I began, collecting myself and walking in the opposite direction of the b-baller. "I'll give you a shot, when you make a free throw."

"That's cold, dawg."

I found myself wandering into what looked to be an abandoned television studio, with broken cameras and sound equipment scattered throughout the inside. As I rummaged through the mess, I could hear voices whispering in the dark abyss beyond. The voices grew louder with my every step, until a light switched on, revealing some sort of jumbled deformity of a game show stage. It was as if Satan himself fused The Price is Right with Family Feud, and sprinkled a little bit of Jeopardy over top for flavor. Along with the demonic concoction of a stage came three separate hosts.................


Bob Barker!


Alex Trebek!


That guy who kisses the contestants!

"I don't believe it!" I exclaimed, awestruck by 2 of my favorite game show hosts of all-time. "I mean, Dawson I get, but Barker........... TREBEK?! How in the world did you guys wind up here??"

"Let's just say, the price was wrong for me!" Bob explained, but not really.

"Classic Sandler!" I chuckled, before turning to Alex. "What about you?"

"Cheated on my wife."

"I thought that was Letterman?"

"Letterman got caught."

Almost as if it were planned, Richard Dawson tried to sneak up on me and steal a pin, as well as a kiss. I, fortunately, denied him both, ducking underneath and connecting with a German Suplex that would ensure he NEVER kissed someone, consent or not, EVER again!

"It didn't work!" a worried Barker bellowed as I charged in his direction.

"Spay and neuter THIS!" I declared with a Clothesline SO hard, it sent him to heaven. This allowed Trebek to get the drop on me, smashing a microphone in the back of my head.
"Answer: something I want reallllllll bad," he stood over me as if he'd won. He leaned down, waiting for an answer, despite not actually expecting one. With that, he put one of his palms on my chest and counted the fall with his other hand.


"One......................."





"Two......................"








I reached forward and wrapped my hand around the wrist that was pinning me down, also getting a shoulder up in the process.

"What is: an ass kicking?"

His eyes grew wide as I lifted him up high above my head and delivered a Dan Slam worthy of a Jeopardy Championship. And while I may never get to hold that particular Title, I still had my Xtreme one. Considering all I'd been through since pinning Flynn for the belt, from the scrutiny of how I obtained my Title, 'til now, I'd certainly just how extreme I could be.
I took a minute to gather my thoughts, before scanning over the shenanigans that had just taken place. Upon coming to terms with the weight of the entire ordeal, I put my hand to my forehead and shook it in disbelief.

"I'm going to hell for this....................... oh wait, I'm already there!"







"John Black says he won't sell his soul to win the Xtreme Championship, and I can respect that. As a somewhat religious man, myself, I wouldn't sell my soul, either. I'd have been Universal Champion by now if I was willing to. That being said, JB's gonna REALLY wish he had 'cause he's NEVER going to take this belt without it, especially with that piss poor attitude of his. 'I expected a short reign;' man, do you know how pathetic you sound?! My first reign sucked, too, but I DAMN SURE didn't expect it! If that's how you really felt, you should've just laid down for the first chump who tried to pin you; they certainly deserved it more!"

"YOU want to beat the hell out of me?! For what, to prove a point? People who say it's not about the belt only say that for brownie points; and I say that as the guy who claimed he wanted a shot at Thad Duke, not the TV Title. It was about the Title, John. Beating Duke back then didn't mean anything, not without a belt involved. I've beaten names, and it just doesn't hit quite as hard as it does when you take a Title from 'em. And, considering I'm not even a name in your eyes (afterall, you called me a bitch), then this match REALLY doesn't mean shit to you, does it?"

"Well, why don't I tell you what this match means to me? This is an initiation for me, John, an initiation no different than one a thug might go through to prove to his gang that he is for real. I'm in no danger of being tossed out of B.O.B., contrary to whatever you may think, but at the same time, I still got alot to prove. Am I No Good Bastard material, holding Titles for months on end in domination fashion; or am I spineless John Black, winning Championships just to turn around and hand 'em over to better, more confident, men? Let me tell you: I ain't no bitch. Nobody asked me to change my name, I did it on my own! If buying in makes me a bitch, what does that say about YOU?! You claim to be B.O.B. while, in the same breath, beesmirching it's very name. Talk about sellin' out!"

"And, while we're talkin', how 'bout we address just how Xtreme I am. I've been to hell and back, LITERALLY; running around, avoiding pins from some of history's most notorious villains. But do you know who ended up being the BIGGEST, the baddest antagonist of them all? B.O.B. D. I don't need this belt to prove I'm extreme, my actions have already spoken for themselves. If you can get over Jason Cashe nestling your penis like a Christmas present, you can handle ANYTHING! I've stared death in the fucking face and sent him packing! What are you gonna do that's worse than what I've already been through?! I've been hit with chairs, thrown through tables, and scarred by wire. Watch the fuckin' tape! If you need a VCR, I'll buy you one with my future purse winnings so you can look back and regret EVER calling me a bitch!"

"Relentless Night 3. Co-Main Event. Sunday's the day B.O.B. D gets on that God damn Top 50! I've beaten Mastermind, Barney, Miss Fury, took a Title from Mark Flynn, am better than Atara, and soon to be John Black. Bobby's there. TK's there. B.O.B. D's next. I'm gonna embarass one of XWF's favorite pity stories and have no problem doing so. Because I'm bad, I'm B.O.B., I'm D............."

June 2019 XWF Superstar of the Month
2019 Relentless Fishing Contest Winner
1x XWF World Heavyweight Champion
1x bWo World Heavyweight Champion [despite what Miss Furry or James J. Dildo says]
1x NWF World Heavyweight Champion
2x XWF Xtreme Champion [current]
2x XWF TV Champion
1x XWF Internet Champion
1x NWF World Tag Team Champion (w/Slim)
1x NWF Xtreme Champion
1x NLCW Slamfest Champion
1x LCW Hardcore Champion
3x WWF X-Division Champion
1x WWF World Tag Team Champion (w/Seth Flash)
1x WWF Dark Champion
1x WWF TV Champion
1x EGW Fury Champion
3x XWF Federweight Champion
4x XWF Heavymetalweight Champion
1x 420* Cruiserweight Champion
2x CMW Hardcore Champion
1x XHW T.V. Champion
1x WXC Hardcore Champion
1x XPW U.S. Champion
1x WLFC Tag Team Champion w/Chance
1x WWC T.V. Champion
1x WWC European Champion
1x WWF 24/7Hardcore Champion
2x WLFC 24/7 Hardcore Champion


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