Solitude. Alone time. A place to meditate and reflect on the day, the week, life, or even the contents of a wrestling promo.


We see Jackie Peppers is sitting on the furthest edge of a love seat again, next to Angus and Bob. Bob is chewing what looks like a dry cleaning bag. Angus is passed out with his hand down his skirt and his legs wide open, and all we see is his hand cupped over his junk, the other hand gripping a bottle of whiskey that's three-quarters empty. Jackie looks over and sees that Angus is asleep. Jackie starts to stand up.

Uh, Bob?

Bob looks at Jackie with rapt attention and puppy dog eyes with a dry cleaning bag, shredded and covered with saliva, dangles from his mouth.

L-Look, buddy, I gotta, I dunno, g-go for a walk. Yeah!

As Jackie says 'walk', Bob's posture perks right up and his nostrils flare. He immediately stands up and as he does, jostles Angus. Angus, awake with a flash, whips his hand from his skirt, showing the world his strange, gross old man block and tackle, and grabs Jackie by the wrist.

Oooooh! Bob! Why'd you have to do that?

Whar ye gewin'?

F-For a walk, Angus! I mean, I can't r-really sit around your shack all day, I need to exercise, f-for my match. Yeah! And could you get your ballsweat covered hand off of me, please, it's really gross, I think you peed yourself.

Bob is standing up straight, his eyes darting back and forth from Angus and Jackie to the door. He lets out a whimper.

D'ye gut te haf a piss?

Bob smiles and opens his mouth. The dry cleaning bag drops to the floor.

Alreet, lad. Tik Bob fer a wuk, coom bahk suun.

Bob walks over to the door and taps it with his hand.

Alright, open this door!

Oh, okay, I'm coming, I'm coming.

Jackie shakes his arm loose of Jackie's ballsweaty grip and goes to the door. As soon as he does, Bob blocks the doorknob.

C'mon, let's go!

Bob, you have to move so I can open the door.

Bob barely moves, just tapping the door again. Jackie squeezes in between Bob and the door and opens it. As he does, Bob darts out and into the yard.

Ye git! Ye lit 'im run awee! Go an' git him back!

Startled, Jackie leaps out the door as Angus stands in the doorway. Jackie just stands there, dumbfounded and panic stricken, staring at Angus.

Gew an' git 'im!

Scared by Angus yelling at him, Jackie spins and starts to run after Bob.

H-Hey! Bob! Don't go crazy or anything, I'm pretty sure you can pee in the toilet inside.

It's clogged.

Oh. Ew. So...

The surroundings outside are plain. We see Angus actually lives in a house boat that's on a trailer in the cul-de-sac of some moderate middle class neighborhood. The rest of the homes are from the mid-Ninteen Eighties, split foyer and rambler style houses with Angus's house boat on a trailer on an empty gravel lot with a dead, ugly yard. Bob rushes over to a basketball hoop, set up by one of the neighbors, and sniffs the pole.

Oh shit, dude, this is primo!

What are you doing, Bob?

Bob turns his back to us, unzips his pants, and starts to urinate all over the base of the basketball hoop set up by one of the neighbors.

Ooooh! Bob, don't! The neighbors are going to call the cops and, and...

And I'll get away with it, I'm an XWF staple for Christ's sake. Now shut up, you're making me gunshy.

B-But, Bob, just because you can get away with it d-doesn't mean we sh-should do it! Like, what if those people peed on your basketball hoop?

Bob starts to whistle to drown out Jackie. He finishes his pee and we hear his zipper go back up. He starts to walk down the street, looking intently at a mail box.

Bob! BOB!

Bob turns, looking at Jackie with a massive grin on his face, then turns and keeps walking towards the mailbox. Bob stops at it and smells it.

Bob, what if people treated you like shit?

I'd bite them!

Bob tuns his back to us again and repeats the process from earlier, splashing a goodly amount of urine around the base of the mailbox at around eleven in the morning.

Oooooh, Bob! Stop doing that!

Bob zips up and turns around, his head cocked.

Didja hear that?

No, I didn't hear anything!

Bob walks directly past Jackie and towards Angus's house boat on a trailer. Bob boards the vessel and walks towards the captain's quarters as Jackie actually has to hustle to keep up with Bob Whiskey, who looks like four hundred pounds of creme brulee. Bob opens the door into the cabin and Jackie enters. As he does, Angus leaps at him from behind the door.

Aah!

OOOOOOH NOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOO!

Jackie shrieks in terror as Angus glares at him, his head cocked and one eye squinting.

Da element of shurprize, laddy. Ye nary cun be sure whin yer enemee will try ta kill ye!

Jackie, who looks like he shat himself, pissed himself, then shat himself again, looks back at Angus.

K-Kill me? I thought Glisten had a thing for feeling people up and molesting them.

Aye. Don' lit this simple reep turn inta murder!

H-He's not gonna rape me!

Whazzat, lad? I couldna hear ya!

GLISTEN IS NOT GOING TO RAPE ME!

Jackie shouts at the top of his lungs and looks up at the ceiling, on the verge of hyperventilation. Bob goes and sits on the couch. Angus smiles.

'Ats de spirit, lad! New, we nee' ta prepare a bit mure to mek sure da' happens. Fer starters, I need ye to masturbate to completion then immediately touch a piece of raw chicken.

What?

Jackie's moment of confidence is short lived as he looks in utter dismay at Angus.

Ye need ta contaminate a piece a' chickin by gittin yer filthy sex juice un it, ya?

Why the fuck do I need to do that?

Listen, Jackie, I been doin' dis fer decades. I'm de bess around. When I instruct ye ta do sumpin, do it. I say jump, yew say how high. I say run, yew say how far. I say masturbate to completion then immediately touch a piece of raw chicken, yew say breast meat or thigh.

N-No! I'm not doing that. You might be my manager, and a psychotic, murderous, sex offender, but there are some things I'm not going to do.

Angus rolls his eyes and takes a swig of his whiskey.

Fine, fine. You dun' hafta. 'Twould haf bin cewl.

Jackie looks confusedly at Angus, who tucks his hand up his kilt and seems to either dig or scratch at something while drinking scotch straight from the bottle. Bob Whiskey is laying on the floor chewing on a birkenstock. Suddenly, inexplicably, without warning, bees. Thousands and thousands of bees flood into the house boat. Angus laughs as he grows a bee beard and drinks his whiskey, too drunk to feel the hundreds of stings. Bob Whiskey is backed into a corner, trying to bite bees out of the air, and succeeding. Jackie screams in terror and runs out of the door into the cul-de-sac, stepping on an old style metal rake in the yard, which pops up and whacks him right in the nose, cold cocking him.