Wednesday, April 15th, 2015
Interstate 95 North Bound
Somewhere around Maine

Muddy and his daughter Dolly have been on the road now for nearly two hours in search of Morbidonia, which is the location of the baby sitter that Kirk MacClay suggested would be a great fit for looking after Dolly…
Muddy is driving a rental Ford F150, and isn’t happy about it either, he was extremely adamant about renting a Chevy, but unfortunately Enterprise was fresh out.

“Fuckin’ piece of shit”

Muddy yells overtop of the blaring radio as he slaps the GPS on his dashboard,

“Dolly ya’ know what GPS stands fer’? Goddamned piece of shit… Is there a damned atlas in the glove box?”

Dolly has her eyes closed and isn’t paying attention to her father as she atrociously belts out the lyrics to ‘Wrecking Ball’ overtop of the already horrendous cadence of Miley Cyrus blasting from the speakers. Muddy has to raise his voice to talk,

“Honey…Ya’ know I love ya’ and all baby doll, but goodness gracious. Ya’ sound like ah’ dyin’ cow ina’ hail storm!”

“WHAT?!?”

“I SAID… YAH’ SOUND LIKE POOR OL’ BLUE BELL BETSY DONE TORN HER UTTER!!!”

“HUH?!?”

Muddy turns down the radio,

“Good Lord Dolly, aint ah’ reason in the world ta’ have that shit ah’ blarin’ like that there… if it aint CCR, Lynard Skynard, Queen, AC/DC, Metallica, 38 Speci…”

“Okay, okay… I get it!”

“Poor ol’ Billy Ray Cyrus, I’d be so damned ashamed ta’ see my little girl out there on stage flappin her ass around like ol’ weeble-wobble lookin’ like ah’ damned rubber chicken. That girl got the No-ass’a’tall’ syn-drome.”

“Stop it daddy, Miley is an artist…”

“Yeah, she suuuuurrrreeee is…”

Ahead in the distance Muddy sees a strange sign that looks hand written:


“We’re ah’ getting’ close baby…”

“I don’t understand why I can’t just stay backstage durin’ yer’ matches daddy…”

“Baby I just can’t risk it… aint yah’ seen them creepy fucks that stay ah’ roamin’ back there?”

Muddy and Dolly roll into Morbidonia, which looks like Tombstone, there’s not a soul in sight… boarded up and burned down houses fill the streets, and In the distance up on a hill of sorts sits a creepy mansion.

“Boy, oh boy, this here place is deader than ah’ mackerel… I don’t know about you Dolly but it’s ah’ given me the heebie-jeebies.”

The two pull up in front of the mansion, Dolly hides behind her dad as he walks up to the door, grabbing the knocker and slamming it a few times…

BANG…BANG…BANG

Suddenly the door rips open, Muddy jumps back, wrapping his arms behind him and grabbing Dolly as he’s terrified by the ghastly sight of none other than…



MORBID ANGEL! Who is oddly only wearing a pair of Go-Go Shorts…

“What in the fuck is this? I’ve already told you Scout fucks a dozen times, we don’t want any!!!”

Muddy composes himself and walks a bit closer to the door, but as he does, Morbid seems ready to lunge at his throat, causing Muddy to jump back again. Dolly is peering around her father’s back, Morbid makes eye contact with her, causing her to hide her face again

Muddy begins to speak, shaking like a dog shitting bones,

“No... no Morbid… I mean Mr. Angel Sir. I’mma’ HUGE, HUGE fan! Bu…bu…but actually I was ah’ sent by Mr. Ki..Kirk…”

“OUT WITH IT DAMNIT!”

“Kirk MacClay se…sent me, said he ah’ though you’d be interested in ah’ baby-sittin’ my daughter Dolly fer’ me while I was ah’ rasslin’”

“MacClay? That fucking slimball… NOT INTERESTED!”

Morbid goes to slam his door, but Muddy stops him,

“Mr. Angel Sir, I can pay yah’ round’ ah’ thousand smackers ah’ week…”

“Look around you fool… does it really look like I need your puny little paychecks?”

Morbid goes to shut the door again,

“WAIT! WAIT! I got yall tickets ta’ see Miley Cyrus ta’night!”

Morbid stops, first his eye brow confusedly furrowing, then his eyes widening… Dolly jumps out from behind her dad and looks at him,

“REALLY?!? DADDY YER’ THE BEST!”

Muddy pulls two tickets out of his back pocket, holding them up to Morbid and Dolly,

“Yer darn tootin’ I did… front row seats at TD Garden Arena, ta’night…”

Morbid looks at the tickets, and for a moment almost seems like his eyes are welling up,

“Umm er… I’ve never heard of that, I don’t know what that is…”

Seems as he clearly has though…Dolly runs up to Morbid and grabs his leg,

“Oh please, oh please, oh please Mister Morbid… it’ll be all types of fun and I know darn well that daddy won’t take me.”

Morbid reaches out for the tickets and slowly puts his arm around Dolly’s shoulder, Muddy grins and hands the tickets to Morbid, pulling a pint of Ol’ Grand Dad out from his back pocket and taking a big swig,

“Right on… Right… on”

4 Hours Later
Muddy’s Hotel Suite
…Back In Boston…

A sweaty Muddy walks up to his hotel door, having just gotten done putting in a nice workout in the XWF training facility, on the other side he hears some giggling and faint conversation,

“Oh Morby! I think yer’ hair looks great like that…”

“But what if Miley sees me, and doesn’t want to bring me on stage because I’m ugly?”

“Morby, yer’ the most beautiful Demi-God Man thing there ever was…”

Muddy inaudibly mouths the words ‘What the fuck?’, just before bursting through the door. His eyes widen and jaw drops as his duffel bag falls from his hand.

“Look Daddy! Morby found this new nail polish color, it’s called Lamb’s Blood!”

Dolly is holding up the bottle of nail polish sitting in a chair with her leg stretched out while Morbid Angel is painting her toe nails… his hair has been horrendously braided.

“I’mma’ do Morby’s nails next, then he’s gunna’ braid my hair just like I done his. Daddy you found me the best babby-sitter ever!!!”

The aghast leaves Muddy’s face as he smiles a bit and walks over to the dorm fridge and grabs a Miller HighLife out…

“Well you two better hustle! The show starts in about an hour! I’mma’ goin’ down to this here brothel I seen down the road.”

“BYE DADDY!”

“BYE MR. WATERS!!!”

The two begin to giggle as Muddy Walks out of the hotel room… he hears ‘Wrecking Ball’ come on their CD player, as Morbid and Dolly begin singing loudly over top of Miley. Muddy raises his arm up in victory, chugging his beer while walking down the hallway of the hotel.

Thursday, April 16th, 2015
TD Garden Arena
Boston, Massachusetts
…During a live XWF House Show…

The scene opens to Muddy Waters standing in the ring and leaning up against the ropes nearest to the commentator booth. He’s wearing a dirty pair of jeans with a camouflage John Deere shirt tucked in and Kentucky Wildcats baseball cap. He just stands there for a moment, a little smirk on his face as he’s sulking up the roars from the audience, he raises the microphone up and begins to speak:

Folks… My name is…

“MUDDY WATERS!!!”

The smarky crowd roars along as Muddy introduces his name,

...yer damn straight...and fer' those of you who don’t know me, I’m the most bonafide, baddest ass kickin’ machine, beer guzzlin’ bastard they’ ever was.

Now Muddy Waters knew it was only gunna’ be a matter of time fore’ I heard back from that:

Jug-eared…
Chinless, stomach eatin’…
Mr. Ed’s mouth look alikin’…
Tea taxin’…
Free medicine ah’ givin’,
Royal family worshipin’…
British Bullshitin’…
Wishin’ I’s Amurican…
Named Karl Cross…

…and I’ll be damned if the stupid son ova’ bitch didn’t do exactly what ol’ Muddy Waters told ya’ he was ah’ gunna’ do. He stood there blabbin’ in some camera, bout damn near puttin’ Muddy Waters ta’ sleep, remindin’ us all just how damn smart and amazin’ he thinks he is, runnin' off some list of nobodies who he's done beat, I guess pretendin' like he's killed em'...what's this like four or five promos ina' row now that ya' done mentioned beatin' at' sack wearin sissy Dylan George?
I mean Karl for the love of God who saved yer’ damn Queeny, switch it up just ah' little bit will yah?

As I said… we’ve all sat here and ah listened to yah’ fer’ weeks now goin’ on and on, puttin’ us ta’ sleep like a damned British couple sittin’ at ah’ dinner table. We get it Karl, yer’ all that and a bag of Chilly-Cheese Frito-Lay, can’t ah’ motherfucker walking under the sun and moon even deserve to be in the ring wit’cha’, and yous’ so damned smart ya’ may as well designed the human brain yer’self…

What amazed Muddy the most is just how damned desperate ya’ got Karl… Callin’ Muddy Waters a fake because I used a word like ‘adversity’? and cause Muddy Waters knowd’ who that bone headed former Prime Minster of England was who’s useless ass troops he sent over ta’ Iraq ta’ help fight off Saddam with Bush’s boys, were too chicken shit and webbed footed from all the rain you dumb fuckers get up there that they showed their lily asses and ran back home? Just how fuckin’ sheltered are you people?

My God, I know ya’ never see the daylight, and yer’ stuck on some damn island up there… but Karl as smart as ya’ are I figured you’d at least realize what year this is…Pike Co. been getting’ fully functioning cable programming since at least 1989, that Bill O’ Riley on Fox News is one smart son ova’ bitch ya’ know? Muddy lernt' a lot from that there programmin'. You orta’ listen to him talk sometime and you’ll hear exactly whats wrong with yer’ country and yer’ Satanist lovin' socialistical-izn' ways...

Muddy Waters figured that a man with such ah’ beautiful mind who thinks he’s so goddamned smart would realize that school houses have been ah’ Feder-rally mandatory regulation in all Amurican’ counties since 1984, but see there, that there’s the great difference between the U.S.A and all the rest of the world, which I like ta’ call the U.S.AINT… you fuckers can’t even begin to wrap yer’ minds around just how social-lizably advanced we are.

So while yah’ sit there runnin’ yer’ dumbass mouth about Muddy Waters bein’ ah’ fake, ya' best believe me boy, aint nothin’ fake bout Muddy Waters a’tall… Fer’ starters, I aint never claimed ta’ be somethin’ I’m not, so when ya’ sittin there sayin’:

“Ooohh he’s a yokel inbred, and he knows a few big words and had history class in school!!! Whaaaa whaaaa whaaaa!!! He’s ah’ fake!”

Soundin' like yer' runnin' and ah' tattel tellin' on ol' Muddy Waters to the Principle of Who Gives ah' Rat's Ass High...

Fer’ one Muddy Waters aint gotta' sister to be inbred with... and after 4th cousins it don't count as family anyhow. So yer’ crumpet eatin’ ass can say whatever in the hell ya’ want, but thems’ yer’ words, not mine, and fer’ two, I’m again just shocked at how low ya’ done stooped, how nervous actin’ ya’ seam. Normally ah badass like Karl Cross claims ta' be aint gotta’ go makin’ up ah’ bunch bullshit because they done got their backs put up on the barn burner... ah' real man just fights back.

But yer' not ah' man a'tall Karl, yer' just a whinin' ass has been scrub who thinks the resur-mer-rection of his failed career in the XWF is gunna' continue with ah' win over Muddy Waters… Well Coach Waters is gunna' have ta' break out the sniffin' salt and bring ya' back to reality Karl, there's a damn good chance this little hot-streak yer' ridin' ends on Monday, so Muddy Waters suggest yah' wake the fuck up, clean the shit outta' yer' ears and listen fer' once in yer' stupid little life.

Yah' wanna' come here, ta' this great country, the Uuuuunited States of Amurica' and rag on ol' Lady Liberty, and all our great heritage? You aint but ah' stupid fuck Karl, ya' see this here country was founded on freedoms from religious o-pression from yer' damned Kings… and here you are, in the greatest country on Earth, takin' jabs at our way of livin' like the good God fearin' people we is', when it's us, it's rasslin' fans like Muddy Waters, and like all these people in this buildin' who give yer' ass an opportunity ta' make a livin' doin' somethin' yah' love.

The crowd goes into a frenzy,

“U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!”

There aint' such ah thing as ah' British badass, cept' fer in them awful ass Jason Stathem movies- you aint no different Karl! Yer' a fuckin actor… A goddamned sham!

So go on, watch my promo if ya' want…

Tell yer'self yer' gunna' do better next time, and that there aint ah chance in hell that Muddy Waters is gunna' win…

But next time when ya' decide ta' try and play Sherlock Holmes, wearin' some goofy ass plaid hat, walkin' round' puffin on yer' wood pipe like it's Churchill's cock, watchin Muddy Waters' promo with a big ass magnifyin' glass cause yer' gunna' 'expose my secret', or 'blow my cover';
Muddy first wants ya' to think about just how desperate and stupid ya' sound, then I want you to grab ya' ah' couple pints of wine, or meade or whatever in the hell you pansy asses drink so you can drown yer sorrows as reality starts to set in, then I want you to ask Watson to try and dig ah' little deeper fer' that bullshit yer' searchin' for…

Then let Muddy know if yah' find somethin' worth yer' while, in the meantime Imma' be up here, in reality, bangin' yer' 'mum' you arrogant piece of shit.


The scene fades as the fans continue chanting:

“U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!”