Thursday, November 6, 2014 – 7:00 am.

The ocean laps away at the pearl white sand beneath him, eroding it away, as a sapphire ribbon of perfect, tropical water pools in the impressions left by the balls of his feet and the smooth curve of his toes.

Next to him, an angel. Her hair cascades across bronzed shoulders, lifted elegantly in the barely noticeable breeze like feathers fluttering down from the sky.

The air is like a sepia toned photograph, burnt umber skies with the gentle hands of clouds lifting the glowing sun from its slumber and allowing it to fly.

Her words are carried away on a gust of wind from somewhere across the sea. Salty air fills his nose as he watches her mouth form words he can’t hear, smiling as strands of blonde stretch across her beaming face.

These are the moments, he thinks, when perfection has found him. Found him, he thinks, because when it is he who is actively seeking perfection it is as elusive as the moon in the middle of the day.

He knows, then, that the lucid dream of happiness settles onto him like a warm blanket onto the sleeping body of a child, only when he stops searching far away and looks directly in front of him.

So he looks. He sees his hand interlocked with the hand of a woman whose heart beats along with his, whose lips part for his, whose very breath is passed back and forth between them.

Roxy’s purple eye shadow is the same shade as her bathing suit top as it rises and falls like ocean swells, the same as her sarong which ripples in the air like a wave.

The sky meets the sea in her eyes, and she smiles at him as the waves settle behind him. The sounds of rushing water bubbling hungrily into the wet sand all around them, and she laughs as he shakes his head to her, telling her he didn’t hear her.

They both remain silent, allowing the world around them say everything that needs to be said. Love. Peace. Life. Another day.

A beautiful dream.






((The alarm clock screams like a hungry magpie in the echo chamber of the hotel. “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane, sleeping lightly as it is out of a subconscious need to stay vigilant for his lover, snaps his body forward into a sitting position and slaps his hand down onto the top of the digital clock, silencing the cacophony. Loverboy groans and brings his palms to his face to rub away the sleep that clings to him like spiderwebs. After running his hands down the front of his muscular chest and warming his skin of the air conditioner’s deep chill, he rolls onto his hip and looks at the delicate form of Roxy Cotton, still deep asleep from the pain medication she’s been prescribed. He moves an errant strand of flaxen hair from between her heart shaped lips, caressing her cheek and letting his hand slide down her side and find a home on the curve of her waist. With a gentle rocking motion, he moves her body against the sheets, careful not to accidentally make contact with the bandages around her forearms. He whispers her name to rouse her.))

Roxy…

((The only response is a dreamy sigh, and a slight upturning of her mouth. Just enough to let him know she heard him, somewhere deep inside.))

Roxy, baby, let’s get up. We have to get your scrips filled.

Mmmm…

((She moans a little more audibly, playfully, trying to bury her face in the pillow and coquettishly shoving his hand off of her golden hip. Loverboy hooks a finger underneath the delicate purple lace of her panties and reaffirms his grip on her, shaking her slightly more urgently and smiling, knowing she is back with him in the land of the living.))

Don’t you try and play your games with me girl… get your fine ass out of bed.

Ten more minutes!

((She laughs at herself, the thought of him letting her keep getting “ten more minutes” for hours on end a delightful idea.))

Nope! Come on, sleepyhead, time to put those pretty feet on the floor and get the day started… look at all this sunshine!

((Loverboy stands and steps to the long curtains, parting them in an exaggerated stage motion, revealing a large window pane currently being assaulted by rain.))

Oh… no wonder we’re so sleepy…

It’s raining?

Apparently… weird, right? You ever notice it never seems like it rains in the morning?

What time is it, baby?

A little after seven. The pharmacy at Wal-Mart opens up at eight. We have a little time to get ready and maybe grab a bite to eat before hitting them up and getting your meds before we start to get ready to go to New Jersey.

I’m not hungry…

You’re never hungry. You need to eat, babe! You think I got this bangin' body and tight muscles skipping breakfast? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, dude!

I know, I know… can we go to IHOP?

Rootie tootie fresh and fruity? Hell yeah we can go to IHOP! You go get your face on and we can go. Let me just check and see how many likes I got on my awesome Facebook status last night…

((Loverboy snaps open his laptop and loads up the screen. After scrolling for a few seconds he gets an annoyed look on his face.))

Aw, man! This is total bullshit…





What the fuck, even Morbid got likes when I didn’t? I thought nobody liked that dude but me?




((Roxy steps out from the bathroom while pinning an earring through her left lobe. She smiles and fake runs over to the spot Loverboy is sitting in.))

Oh, baby, don’t get sad… maybe the network is down? Check and see if you can load the status I just did!





God damn it, that’s cheating Roxy!


((Loverboy jumps up from his chair and chases Roxy into the bathroom as she squeals with delight.))






Two Hours Later

((Roxy and Loverboy strut up to the entrance of the local Wal-Mart holding hands. She, in her tight, form fitting minidress and high heels, is definitely the center of attention as always as they walk into the automatic double doors. The fact that the rain has increased and Roxy’s dress is bright white isn’t helping matters.))

Did you wear that on purpose, babe? I think you almost caused an accident in the parking lot…

Don’t you like it?

I love it! But so does everyone else, man… look at this guy!

((As the two walk into the store, the sad Wal-Mart entrance greeter is there to meet them. Instead of the usual geriatric employee with one foot in the door, this guy is looking kinda young. His name tag says his name is Zach.))

Zach: Welcome to Wal-Mart… holy shit! Eat my shitty ass!

((The guy’s eyeballs nearly pop out of his head and he covers his crotch with his hands to disguise the very sudden, very obvious boner he’s popped while watching Roxy’s ass wiggle back and forth. Roxy and Loverboy laugh as they walk by and head towards the pharmacy.))

He’s kind of a weird choice for a door greeter don’t you think, baby?

What, because he’s not 1,000 years old?

Well, yeah… he could have probably had a good job or even a career by now, you know?

He’s probably handicapped, babe. You know big companies like this have to hire a certain amount of and stuff so they can say they’re complying with EEOC laws and whatnot.

Aw, how sad…

Sad? Come on, dude, you totally just gave that poor special needs kid the thrill of a lifetime! I bet he’s never been that close to a real hottie before. Have you seen the sort of people Wal-Mart usually has in it? I only took us here because the pharmacy doesn’t give you a hassle like other places will, and we need to hit the road soon, you know?

I know, babe… I just feel bad for the poor guy. Zach from Wal-Mart will probably never, ever get to touch a girl for real.

We’ll give him an autograph or something, okay? He’ll be happy. I bet he’s a Theo Pryce fan, though. All are. Just a simple fact, man. Here, let’s get you covered up, people are gonna start jacking off in the aisles…

((Loverboy whips off his denim jacket with rhinestones and covers Roxy’s shoulders and upper torso with it. A few nearby guys groan and put their cell phones away, disappointed they didn’t snap a picture in time.))

Nothing I can do to stop that sweet, sweet ass from hypnotizing everyone in the building though…

Baby, you’re so sweet to me…

((The pair walk to the pharmacy, arm in arm.))






The following is a response to THIS promo from Theo Pryce. <====8 Click the link mofos


Hey there Theo!

I saw your little promo earlier about how you had to kill your dad and stuff back when you were wearing that cheap ninja suit. Dude what was that all about? You shot him just because he stuck his fingers in your sister? Man, if you had to shoot everyone who got their fingers wet from her you’d be out of bullets in a half an hour, and that’s without ever leaving the street you grew up on! You gotta let that shit go, man!

Hey, funny thing about that suit by the way… remember when I kicked your ass and pinned you to the mat at Relentless for these belts in the first place? I do. I totally bet you do too. Well, maybe not the ending. You were kinda asleep for that part. I can understand why you’d be so dead set on getting back at me now though, man. Losing to the loudmouthed rookie in, what, his third match? For titles too? Dude, that’s gotta piss you off, right? I mean, you had no way of knowing that you were getting in the ring against the best thing to happen to wrestling since the invention of the steel cage.

Speaking of… good job with your scheduling, dude. People were definitely right about you being a smart cookie. Some guys in the back said you probably lost a brain cell or two going through that whole “fake death” thing, or even when I concussed your scrawny ass back at the PPV, but I said nah, that Theo, he’s a smart one. I mean, you waited for me to have a match on Madness against another card carrying member of the Lingering Veteran’s Club, Griffin MacAlister, and then you pop up with a trios challenge for the same week! It’s brilliant, dude! Especially after Petey and Morbs got embarrassed by that Columbine kid Ghost Tank and whoever the hell his partner was.

The only problem is, you went and picked two guys who wrestle even LESS than you do as partners! Didn’t you learn anything from watching me plow through the other old timers around here, man? I mean, you were one of them, so I figured you’d have a clue. Samuels? Has he done anything in the last, what, six months? Year? The guy lost to Maverick. Maverick. Maverick, the guy who just got shit on by two dudes and had his name forcibly changed to Iceman. That guy. And McBride was in the same match as him, dude. John Samuels, the guy you keep calling a king, could beat EITHER Maverick OR Michael McBride. Think about that for a second, man, let it really marinate into that shitty hairdo you have.

And John Madison? Really? Dude… dude… come on. This guy hasn’t had a damn match since the Browns got their team back, man. At least that’s what it seems like to me. I’ve never seen the guy wrestle, but that might be because no one’s archived the old shit to Blu-Ray and I haven’t had a VCR in five years.

But hey, you’re the champ, right? You know what you’re doing. Thing about that is – why didn’t you just go ahead and put that belt on the line for us if you’re so damn sure of winning, dude? I mean, you can try and say all you want that I don’t deserve a shot at it, but we all know that isn’t true anyway. Hell, I’m the longest reigning champion in the XWF, other than Azrael and Kendall… but if you remember, I BEAT Azrael when I beat you! At the same event! Realistically, I should have had the tag straps along with the trios. And Morbid? He’s a former Uni champ himself. Longest reigning ever. Undefeated god-king of the XWF! He doesn’t deserve a crack at stripping that title from your skinny waist? What about Peter? He’s the king of the XWF until he damn well decides he doesn’t want to be anymore, he has a title shot in his back pocket AND he has a briefcase… well, a sort of briefcase. But none of us deserve that title shot, huh? Nice.

What the hell are you three calling yourselves again? The Three Kings? That’s cute, dude. What is that, like, a biblical thing? Are you gonna show up to Warfare carrying frankincense and myrrh? You’re gonna need a lot more than that to walk out of the ring next week under your own power, man.

You “three kings are only six days away from meeting the REAL kings of the XWF.

The monsters of rock…

The CHAMPIONS of VICTORY…


FOREVER.