And we’re back here at On The Apron the HARDEST hitting pro wrestling podcast Youtube has to offer.  We’re talking all the top action in pro wrestling from TRIAD to XWF to the lame meme wars taking place on twitter.

Yea, those are really fuckin lame.

So lame.

Extremely lame.

We’ll be taking your calls over the next hour which means the lines are open!  So, let’s get started.  Caller...you’re live with On The Apron

I’m waiting to get through, would you just put the nuggets in the oven?  Please!

Uhh, Caller.  You’re on the air.

What’s that...omg, omg...I’m on!

What’s your question, caller?

Wow, umm...what do you guys think about Slade Durant’s return to the ring?

Who?

Slade Durant.

Have you heard of Slade Durant?

No idea who that is.

Are you serious?  He’s only the meanest, most evil wrestler in history. 

Well, fan and/or Slade Durant’s grandfather, why don’t you educate us on the ‘most evil’ wrestler in history.

Gladly.  He makes his return at Warfare in XWF against Mark Flynn.

Wait, did you just say Mark Flynn?

Yes.

Former XWF Universal Champion Mark Flynn?

I know it’s a common name but it’s not THAT common.  So, yes.

I’m sorry but even without knowing who Slade Durant is I can tell you he isn’t going over in his XWF debut against Mark fuckin Flynn.

That just shows your ignorance.

Excuse me?  You want me to hang up on you?  We’ve got...several other people trying to get through.

If you hang up on me then you’ll miss out on the evil backstory of Slade Durant.

Fine.  Give us the rundown on Slade Durant.

Slade Durant is a man so evil.  So malicious that his mother cursed the day he was born.  The doctor mourns bringing him into this world.  Slade has brought nothing but fear and loss to all those around him.  He knows no barriers.  No lines.  No sense of obligation to do right by anyone.  Slade exists for one reason and one reason only...to inflict pain on the innocent.

Geezus.

The good lord hasn’t had anything to do with Slade since that fateful day he came into this world.  Slade Durant is…

---

~The caller’s voice fades out as we cut to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  We’re in Washington DC and Slade Durant stands ominously thoughtful outside the building.  He sees a protester march up to the front door, trying to sneak his way inside.  He’s immediately disposed of by security, hurled down the concrete steps that lead into the building.  His body smashing into each unforgiving step...head, neck, arm...until he’s groaning, damn near paralyzed at the bottom.  Slade stares down at the man~

“Help me.”

~Slade ignores his plea for help, turning his focus back on the entrance.  A taxi cab pulls up behind him.  A family is inside.  The father emerges with his wife right behind~

“I’ve got to hurry.  I just got the text.  My tour is beginning.”

“Okay, I just need the VISA so I can take Jeremy shopping.”

“Right, I almost forgot,” he rummages through his pockets.  His anxious, unsettled demeanor revealing he’s a tourist.  Strange man in a strange land.  Little Jeremy remains in the backseat, playing with a Joe Biden action figure. 

“Hmm,” Slade thinks.  He steps toward the cab, behind the parents.  He shuts the back door and taps the hood of the cab.  The cab takes off, kid in the back.  Slade returns to his original position.

“Got it!  Here ya go, babe...you two have a good time and I’ll call you when my tour is over.”

He leans in, hugging and kissing his wife.  She turns to leave.  ‘OH MY GOD!!’

He spins around, ‘What?!’

“Jeremy!  He’s gone!”  The frantic parents look around, terrified.  Panicked, they rush into the street, cars coming to a screeching stop to avoid hitting them.  Chaos ensues. 

Durant walks up the steps, toward the entrance.  A security guard is there to greet him.  “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for the tour.”

“Name,” the guard pulls out an electronic tablet.

Slade thinks.  He takes an educated guess, “Jeremy.”

The guard scrolls through his list.  Slade gets ready to defend himself.  “Yep, here you are.  Head on in to the front desk and our receptionist will give you your credentials.  From there your tour guide will be notified to meet you in the lobby.”

“Thanks.”

---

So what happened with the kid?

Huh?  What do you mean?

The kid in the cab.

I..does it matter?  The story isn’t about the kid.  It was a plot device.  What matters is what Slade has in store for the FBI and one of their most famous alums.  A plan so devious it’ll make you vomit.

I don’t want to vomit and I’m still kinda concerned about that kid.

So, Slade manipulates his way into the tour and…

---

~We cut back to Slade Durant’s intrusion into FBI headquarters.  A female team member is guiding him through a tour of what the bureau elects the public to view.  Lots of walls lined with plaques and pictures and facts.  All of which pass Slade by without making much of an impact.  His narrow, focused eyes seek one person and one person only~

“So, as you can see, the FBI has spearheaded many, many operations that were successful in keeping America safe.”

“Right.”

~The woman seems a little perturbed over Durant’s indifference.  These tours aren’t easy to get and most people who do attain them are super engaged and inquisitive.  But not Slade.  He might as well be on an elementary school field trip to the fuckin planetarium~

“Sir, is there a particular piece of history you’re interested in?  A specific department I can give you a tour of?”

Slade’s eyes narrow as though he’s waited all afternoon for this question, “William J. Flynn.”

~She doesn’t say it but the expression on her face screams, ‘Who?’  Reaching for her phone, she does a quick search~

“Oh, yes, Director of the Bureau of Investigation from 1919 to 1921.  A very instrumental figure, indeed,” her tone isn’t nearly as convicted as the words they season.  With Slade’s piercing gaze eating away at her composure, she scrolls and reads as fast as she can to find something of substance. 

“Wait, here we go...ah yes, of course,” a bit of relief sedating the tension, “according to our records (and definitely not Wikipedia) ‘Flynn took charge of hunting down the bombers and assigned "an ambitious Justice Department clerk by the name of J. Edgar Hoover" to monitor suspected radicals.’”

Slade thinks.

The woman scrolls.  There really isn’t much else to report.  The guy was, evidently the Chester A. Arthur of Bureau of Investigation Directors.  Kinda like his namesake when compared to most of the XWF Universal champions.

“So, you’re telling me he found J. Edgar Hoover and gave him his start?”

That’s not at all what she said but, to be honest, she’s feeling a little uneasy the longer she’s around Slade Durant and that salad she has waiting in the break room is sounding better and better, “Um, yes...I think that’s one way you could put it.”

Our view spins around the woman.  We get a shot over her shoulder at Slade.  His eyes narrow even further as we slowly zoom in.  His face consumes our camera shot until all we can see is an extreme close-up of his evil eyes, “Perfect.”

---

Okay so what does that mean, exactly?

Oh, you only wish you knew.  Then you could have prevented Slade from committing one of the most heinous acts in human history.

More heinous than what happened to that kid?

Why do you keep bringing the kid up?

He literally sent a cab away with a kid in the back.  Did the parents get to the kid or what?

Look, you guys need to focus on what matters and that’s Slade doing the unthinkable.  The unimaginable.  And that’s where this story is headed...so could you please just let me finish?

Alright, fine, but I’m gonna want some closure on this kid.

FORGET ABOUT THE KID

Wow, Slade Durant fans are apparently sensitive.

I won’t dignify that comment with a rebuttal...anyway, back to the story.  So, Slade left the FBI headquarters and returned to his room at the Hilton with evil deeds on his mind.

---

~It’s not exactly a Hilton.  It’s a Tru by Hilton.  If you’ve stayed in one, you know.  Slade is crammed into his very tiny, very cheap room.  He manages to fit his muscular, wrestler sized frame into the tiny chair at the minuscule desk so he can take some notes~

“William J. Flynn...hehehe,” he pauses, letting loose his evil chuckle, “your family history has been hidden for too long.  Your dirty deeds shielded to protect your lineage.  Your family enjoying the false sense of superiority that being a descendant of William J. Flynn has provided all these years.”

~We think he might be overestimating what it means to be a descendant of William J. Flynn but whatever.  Slade is rolling~

“It isn’t just about the wrestling.  It’s about destruction.  Ruining the lives of my opponents so that they rue the day they ever crossed paths with the dreaded Slade Durant.  And, rest assured, that day is coming for the Flynn dynasty.”

~Durant unearths a photo of a man in his mid-30s.  Clean cut, happy.  Living the American dream.  Underneath the photo we see the name ‘Flynn’~

“You’re time is at an end, Flynn dynasty.  And for that, you can thank Slade Durant...hehehe...hahaha...muahahahaha!”  Slade’s maniacal laugh rattles his tiny room.

We pull out of the room, staring at the window, one of the few still lit on this late, DC evening.  Slade’s laugh echoing into the sky.  His evil silhouette contrasted against the bright, illuminated background.

“Muahahahaha!!!”

---

Sooo...what’s he going to do?

That, my friends, will have to wait for another time.

Are you serious?  What about the kid?

Focus on what’s important, the destruction of the Flynn dynasty.

No, I’m focused on the safety of a young child.

Well, go watch Sound of Freedom.  Because the story you’ve been told doesn’t have a happy ending.  Nothing involving Slade Durant does.  The man is hellbent on destruction via the evilest of machinations.  He’s already started the process with the Flynn dynasty.  A deed so disgusting that the very core of that family has already begun to rot.

Wait, is the kid a member of the Flynn family?  If so, that kinda makes sense.

THE KID MEANS NOTHING

Every child means something.

The only thing with meaning at this very moment is Slade’s desire.  His desire to ruin the Flynn dynasty.  It’s already underway.  Nails driven into the Durant-fashioned coffin.  A coffin tailor-made for one Mark Flynn.  He may not realize it yet, but he’s already been placed within it’s suffocating confines.  Enough light to provide hope.  Hope that will ultimately lead to psychological devastation.

Alright, we’ll revisit the kid some other time.  You seem pretty confident that some old guy who hasn’t wrestled in twenty years is going to just waltz in and defeat, not just a former Universal Champion, but the current X-Treme Champion.  We’re talking about XWF, by the way.  It’s not like this is some shitty thunder and lightning promotion that locks up its message board because somebody said a curse word.

You clearly don’t know the dreaded Slade Durant.  Mark Flynn is like so many other champions feasting on the insecurities and inabilities of the average pro wrestler.  A blue shark enjoying his time as the apex predator until a Great White makes it’s entrance.  Slade Durant is that great white and he’s going to prove it at Warfare by finishing off the Flynn dynasty once and for all.

Yea, I just don’t see that happening.

Again, you clearly don’t know the dreaded Slade Durant.

Listen, caller, you mind giving us your name, because -

Click.