Madison ran the card rapidly up and down through the reader, and it elicited an angry *meep* of denial. Swaying drunkenly on her feet she took another hefty pull from the wine bottle in her free hand.

Fuggin’ cocksucker….

She went to run the card through the reader again, with a bit more ire this time, when Dominick Strife took a break from his lookout duties and stepped in.

You want me to try? I’m a BIT more sober than…

But this time, the card reader sounded an affirmative beep conjoined by a green light. The door opened with a futuristic pneumatic sounding whoosh.

…nevermind.

Hurry up and get inside! One of those creepy little….*urp*....curry smelling turds is gonna catch us.

Wow. Okay...

But Madison pays the admonishment no heed. She grabs Dom by the front of his shirt and drags him across the threshold. The door snaps shut behind them, leaving them in a darkened chamber with nought but the glow emanating from the SEERS machine to guide them. Dom casts one glance through the small window in the door for good measure to ensure they weren’t followed before turning his attention back to Madison. No sooner does he do that however than does he feel Madison’s hands grasping his pectorals.

Hold on, I wanna feel again….

Yeahhhhh… Dom grabs Madison’s limbs by the wrists and redeposits her hands at her sides. Let’s keep these to ourselves.

They’re just pretty fuckin’ impressive is all. Madison turns away from Dom and goes to put her wine on a nearby table. But she overshoots the surface by a couple inches and drops it on the floor instead. Dom cringes as the sound of glass shattering is akin to a pound of TNT exploding in the silence. But Madison seems to pay it no mind. Instead, she goes to the SEERS machine and caresses it lovingly.

So, what’s the big deal? Dom whispers, stepping into the machine’s glow. What is this? Steve Jobs' first computer or somethin?

Talk to it.

Hey Alexa-

No, kid. Not like that. You’re supposed to ask it for something.

Ask it for what?

Madison casts her arms out extravagantly. Damn near anything, Dommy. Ask it whatever you want!

Anything?

Well…urp…almost. Just type in a question and this fucker will analyze all available forms of data it has to give you an answer.

Huh. Dom mused as he took another step closer to the machine. So like ChatGPT then.

It’s fucking SEERS you idi- Madison bites her lip, takes a deep breath, and recenters her chi. It’s NOT JUST an AI, it’s so much more than that. Have you ever seen Aladdin?

When I was a kid, maybe.

So, like, yesterday. Cool cool. Pretend it’s a… Madison burped. It’s a genie that can grant you any magical wish that you want.

Like blue Will Smith?

Madison pinches the bridge of her nose.

You know, there’s only so much of this I can take. It’s Robin Williams or it’s nothing.

Right. Got it. Robin Williams.

Dom turns back toward the machine.

Uhm, hi Mr. Williams. It’s me, Dom. I’m sorry, but Maddie the Baddie here wants me to make a wish on you or something, hopefully before Dolly shows up. So like uhm, here it goes.

Madison, facepalming the entire time, picks up the keyboard and hands it to Dom directly.

TYPE. IT. IN.

Oooh, okay. Dom replies nervously. He looks down at the antiquated board of plastic keys in his grasp. Can I wish for a touchscreen?

JUST WISH!!!

Okay okay… Dom looks around pensively. He’d do anything as long as Madison would pipe down so they could avoid getting caught. With the keyboard at crux of his elbow, he begins to type one key at a time.

It’s not doing anyth-

You gotta press enter, pecboy.

Oh. Right. *click* There.

Suddenly, the SEERS machine begins whirling to life, buzzing and glowing, making trillions upon trillions of precise calculations by the nanosecond until finally, it dings like a toaster.

Uhm, I think it’s done?

Madison shoots Dom a sidelong glance. So, what did you ask it?

Is that really any of your business?

She gestures towards the SEERS. You know, I can just look it up.

I wish you would have told me that. Dom sighs. Alright. I kinda…sorta…maybe….asked how I can get Isla to... you know... like me…

Oh.

Yeah, dumb wish, huh? You may laugh now.

Madison shakes her head. Laugh at you? Why? Everybody has the right to a good shag. Go get you some young padawan.

Dom looks surprised. Wow. Really? No raging bitchmode this time?

I’m not a turbo bitch all the time. Just most of the time. Madison looks at the display on the SEERS. So you wanna know what it said?

Well, yeah!

Then you’re gonna have to read this shit cause I’m seein' double.

Dom walks over to the display and reads the screen. His lips turn down into a frown. I don’t know what this means.

What’s it say?

It just says: “Nothing”

…the fuck?

Dom looks back at Madison with consternation. So, what? Does that mean there’s nothing I can do to get Isla to like me?

Madison holds up a finger and smiles. Or! It means she already does so you don’t have to do anything.

Huh. Dom’s smile recovers. I didn’t think of it that way. Thanks Maddie, I-

So take that PAWG to pound town, bitch! Madison belches again.

Aaaaand she’s back. Dom shakes his head. So, anyway, we gonna leave now? Or ya gonna pick the worst possible time to transition to promo-

Of course! Madison turns to the camera. Suck my dick, Thunder Knuckles! I bet you listen to Imagine Dragons.

Dominick waits for Madison to continue but realizes nothing else is coming.

Riveting.

Yeah. I’m too drunk for this shit. Then, to the SEERS machine. Hey SEERS! AI mode activate! Cut a promo on Them No Good Bastards!

Suddenly, a hologram of Madison appears from the machine.

Whoa…hey, wait, you said this thing wasn’t voice activated?

Yeah, I was just fuckin’ with you. The SEERS has your back, Dommy. I’m gonna go sit down somewhere and try not to puke.

With that, the real Madison walks off camera and the holographic AI Madison turns to face it.

Blockbuster.
Alta Vista
Napster
Radio Shack
Oldsmobile
Them No Good Bastards

What do they all have in common?

They’re all dead brands.

Oh quit your caterwauling Bobby. You yourself have made the Bastards’ status crystal clear as you rush off to fight your insipid revolution with Autism Supreme and that Jism guy. And honestly, I can’t really blame you Bobby. After all, Thunder Knuckles bailed on you as soon as the shine fell off his Universal title reign.

Isn’t that right, TK? You’ve been a ghost since your mercifully short Universal Championship run ended back in late 2023. Which says a metric shit ton about you. Nothing surprising though. Because who of any of us is shocked that as soon as TK fell from grace his lazy ass would decide to accumulate ring rust and descend to the fan festival circuit, coping feels of fat chicks  posing for overpriced pictures and autographs as your paunch grows in lock step with your wallet.

In short, Thunder Knuckles, you took the easy way out. You dipped out of the grind and rested on your laurels. All the while yours truly made a grand return and busted her ass taking over the very division that you and Bobby once made home.

Yeah, mmmm hmmmm, dead brand is dead.

And that’s why I think this match is more than just a coincidence, more than just a byproduct of the misfiring neurons that comport Bashmaster’s addled brain. I think that, at least in this instance, management’s aim was crystal clear.

Bitches, this is nothing less than a passing of the torch.

I mean, it could not be more obvious! 

You’re absolutely right, AI Maddie. I don’t know what an Alta Vista is, but I’ll take your word for it.

You know, I’m always up for a challenge. Literally, anything the Big BM can dump on me, ya know? “You don’t get far on complaints,” is what Mister Stars says. But seriously though, winning the Bashmaster Classic and being the first-ever Anarchy Tag champs? That’s worth getting a little down and dirty.

So why would I, The Natural Born Thriller, The Star of Combat, DominiCk Strife, mind Bashy necroing Them Used to Be Something Bassholes back from the XWF shadow realm? I can see where the bossman is coming from, though: seems kind of legitimizing for our new titles to say that Them No Good Bastards couldn’t win ‘em. The words don’t mean much in 2025 but if you trippin’ on that good nostalgia they sure as hell sound pretty.

Actually, it’s kind of crazeballs. A lot of old heads tryna turn back time. Forget TNGB, they’re just a small, loud portion of what I like to call the “Ex-WF”.

Professor, it don’t take a bachelors degree in chemistry to tell you and Tubby Tits McGee that all the science in the world can’t turn back time. Y’all out here lookin’ like Harroldson Ford searchin’ for the dial of forgotten destiny. Well, that’s too bad. Mixin’ vinegar and baking soda made a cool science fair volcano back in the day. But tell me, Robbie Nye the revolution sock puppet guy, what happens when you let a Thunder Knuckle sit on his feelin’ sorry ass out in the rain for too long?

Rust, man. And it’s a bitch, too. I’m sure ya got all the right chemicals to remove it, but TK ain’t never gonna be the same again. WD-40 and the tears of Ned Kaye might soothe the ache of creaking joints, but something will always be missing. Try as they might, the Ex-WF can’t bring this fed back to 1999, and even if y'all could, it’s not the advantage y’all think it is.

You were beaten back then, and you’ll be beaten now too.

Bobby, you flaming horrorsexual, you’re one good ol’ dick twist away from defeat. And TK is one ol’ dick twist away from thinking my hand is Bobby’s mouth before passing out happily in the center of the ring. But I will not be denied. It’s back to standing in line for government checks and food stamps for Them No Good Old Bums. Back to sharing ol’ war stories with James Raven and Sarah Lacklan and lamenting that Snow Job wasn’t on the schedule this year.

Memba Them No Good Bastards?

Memba when dey used to be so kewl?

Memba when dick and fart jokes were still in style?

But you don’t memba growing up, cause ya never did. Ya don’t memba being gone for two years, cause that ain’t a great look for fat Napoleon Dynamite. Ya don’t rememba putting down the bottle, and Doc certainly don’t memba how much he’s floundered recently. Bacchus, really? Ya lost to Emo Supreme?

Your last six months has been riding Adeyemi as your great black hope, and a win over Aurora and the Panth-peons.

THAT’S. IT.

Fuckin’ Dionysus has a win over Aurora, so what does that tell ya, smellypants? He gonna be your next partner when TK flakes again? Or are ya gonna go back to being Micheal Graves’ personal footstool? Allegedly?

Y’all hate what you don’t know, hate that Maddie and I got something that y’all can’t manufacture anymore. Teamwork that makes our dreams work, baby. One wish at a time. Because of the magical help of AI, at least before it gets banned.

Y’all know the name and it’s time ya put some respect on it. Madison Dyson. DominiCk Strife. The Young and the Restless. Or on second thought, Dyson and Dom is fine.

We ain’t no tamagachi. We ain’t no furby. We ain’t yesterday’s bastards, either.

We’re here to stay.