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The Engineer · (02-03-2018)

The folksy tune of Toby Keith's jingoistic ode to white patriotic milquetoast starts to play. The image before you starts on the painted feet of a woman, drifting slowly up a familiar looking gown before ending on the off-lime visage of a woman with a characteristic spiked crown. Why, it's Lady Liberty itself. Except it's not quite the original, it's Madison Dyson painted up and garbed to look a spitting image like that great American icon of open boarders and nationalistic integrity.

She holds the glowing torch up high above her head as Toby continues to extol the country's salt of the Earth virtues. The image closes in on the blazing torch, piercing the night sky until it,well, literally pierces it, setting the air ablaze so that the starlight sky is burned asunder to reveal a Bald Eagle holding an American flag. And just above that, the white bearded image of God himself, shooting a thumbs up.

**Voiceover**America. Land of the free. Home of the Brave. God's chosen country.

A shot of a grizzled American farmer looking proudly at his fields.

**Voiceover** Not everyone sees it that way though. But it's ok. Its not illegal to be wrong. Or

.

An assembly line worker raises his protective mask up, revealing a broad smile beneath.

**Voiceover** Isn't it time we take back the right to be proud of our country?

A smiling police officer shoots a thumbs up at the camera with one hand as he has the other wrapped around the throat of a black teen.

**Voiceover** Liberals would have you think that being proud of America makes you a bad person. Well fuck that.

We see an image of flaming tiki torches around a statue of Robert E. Lee.

Gradually this image dies out, as well as the music, and we see Madison Dyson standing on a plain stage with an American flag backdrop behind her.

Despite what the haters may say, America IS a land of opportunity. A land where those who are willing to work hard and not just wait for handouts can grasp that brass ring. And my Shove It will serve as an exemplar of that American ideal.

The screen behind her changes to a red, white and blue version of the Shove-It logo.

”Donald Trump and Madison Dyson present The Great American Shove It: God Bless America 2018” is going to revolutionize the concept of “shoving it” from the ground up. Instead of simply rewarding those who have already grabbed the brass ring, it's going to usher in the future of the XWF, instantly rocketing someone who is not currently a title holder into superstardom by giving them the opportunity to sieze the day through the kind of hard work, grit, and determination that is at the very heart of the American spirit.

The premise is simple. The only qualification for entry is that you are not currently a champion. Each entrant will then be placed in a double blind single elimination tournament. Each entrant will only find out who they are facing the day of the event. Brackets will be determined at random. So nobody has an inherent advantage over anyone else, and the selection process is entirely fair and balanced.

The prize for winning the tournament? A guaranteed main event match for the universal championship at the next pay per view.

What could be better than that?

”Donald Trump and Madison Dyson present The Great American Shove It: God Bless America 2018”

Coming March 2018.

God fuckin' bless the USA!

Toby Keith's song ramps back up as Madison is handed red white and blue sparklers from off camera. She waves them around, but suddenly the shot instantly goes black.

We pan back to see that we were watching all of this play out on a screen in the Oval office. Madison Dyson and Sean Waltman are standing next to the TV. Sean is actually more like leaning on it in an inebriated stupor. Sitting on the couch are Mike Pence and Donald Trump.

So, ya see guys it's....*urp*....like this. America? Issssss the fuckin' tits. Awwrite? Nuffin isssssss......wha was I sayin'?

Madison hands Sean a suspicious looking brown paper bag.

Aw sweet!

Sean scampers out of the room.

So why did he have to be here?

Wanted the joke to kinda come full circle. So what did you think?

Was the profanity truly necessary?

I think I was asleep, but sometimes I'm not sure anymore.

Madison crosses her arms petulantly.

Come on! I worked hard on that! And even harder on getting approval for the event in the first place. Do you know how much shit was dumped on this proposal at first by management? I mean, Doc gets to have his event take place in HELL and it gets instant approval, but...wait huh?

The camera guy whispers something.

Oh, we're still supposed to keep the whole “hell” thing ambiguous?

The camera nods.

Well, whatever the case it was tough. But I think this has a lot of potential. Mr President?

Donald Trump rubs his chin. He then turns to Pence.

Mike, I'll catch you later. Let me talk to Madison one on one.

Oh! Certainly sir.

Mike gets up and leaves. Trump watches to make sure he closes the door behind him.

I'll do it....

YES! Oh thank you sir you won't regret it!

Let me finish. I will do it if I can fuck Jenny Myst.

Madison looks taken aback.

Fuck Jenny Myst? Why would you want to fuck Jenny Myst?

Are you kidding! She's the best! A fine cultured woman like that. She cut a promo in an art gallery you know.

That was a toilet.

Yeah, I don't think so. Plus she talks real good. Like, double plus good.

With all due respect sir, she is a shameless mushmouthed sloot who is in a constant state of complete un-selfwareness. She has spent her entire life trying to ham fistedly convince others how amazing she is despite being wholly mediocre in every conceivable way, both desperate for respect and accolade and yet utterly unequipped to actually win it in any meaningful way....ohhhhhhhhhh, I get it now.

So can I pound this slag or what?

Sure, I don't see why not.

Trump gets up and offers Madison his hand. She takes it warmly.

Then we have a deal.

LATER

Madison is chilling in the White House commissary, a $50 porterhouse on her plate which she is just about to go to town on when she notices the camera.

Oh, hey Jenny. You may have just watched me promise your vag to the President of the United States. Your welcome. I just gift wrapped you the opportunity to be the next Stormy Daniels and let's face facts if that's not just “peak YOU” then I don't know what is.

So, it's about 7 PM eastern standard and I'm just sittin' here waiting for you to deadline drop me, completely oblivious to the fact that you've already been burned well past the point that any SPF is gonna do you any good. Bitch, you're already roasted. Any half assed jabs you tried to throw at me have already and preemptively been dwarfed by the withering assault of honesty I cut you down with in my last two promos. Namely that you've got problems with X-Pac heat like an inner city discount theater's got problems with bedbugs. It's ALLLLLLLL up in ya. And that shit is damn hard to kill.

There is one thing I really haven't addressed yet though. When I win the Bombshell (yeah, we're on WHEN now, my momentum is just too hot), what the hell am I gonna do with it? I mean, I already took a big steaming stinking poot on the whole division and now I'm going to have to represent it? It is quite the quandary, I have to admit. I mean, I guess I could just face you again and again at every pay per view until you're shamed into admitting that everything about your personality screams “post Taco Bell forced rim job”, but do you actually have that kind of wherewithal? You got that stubborn kind of stupid about you, like that one cartoon with the dog in the burning house going “this is fine” as his skin melts off his skull. I honestly don't think you are capable of admitting fault, you're just too pig ignorant.

And yet, I still haven't answered that fundamental point. What to do with the Bombshell championship. Do I just retire it for lack of competition? Defend it against you endlessly? Fight an endless stream of one and done jobbers until the end of days like you've been doing? I thought long and hard about it. And I did come up with an answer.

All of the above. I will defend it against whoever and whatever crosses my path. And maybe one day I lose it. But if that day doesn't come I'll retire it with dignity. Yes Jenny that word is “dignity”. D-I-G-N-I-T-Y. But whatever may come, I'll respect the belt. Gasps all around I know, because I too am capable of being a raging thundercunt. But even a bitch with an ego as big as mine realizes that that title is about more than just me, me, me. It's about the survival of women's wresting, which has often been regarded as men's wrestling's barely watchable younger sibling. Now some of that has been earned. Some places see fit to throw twiggy anorexics in the ring and tell 'em to slapfight for five minutes, but we're better. Even you are a better athlete than that Jenny. And that's why the Bombshell deserves more. And that's why I'll respect it. Until the competition runs out. Or I do.

At the very least, I cannot be as Godawful as you.

Madison cuts into the steak and pops some in her mouth, relishing it for a bit as the image slowly fades to......

Sean Waltman is presently passed out in a White House bathroom, crack cocaine “works” scattered all about him. A thin stream of vomit spills out the corner of his mouth and onto the floor as Toby Keith's paean to American exceptionalism plays us out.

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