Saturday, May 16th, 2015
Imperial Trailer Park
Pikeville, Kentucky

The scene opens to a beautifully sunny day in the peaceful, economically inept, pasture lands of Pikeville, Kentucky. It's here we find our redneck, alcoholic, painkiller addicted hero, Muddy Waters staring off into the educationally deprived trailer park he calls home. Our perception is panned only onto, what appears to be judging from the farmers tan and thick patch of randomly colored hair beneath his neck, Muddy's shirtless bust…

Expressionless, he stares out from some perch, his eyes intensely squinted, head motionless, as he gazes off… his bloodshot eyes aren't even blinking, seriously, it wouldn't be the least bit surprising if he started catching flies with his tongue.

One would obviously venture to believe that our possum poisoning protagonist is extremely focused, heading into what is surely the biggest week of his relatively young career. May 23rd, the Bad Medicine PPV, in Dallas, Texas… where they do everything big, Muddy is booked in not one, but two title matches.

Unheard of! Well accept for the fact that Loverboy, or 'Lovin Boys', as Muddy likes to call him, Vinnie Lane is booked in two as well, but those two don't count because for one Lane is a homosexual and two Muddy actually has a chance to win both of his matches. Is Muddy imagining just how monumental it'd be for him to win two title matches at his first PPV, in only his second month in the XWF?

“What's he doing?”

We see Steve Sayors standing alongside Muddy's tag partner, Scully, and one of the Mudster's local friends, Cleavon Ricky… yes, that's seriously his name. Cleavon is dressed in quite possibly the most stereotypical hillbilly getup of all time, oil stained overalls, a torn up straw hat, and that's it, no shoes, no shit, nothing.

“Muuuuuuddy Wha-ters ah' thankin' loooonnnnng-n-hard bout him's past right bout' now.”

Cleavon says,

“How can you tell that just by looking at him?”

“Muuuuuuddy isa' good ol' boy, got him's ah' one lane'd brain...”

“You meant a one track mind?”

Cleavon spits a nasty glob of chewing tobacco out from his toothless mouth, wiping away a bit of black liquidy ick from his bottom lip,

“Nope...”

“Scully! Are you excited to be finally teaming up with Muddy Waters? Are you excited for your chance to recapture that tag titles from the Brick Squad?”

“Scully gunna' beat his whorin' wife if she tries lookin' at Mr. Waters wit' his shirt off!”

Steve's face twists with anguish and confusion as Scully begins forcing an awkward Southern American twang over top of his heavy English accent,

“What's matter wit'cha'? Did Scull let ah' fart loose?”

“I'm at a loss for words...”

Steve responds,

“Muddy's ah' damn good man...”

“damn right...”

Cleavon adds,

They look up at our hero, who's still sitting there, starring out into some sorta' strange void… an oh so gone, but never forgotten memory ensues…

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ST. XAVIER: 17 PIKE CO. HIGH: 14 QTR: 4 TIME: 3:21

What's left of the stingy afternoon sun begins setting to the west over Cardinal Stadium in Downtown Louisville...the stadium lights over top of the grandstand kick on, illuminating the movie-like scene unfolding down on the field. A gentle dust of snow is caressing the brisk December air, whirling around the alcohol warmed fans in the stadium, and lushly falling onto the brown, cleat-worn turf.

Commentator 1: “TOUCHDOWN PIKE COUNTY!!!! A THREE YARD RUN ON FOURTH DOWN BY JERRY HARRIS, PUTS THE WAR EAGLES ON TOP OF THE HEAVILY FAVORED ST. X FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THIS GAME! PENDING THE EXTRA POINT THE WAR EAGLES WILL BE UP BY FOUR, UNDER FOUR MINUETS TO GO….”

The Pike Co. kicker sends the ball perfectly through the uprights...

ST. XAVIER: 17 PIKE CO. HIGH: 21 QTR: 4 TIME: 3:14

Commentator 2: “Yes indeed, this game is coming down to the wire! That touchdown drive by the War Eagles of course set up by that amazing defensive stand moments ago, that led to an interception by Pike County's All American, their hometown pride, Muddy Waters.”

Commentator 1: “Muddy Waters, what an amazing athlete, and the sky couldn't be brighter for this young man. Most recruiting outlets had him ranked as the third overall outside linebacker in the entire nation. Mr. Football in the state of Kentucky this year, who's received scholarship offers from all over.”

Commentator 2: “That's right, Michigan, Florida State, Southern California and Notre Dame to name a few… but it was just announced yesterday that Muddy has indeed signed his letter of intent to play for Coach Rich Brooks at the University of Kentucky.”

The Pike Co. High War Eagles are huddled up around their coach on the sideline, as the defensive unit is ready to take the field... and if they can hold off St. Xavier, the state's most prolific offense, one more time, then they will be the Kentucky State Champions. Pike County's soon to be retired head coach, Craig Foley is giving them his final words of drunken encouragement.

“Men there aint ah' many moments yer' gunna' find quite as splendid as this, in what will undoubtedly be yer' puny, pitiful, failure filled excuses of lives. After ta'night, each and erry'one of you will be remembered as one of two things… Champions, or Failures.

Now hell boys, we done hung in there fer' damn near sixty minuets, with the state's most excellent football program… we've took them out of their game, we've made them one dimensional, we have silenced their fans and our critics.

Three minuets, fourteen seconds men… that's the last thing I'm askin' of ya'. Just give yer' Ol' Coach Foley Three minuets and fourteen seconds of the exact same intensity, grit and courage you've shown this entire season and I promise, you will each be remembered forever as champions!”

The excited players break the huddle chanting:


“Waters! Get over here!”

The young Muddy Waters turns from the field and runs back over toward Coach Foley.

“Yea' Coach?”

“Ya' ready ta' win ah' state title son?

“Muddy aint been more readied fer' any'thang in him's whole life Coach!

A look of pinned up frustration grows on Coach Foley's face as he has both of his arms on Muddy's shoulder pads. The two are face to face, Coach Foley's breath reeking of whiskey...

“Damnit son… why ya' always do at' fer'?”

“Why does Muddy do what?”

“AT! AT THERE WITH THA' GODDAMNED THIRDPERSON SPEAKIN'!”

Muddy looks puzzled, he's unsure what speaking in third person meant. The coach calms down and exhales loudly through his nose, looking at the ground then back up at Muddy.

“Son… this here entire community is dependin' on ya'. I knowd' this game isa' team sport, but this here moment, this is all yer's. Bring at' trophy home boy… be their hero.”

Ehh, what's wrong with a sixty year old, alcoholic wash-up coach dumping a lifetimes worth of pressure on a seventeen year old's shoulder...pads? Coach Foley pulls Muddy close to him, sensually grasping both of his ass-cheeks… Muddy's awkward eyes tell the entire story. Foley lets him go and as Muddy runs off, he slaps him on the ass one more time for good measure.

In slow motion, our hero trots onto the field, to command his defense…snow spitting in his face, he can still hear the fans chanting:

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“WAR EAGLE!!!”

Muddy comes to back in present day, and notices Steve Sayors standing in front of him, wiping some of Muddy's spit from his face.

“That's lovely Muddy… but I had asked you what your thoughts were heading into your match against The Brick Squad at Bad Medicine...”

Muddy's face falls flat as he turns away from Steve Sayors, grabbing what appears to be a barbeque chicken tenderloin, eating it then sucking the sauce from his fingers. From beneath him he grabs a bottle of Ol' Gran Dad and looks up at Sayors just before taking a big swig. We can still only see Muddy's bust.

“Ya' wanna' knowd' Muddy's thoughts? Bout' tha' Prick Squad?”

Steve is shaking his head agreeably as Muddy looks out to Scully who's goofily waving and smiling at his new friend.

“It's plain and simple Steve… Muddy Waters and Scully gunna' be yer' bran' spankin' new Tag Team Champ-yons adder' Saturday night.

Muddy'll tell ya' one thang fer' sure, there aint been ah' too many in this here business he ever thought was an underservin' champ, but if there was ever two more underservin' ass clowns than Carson Waters and fuck FACE you'd be hard pressed ta' find em'.

Could someone explain' ta' ol' Muddy Waters what's so damn impressive bout' Tag Team Champs, who after winnin' tha' straps damn near ah month ago, don't book on any show...NOT ONE?!? Let's just fer'get bout' defendin' tha' titles cause we all know just how pathetic tha' tag division has been, hell even ol' Kirk MacGay tried fixin' ah' tag team show up just because these jerkoffs weren't doin' shit.

So while Muddy heard at' stupid cocksucker Flynn, runnin' his stupid fuckin' mouth earlier bout' how damn impressive tha' Brick Squad is, Muddy begs ta' differ. While these fuckin' idiots were off havin' some gay orgy party fer' tha' last month in celebration of their monumental win over ah' hard workin' Scully and ah' floppin' worthless Maverick, real workers like Muddy Waters been in at ring, workin theys' asses off cause at's what real men in this here industry do.

Fishin' fer' compliments isa' horrible personality trait Said:“Halfway through the month of May and still not a single defeat against the Brick Squad's collective record.”

At's ah' purdy damned impressive stat, cept' ta' Muddy Waters and tha' rest of tha' X-dubya'-F outside of tha' Brick Squad it aint mean shit. Know why? Cause since ya'll got lucky and won them belts back on tha' 22nd, aint ah' motherfucker from tha' Brick Squad outside of tha' wigger-jew Blingsteen had ah' match… and of ya'lls little undefeated record, Muddy's hard pressed ta' find anyone worthy of mentionin'. Hummm how bout's we take ah' look:

Brain Douglas? Who tha' fuck was that?

Nova Sin? Never heard of her…

John Black?

Hero Xtreme 7.9? At's ah' fuckin' joke…

Thunderbolt X?

Okay, this here is just getting' fuckin' comical now. Ya'll mean ta' tell Muddy Waters ya' seriously used at list of dickless jobbers as yer' shitty criteria ta' be nominated as Superstar, excuse Muddy, SUPERSTARS of tha' Month? Well, hell, Muddy fer'got, tha' only cocksuckers who voted fer' tha' Brick Squad, were members of tha' Brick Squad.

In one month, between five dipshits, yer' collective impressive win was one, over Peter Gilmour...PETER GILMOUR! Tha' man who aint won ah' real fuckin' match since Muddy was still usin' ah' fake I.D. ta' buy alcohol. Yer' ah' bunch of lazy, pansy ass wannabe superstars who don't show up to weekly shows like Madness and Warfare, because why? They's beneath ya'? All yall've done is just remind tha' world how fuckin' stupid ya' are…

Someone who aint' ah' checkin' theys' facts Said:They didn't force members to join and then betray those same members like The Black Hand did.

It aint ah' suprise ta' Muddy that this here dipshit aint gotta' clue bout' what he's ramblin' off at tha' cocksucker with. Fer' one tha' fucker has done fried up what few remainin' brain cells he had by smokin' all at mary-wana', and fer' two tha' dumbasses aint even been round' X-dubya'-F hardly ta' really know what's goin' on…

Yer' talkin' bout' Mav-Dick and Goat Fucker? Guess ya' didn't realize either that them two was tha' original members of tha' Black Hand, and wanted ta' build ah' stable… well that's kinda' built like tha' Brick Squad, tha' type of stable that racks up wins on worthless ass competition, much like at' list of yer' wins Muddy mentioned earlier. They couldn't handle tha' limelight, they like hidin' and duckin' matches too… just like you silly little . By tha' way, how's tha' other co-management ass kissers of tha' month? Henry and Dick Cheese? Lord knows damned well they aint been doin' shit either…

Tha' Brick Squad is'a big fuckin' joke. Worthless ass champ-yons too, fer' fuck sake, yer' so damned worthless that tha' X-dubya'-F website even spelled ol' Carson Palmer's name wrong on tha' champions listing:



It's ripe time them belts get put round' tha' waist of true fightin' champ-yons, true men who are here, week in and week out to defend them, and finally revitalize tha' tag team division. May 23rd, at' little party ya' been havin' in Blingsteen's mouth is cumin' to an end. Tha' love affair, well, tha' Brick Squad self-love affair is over. It's Muddy Waters, Scully and tha' Black Hand's time ta' shine. Thanks fer' keepin' them belts warm with yer' pussy heat boys, but yer' time as fill-in champs is done.

The interview ends as Steve is holding his nose now, almost in direct response to a muffled bubbling fart sound. A look of relief is swimming on Muddy's face as he lights a cigarette… the image pulls away and we find that Muddy has been sitting butt-naked this entire time on some ratty looking toilet on his front porch taking a dump. His radio sitting next to him blaring: Spirit In The Sky

He wipes his ass with a folded piece of newspaper, and then rips away the part with shit on it into the toilet, pulling the rest of it out and laying it by his feet. Sayors looks ready to vomit…
Muddy stands to his feet smiling at Steve, exposing to him some full frontal nudity… he wipes back a bit of sweat from his forehead and looks back out into the front yard.

Cleavon is tossing a stick to Scully who happily runs to retrieve it, tongue sagging from his mouth. Suddenly the sound of a van door opening and closing, the men turn toward the road and look, their mouths opening wide, Muddy's penis oddly becoming erect…

“What in the hell is she doing here?”

Steve asks as the scene fades,

...To be continued...