((Rain. Pouring rain. Sticky, humid, jungle rain. It pours from the sky in sheets, splattering the windshield of “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane’s rental car to the point that the efforts of the wipers are practically nullified.))

Loverboy: God damn… as if it wasn’t bullshit enough to have to drive on the communist side of the road…

((Without warning, a kea leaps in front of the car to swallow a giant weta just as a flash of lightning bolts across the night sky. Loverboy swerves but can’t avoid it and it smashes into the front of the car sending blood and feathers into the air around it., although he initially chalks it up to déjà vu, it soon becomes pretty obvious that he sees Todd in the back of Gator’s car on the side of the road just ahead of him.))

Loverboy: What the hell? This can’t be good…

((Loverboy rolls up to Gator’s car and gets out, leaving the engine running and the headlights trained on the window of the back seat. As Loverboy holds his Trios title belt over his head to block the rain, Todd shields his eyes from the light, but manages to open the door a crack despite his temporary blindness.))

T- Vinnie? Is that you?

Loverboy: Yeah dude, what are you doing? Where’s Gator?

T- I don’t know! Where did that big ugly bug go? Is it out there?

((Loverboy looks back at his car, still smeared with bloody feathers, then looks back to Todd.))

Loverboy: I, uh, must have scared it off, man. Hurry up and get in the car, dude, we’re gonna drown out here!

T- But we can’t just leave Gator! There’s Maori people in these jungles, Vinnie! Aren’t they cannibals?

Loverboy: Dude, that’s so racist. Anyway, we’ll leave the car here, if Gator comes back he can drive back. If not, I swear we’ll come and get him tomorrow first thing! Come on dude, the rain is fucking with my hair!

((Reluctantly, Todd gets all the way out of the car and heads over to Loverboy’s, looking back over his shoulder dolefully as he gets into the passenger seat.))

T- You promise we’ll come back right away tomorrow, Vinnie? You swear?

Loverboy: Of course, dude… Gator’s my friend, man! Now let’s get the hell out of here before we get eaten by Maoris!

T- HEY!

((Loverboy throws the car into reverse and spins back around the way he came, then guns the engine and tears off down the road.))





((“Loverboy” Vinnie Lane has had a long day. He wandered all over Auckland assuming it was the capital, and then was disappointed to learn that it wasn’t.))

Come on… come on…

((He visited a psychic who told him he was going to win at War Games, which he already knew, but it left him with more questions than answers. Would he pin Frodo? Pest? Would he even waste any effort on Scully or SWAT? Did Peter Gilmour really read War and Peace?))

God dammit… clear your mind, champ, clear your mind… Clean these pipes out and get to sleep...

((But he can’t. No matter how many times he shakes the images of whatever boring life events keep jumping in the way of his attempts at onanistic fantasy, they kept creeping back in.))

Think of titties… big titties… tan titties… fake titties… Asian tittes? No, no, those might be Thailand trannyboys… stick to good ol’ American silky milky white ones… Hmmm… maybe a little singing will take my mind where it needs to go…

((Then, of course, he got lost driving back to the mansion and ran across Todd, who told him what happened with Gator. The morning is coming way quicker than Loverboy is, and then he’ll have to start searching for his missing teammate in the jungles of the south island. Hurry up, Loverboy. You’ll be thinking of the match again soon.))

Oh beautifullll… for spacious skiessss… for amber waves of graaaaaain.

((No way, man. You’re not that much of a patriot to get off to – oh, what? Holy shit, that’s working?))

AMERRRRRICA, AMERRRRRICA… GOD SHED HIS GRACE ON THEEEEEEEEE….

((You go, man. Great job, things are definitely back on track! There go the toes curling, the pace is up, breathing is rapid. ))

FROM…. SEA… TO… SHI… NING… SEEEEEEEEAAAAAA!!!!!

((Aaaand the door flies open.))

T- Hi Vinnie? OMYGOD!
OMYGOD!
T- WHAT THE HELL?

((Loverboy managed to dive under the cheetah print sheets in time to contain the geyser of homeless children he’d just created before it could take Todd’s eye out, but he had no idea what the poor cameraman had seen. The little guy had already been through so much that day, Loverboy hoped he hadn’t made it worse, but also couldn’t help feeling frustrated by the sudden interruption.))

Loverboy: Todd, what the fuck are you doing in here, dude?

T- I-I-I-I-I-I-I Don’t know, man! I didn’t need to see that!

Loverboy: What did you see? WHAT DID YOU SEE!?!?

T- I didn’t! I meant, I didn’t see anything! I swear!

((The two calm down after the initial shock wears off, but Todd isn’t able to lift his eyes from the floor. Some things can never be unseen.))

T- Loverboy… er, Vinnie… I’m worried about Gator. I don’t really know anyone here, and I’m kinda scared to sleep alone. Plus Mastermind said you sent him a 14 year old and shemight still be here. I don't want to go to jail. Could I…

Loverboy: What? Are you god damn serious?

T- Please Vinnie? I’ll be really quiet, and –

Loverboy: Not about that, dude, the Mastermind thing! He said that? That chick was at least thirty! She had a mustache!

T- Well, he said she told him...

Loverboy: Dude, I don't care. That chick looked like you with a wig on.
HEY!
There's no way she wasn't lying about being that young. She either grew up next to a nuclear plant or she thought Mastermind was into the same shit Pest is and wanted to make him happy.

T- Okay, well, can I stay in here anyway? I won't hog the covers!

Loverboy: NO! No way you get in the same bed as me dude! I’m am ALL about pussy, and my bed is a one man show! I mean, I’m in my nighttime boxers, and you’re… what the hell are you wearing anyway?

((Todd looks down at his fuzzy pajamas with feet, then finally looks up at Loverboy for the first time since barging in.))

T- What? These are my Scott Pilgrim jammies. Look, I’ll just sleep at the end of the bed, okay? You owe me for leaving Gator out in the jungle!

Loverboy: Jesus… alright… alright, look, you can sleep at the foot of the bed, but I swear to god, if you come anywhere near me I’ll break you in half, dude.

T- Yeah, like you did at Love It…

Loverboy: What’d you say, dude?

T- Nothing! Nothing, I swear…

Loverboy: Just shut up, man. Turn off the light, we have to get up early.

((Todd shuts the door and switches off the light, then scampers to the bed and hops onto the foot of it. Todd turns around in a circle three times before finally lying down in a fetal position and closing his eyes. Loverboy pulls the sheets tight against himself and stares straight up at the ceiling.))

T- Goodnight, Vinnie! And… thanks!

Loverboy: Goodnight, dude.

((After a few minutes of quiet, Loverboy’s eyes flutter closed. Finally, he can rest for the night.))

T- Vinnie? Can you tell me a story?

Loverboy: Shit.

((And that’s how “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane ended up spending a night in New Zealand telling “Hot” Todd Moschitti the story of XWF War Games.))






So, do you shit for brains on Team Pest want to hear the bedtime story too?

Once upon a time, five little lined up in a row and got knocked the fuck out by a megastar named “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane. First was a little gutter punk whose only friend was a belt-shitting liar named Iceman, who only hung out with him so somebody’d think he was pretty. Oh, and little Scully sure did think he was pretty. He ran his chubby, cum-crusted fingers over Iceman’s abs every chance he got. Then one day his dreams came true – a gay prince with dicks on his head drafted him onto his team! He’d finally get to get all of his holes filled all at once without hiding his gonorrhea puss inside a homemade glory hole! He never got a chance to win for his team, or ever really, for that matter, but he did get to fulfill his fantasy of being used as a human fleshlight by four other men simultaneously. Then he got ignored in the corner all through War Games and pouted until the match was over. The end.

Oh, but it’s not really the end, is it mister “Big Dick Playa?” Makes sense, Gator’s a video game player, I’m a guitar player, and you’re a dick player. Do you do it more like a harp or a flute? You know what, never mind. Some mysteries don’t need to be solved. One thing that DOES beg for an answer, though, is WHY the fuck do you think you’re some sort of poetic messiah when you’re spitting out garbage like your daddy spit baby Simon’s very first cum bubble out after getting it snowballed to him by your aunt and uncle? I tell you what dude, if you were anywhere near as verbally formidable as you think you are then you’d be pretty fucking amazing, lucky for all of us that you’re just full of more shit than Pest’s t-backs. I’m pretty sure at this point you’re just going on and on and on endlessly either just to hear the sound of your own voice or to convince yourself you have a shot at War Games. Spoiler alert, dude: you don’t. There’s your one thing I got right this week, bitch-tits. Team Masters is gonna piss all over your parade, even though I know you and the other homos on your team will just open your mouths and love it.

Dude… again, all you keep saying in between prayers to heaven that I might be gay and fall for you is that I’m wrong about everything. Oh, you never bring up people who have no bearing on our match? People who have no bearing on anything at all? Gator brought them all up?

Simon Says Said:You really are the dumbest mother fucker in the federation. I pray for you if you ever have to step foot in the ring with Feder, the real Feder

Huh, weird. That sounds an awful lot like a little girl pruning up her fingers inside herself for the first time, so it must be your voice. Oh, but specifically you didn’t bring up your long lost boyfriend Scorpio?

Simon Says Said:or Scorpio.

Hmmmm, there’s that fucking noise again. Talk about Scorpio some more, or Leda, or Swagmire, or Samuels, or Barney Green… hell, talk about anyone you want to in order to take your simple little mind away from the fact that you’re just a few days away from getting your little chondrodystrophic face opened up and stuffed full of my foot. What else you got, chubby? Oh, what a coincidence, you didn’t like being called a fat ass so you got creative and… called me a fat ass. Hey man, I appreciate you holding on to my trading card long enough to check the stats on the back, but my 230 pounds is all twisted steel and sex appeal, dude. My BMI is perfect and I’m at a solid eight percent body fat. Didn’t they teach you that muscle is heavier than fat in gym class? Or did you just hide in the locker room to watch the other little boys change their pants? I actually do work out, dumbfuck, that’s why I know you’re a fat little shit who hasn’t seen his stubby dick since he was four feet tall. So, like, this morning possibly. Tell me, while you were flicking that exaggerated clit back and forth between your fingers were you thinking up that sweet line about my jacket? Is jerking off to shit you’ll never be able to fit into your morning routine? If so, how about starting with a magnum sized condom?

Hey, speaking of a disposable cum receptacle, what ever happened to “captain” Pest? Did he finally just give up trying to win anything, ever, or did he just get so overly excited at the prospect of nine other men in the same ring as him that his little heart gave out? And yeah, man, good catch, I misspoke about tagging in and out for the match. I gotta say though, you’d be way better off if you got to be one on one with… Zeke? No, McBride maybe? Mastermind? Fuck it, no, I’m wrong again – any one of us would stuff your head into the ground like a post hole digger but with more teeth. Exactly three more teeth. With all of us in there at once there’s no place for you to hide, dude. And at some point, even if you manage to keep kicking out like the fainting goat on PCP that you are, your two weaker links Scully and SWAT are gonna break. Too bad you can’t tag them out, huh?

I’m gonna go ahead and let you off easy tonight, Simon-Says-Scatplay. You’ve got enough to think about with all that losing you’ve got to do soon. I’ll check back in with you tomorrow after you try to choke your own foot further down your gag reflex missing throat.

Later, dude.