That magical chime rang out. Twas my phone. My cellular phone. Pulling it out, I took a second to admire the grayish blue color and the tiny beard hanging from the bottom. Totally in character. Always in character. Smiling, for a second, I swiped over to check out who the text was from. It was Ed.

-Hey! They said someone is in there with a bomb. Are you okay? You’re not being held hostage, are you?-

The fuck? I thought. I pondered. And, I wiped. I wiped again. Then I flushed. I was finished with making my scatological deposit and ready to return the dolls to their owners. Washing my hands, I continued to ponder Ed’s weird question. So, I text back.

-What are you talking about?-

Staring into the mirror, I admired my facial aesthetics. Things had really sharpened, trimmed up since I began hitting the gym and losing some of that soft mass. My hair looked good. I was considering showing my face in public a bit more...embrace the celebrity status that rides shotgun with being a semi-famous television personality.

Ed text back.

-Cops are everywhere. Their guns are drawn. Someone is in there holding Target hostage with the threat of a bomb. I just spoke with a news anchor. She said the bomber walked in saying he was gonna ‘drop a bomb’-

Weird. I dried my hands and grabbed my gym bag. Reaching for the door, I hesitated. Ed was a lot of things, but a psychopathic, delusional maniac wasn’t a member of his repertoire. He wouldn’t just make this shit up.

What was on the other side of that door? I paused. I texted Ed back.

-Are...you sure?-

My hand reached for the door, grabbing the handle, ready to pull. He texted back.

-Of course I’m sure! I’m in this broke ass Slam Buss with a bunch of sex dolls. If you aren’t captive or injured, get your ass out here so we can go!-

Target is a giant store. There was a good chance the bomber wouldn’t notice a man (even of my size) sneaking out. Plus, I was pretty near the exit. I bet he was in the electronics section. I mean, that’s where I’d be. That’s obviously the best section in the store. And that section is usually way in the back. I felt I had the situation under control.

Slowly, I pushed the door open...silence. You ever been in a giant department store - alone? Fuckin creepy, man. Other worldly. But, there I was. I took a few steps out and turned toward the front doors. Cops. Tons of cops. All staring at me. And then, a loud shriek.

“THERE HE IS! THAT’S THE MAN DROPPING BOMBS!”

Can’t really explain how I knew. Not like I’d ever been involved in a shoot out or hostage situation before. But right then, right there...at that exact moment I knew they were about to open fire on my ass. So I darted back, out of sight and ducked into the restroom. Locking the door, I ran into the back stall, which still didn’t smell all that lovely and reached for my phone.

-Ed! Ed! They think it’s me! They think I’M the bomber!!!-

-Fuck-

---

“And so,” The Wizard’s mythical voice bellowed into the night air, filling it with mystery and intrigue, “the confident and, some might say, arrogant King of Hart, Willie Whiskey sent his court away to other realms in an effort to extend the purview of their subjugation.” Bringing his arms to his side, The Wizard lowered his head and sighed.

“Are you okay?” A LARPer asked.

“Yes,” The Wizard remarked, head down, “I’m fine. But the people of Hart. They were far from okay. They needed a hero. They needed a new leader. While they were out in the streets turning tricks to put food on the table, Willie Whiskey had his minions inside carving pumpkins.”

“Carving pumpkins?”

The Wizard paused, looking side to side, “Um, yes, you see they, too celebrated Halloween. So, yea, they were carving pumpkins. Willie Whiskey was very into pumpkin carving. So, yea, they were carving pumpkins. And, whilst carving these pumpkins, there was a knock at the door...the giant door.”

“Who was it?”

“That’s a great question, whoever you’re dressed as, and I’m about to get to it if you’ll just give me a second.”

“Paris!”

“Are we just shouting famous cities now?”

“No, I’m dressed as Paris, the slayer of Achilles.”

The Wizard wore a confused expression. Mof whispered up, “Orlando Bloom...from Troy.”

“Are you kidding me? Somebody wants to dress like THAT guy? These LARPers, geezus.” Clearing his throat, The Wizard relocated composure, “At the door stood a town officer...or something like that, yea. He carried word that Le Wizard was approaching and looking to challenge Willie Whiskey for dominion of the Kingdom of Hart.”

“Ooohhhh” the LARPers echoed.

“Willie Whiskey laughed it off. He failed to take the challenger seriously and retreated back into the bowels of his castle to probably jack off or something.”

“Did he use lube?”

“I don’t think so, LARPing friends. But I can’t say for certain.” A few LARPers winced. “So, while the King of Hart was wacking away, Le Wizard entered the Kingdom of Hart and approached the caste with one thing on his mind - conquest.”

---

Surfing Google Chrome on my cell phone, I was able to locate a feed of the broadcast.

“To repeat, there is a bomber inside the local Target! He tried to sneak out but was caught...he ran back into the store. Where he’s at within the store, at this time, is unknown. Witnesses have described the bomber as tall with long, curly blonde hair and a bad looking goatee.”

I felt around my chin, “Bad looking?” Crawling over, I reached for the counter and pulled myself up, staring at my reflection, “Fuck them. This goatee is sweet.”

-Hey! You still in there?-

Mof was anxious. Couldn’t really blame him.

-Yea, they apparently know what I look like. I’m kinda fucked-

-Why do they think you’re the bomber? What did you do?-

-It’s kind of embarrassing. Don’t really want to say-

-Is it something that’s easily explained?-

I mean, it was. But my ego wouldn’t allow me to go there - at least, not publicly. It could tarnish my image. My face, that story...my XWF career would turn into a fuckin joke.

-Well? Is it?-

-Just hang out there, I’ll figure something out-

Ending our conversation, I leaned back on my gym bag to collect my thoughts. It was only half zipped up...the weight of my head sank into the bag, bringing me eye level with my hat and beard.

“Hmm,” an idea began to germinate.

---

“And so, Le Wizard reached the castle and kicked the doors in. While walking through the castle, he noticed many tapestries that told the story of Willie Whiskey’s life. He could have lingered and read them all but he didn’t really see the point as the details of Whiskey’s career sounded kinda contrived and kinda boring...so, he kept his focus on the task at hand - dethroning Whiskey - dethroning the King of Hart.”

“Did Le Wizard carry a magic wand?” a LARPer asked.

“No!” The Wizard shouted back, “he carries a staff. Always a staff. Wands are for pussies.”

The inquisitive LARPer, dressed as Harry Potter, sniffled and lowered his head. A LARPer dressed as Hermione moved to comfort him which drew the ire of a LARPer dressed as Ron. Some LARPer dressed as that Edward guy from Twilight kinda got involved and it all got really confusing.

“Please! I’m almost finished! The attention span of you people is total shit!” The LARPers calmed down. To their credit, The Wizard was taking a long ass time to tell a pretty mundane tale, “Anyway, Le Wizard marched through the castle, leading toward the throne room when Willie Whiskey was summoned by a few of his underlings. When told of Le Wizard’s arrival, he rolled his eyes, zipped up, and sauntered toward the throne room to accept what was assumed to be an easy challenge.”

“And was it?”

“It was not, my dear LARPers. Le Wizard burst into the throne room. Willie Whiskey attempted to defend his crown but was overcome by Le Wizard’s strength, quickness, stamina, and good looks. Descending down the crevice of defeat...reality began to knock on the door shielding Willie Whiskey’s consciousness. Looking side to side, he noticed the pumpkins that had been carved. They all bore the same carving - an outline of Le Wizard.”

“Oh dear!” the LARPers yelled.

“Yes, oh dear. It’s as though this was meant to be. Le Wizard finished Willie Whiskey off (no homo) and lifted the King of Hart onto his shoulders. He carried the devastated monarch toward a wooden box, dumping him, haphazardly into his permanent prison.”

“So, like a coffin?”

“Yes, like a coffin but totally not a coffin.”

“Oh, okay,” the LARPer was content with the answer.

“The recalcitrant Le Wizard had made it his mission to storm the castle and relieve Whiskey of his duties. He shut the lid on Willie Whiskey’s reign and future, taking a moment to appreciate the good fortune that everything he needed to get the job done was provided by the arrogant king.”

The LARPers nodded, looking up at The Wizard with joyful faces.

“And then the Kingdom of Hart lived happily ever after and Le Wizard married a bunch of hot virgins blah blah blah, you know how it goes.”

“HUZZAH! HUZZAH!”

---

“Alright, man...it’s decision time. You either walk out of here and explain what really happened...risking being exposed to the world AND being associated with the most ridiculous almost-crime ever, a story that will haunt your entire career, OR…”

I paused, swallowing a bit of saliva. Looking down at my bag and Wizard attire, I continued, “You chicken out, dress up as The Wizard and sneak out of here, claiming you barely escaped the bomber.”

My eyes once again found their reflection within the bathroom mirror, “Man up or Puss out. Man up or Puss out. Man up or Puss out. Man up or…”

10 MINUTES LATER - OUTSIDE THE TARGET

“HELP ME! HELP ME!” the shrieks of a WIZARD cried out! Police, guns drawn, frozen. This is unlike anything they’ve ever seen - what do they do?

“HANDS UP!” one of the commanding officers yelled. The Wizard stopped, throwing his giant arms into the air. “WHO ARE YOU? STATE YOUR NAME, WIZARD!” The officer paused...he’d kinda already outed the guy’s identity. Easy mistake to make, considering the attire.

“I am THE WIZARD! I was here looking to purchase some organic deodorant when this maniac...the madman...a madman at the end of his rope rushed the store and threatened to drop a big, nasty bomb! I didn’t know what to do! So, I hid…” The Wizard winced, hoping they’d buy his story.

Fingers on triggers. Eyes locked on the target. Tempers flaring over the Wizard’s sweet get up and immaculate beard. Things looked dire for XWF’s former star of the month. Until…

“HOLD UP, OFFICERS!” the voice of an angel rang out. Or, rather, the voice belonging to one of their commanding officers. “STAND DOWN, I SAY!” Slowly, their guns lowered. Their postures slackened. Their eyes eased. “This man, he speaks the truth.”

The Wizard, seconds away from soiling himself with excrement he didn’t know remained within the lower portion of his bowels, sighed. Once again, able to breathe, he lowered his arms and nodded at the commanding officer. “You sir, are a gentleman and a scholar.”

The commanding officer leaned in, “G’day, sire.” He gave a wink. A weird wink. The kind of covert wink one LARPer gives to another.

The Wizard took a second to register the wink. “Oh...OHHH...gotcha, my good man.”

With a friendly tap into the Wizard’s gut (one which almost created unintended collateral damage), the commanding officer led The Wizard out of harm’s way.

“Thank you,” The Wizard, once again, offered his gratitude.

“Say no more, Wizard. You have been an inspiration for our people. It was the least I could do. Now, go and continue making us proud while I seek out this nefarious Target bomber.”

Awkward. The Wizard smiled through his beard and gave the man a pat on the back, “Yea, you do you, bro. Good work.”

Quickly, he ushered off into the Slam Buss. Mof, solaced by his return, kicked the Buss into gear and sped away without a concerned eye from law enforcement.

---

Staring into the night sky, The Wizard’s thoughts must have been ebullient (like the STARS!) with wonder and possibility. A true man of presence and spectacle. His AURA in full display as he stared out into the sky, contemplating ideals far larger than the scope of all of our lives pulled together.

ZIP!

Securing his zipper, The Wizard slapped the side of the tree he’d been using as a lavatory and returned to Mof, who was handing out advertisements for The Wizard’s big match on Wednesday.

“I guess we can go, right?” The Wizard asked, ready to head home and get back into his human attire.

This caught Mof off guard. “Really?”

And THIS caught The Wizard off guard. “What? You don’t really want to LARP with these fucking people, do you?”

Mof cringed, “Hell no. But, I mean, the girls. The van. I thought you were gonna return them to the arms of their lovers…”

A magical hand providing a reminding slap to his majestic forehead. “That’s right! I knew I was forgetting something. Yes, let’s do that.”

Reclaiming the stump, The Wizard stood proudly over his fellow LARPers. They ceased their conversations centered around dragons and witches and sorcerers and other lame shit. Their eyes cast above, mouths dropping with awe. The aura was palpable.

“And now, before I depart in search of conquest, I bestow upon thee, my fellow LARPers...the return of lost souls, abducted angels...I return, your lovahs!”

A collective gasp choked the chilly, night air.

The back doors to the Slam Buss flew open revealing the dirty, yet rescued bodies of opulant sex dolls. The LARPers shrieked with joy, hustling forward to reclaim their loves.

Stepping to the side, The Wizard watched, “It feels good to do something...good.”

Mof, “Yep. Should we give them the van, too?”

The Wizard snorted, “Fuck no. That van is now part of our gimmick.”

Eddie nodded, “Right on.”

---

Cozy within the friendly confines of his apartment, The Wizard stared at his barren face looking back via the reflection of his kinda smudged and dirty mirror. Running his hands through his curly blonde hair, he gave pause...insight took the wheel of consciousness. Lowering his head, he sighed, “It takes years to build a reputation and seconds to destroy it.”

“I came this close to ruining all the goodwill I had earned in XWF. It wasn’t just the loss to Robert Main. It was HOW I lost and HOW I reacted to the loss. Retreating within the recesses of myself. Losing confidence in my abilities. Doubting whether or not I should continue. I can’t believe, at this stage in my life, I was so ready to give up. So ready to toss it all aside. Thankfully, XWF has given me another chance. The offering of a muse to get my competitive juices flowing. They are too good to me. Too good.”

“With that bout of self loathing placed firmly within the rear view mirror, I turn my attention toward Robbie Bourbon and his Hart Championship. You fucked up, Robbie. You made an assumption. You chalked my silence up to defeat. Another casualty tossed into the breeze like so many others. Your opening effort lacked inspiration and creativity. It lacked heart.”

“For a guy who champions a desultory approach toward obtaining background information on someone, you sure spend a hell of a lot of time detailing your trials and tribulations. Thanks for the history lesson, I guess. Your ‘I did this before you’ schtick is about as original as the photos tourists take in front of well known landmarks which seem to keep Aidan Collins up at night. It’s yet another way of attempting to discredit a threatening opponent. Veiled armament. Wolf in sheep’s clothing. You’re far more dangerous than you let on, Bourbon. Which, I guess, is a compliment.”

“And, as with anyone who has spent more years than they care to admit within an organization, you are the owner to some engrossing stories. You’d have to be in a fucking coma to not have assembled a few interesting anecdotes. Hell, I bet even Mastermind has a few ‘balls of yarn’ of his own to spin. Like the lazy cousin who still lives with his mom. Even he has existed long enough to withhold a few mildly diverting recitations, despite being the most uninteresting person who has ever lived.”

“Your longevity does not give you legendary status. It does not make you a champion. It does not inspire fear or intimidation. It simply makes you old. Old enough to have outlasted most everyone else, accruing seniority. But, there’s a reason why people outside of XWF have rarely, if ever, heard about you. There’s a reason names like Shawn Warstein, Centurion, James Raven, and Aidan Collins are familiarized within the canon of professional wrestling nomenclature whereas the name Robbie Bourbon precedes a resounding ‘who?’ from even the most learned of fans.”

“It’s because you’re just an old dude doing what he can when he’s able, waiting for that social security to kick in. Hoping it kicks in before your legs give out. There’s a reason why I was unable to locate much information about you...why you had to give me all the ‘deets’ as to the whys and hows of Robbie Bourbon. Nobody else will tell it. Nobody cares enough to echo your ‘legacy’. It’s you and you alone. You’re your biggest champion. The loudest voice crying out, screaming the accolades of the man who thought enough of King Louie to regurgitate a few forgettable lines from a mediocre disney film.”

“But I do appreciate the history lesson. It’s always good to know what you’re getting into pre-battle. And while the nuts and bolts of your story are inconsequential, the overall tone is what I originally sought. A man desperate to be noticed. An individual craving attention. A fact that makes this stipulation all the more ironic.”

“You decided upon a casket match. I’m guessing you, based upon your own words, let the season get the better of your senses. A casket match. While I’ve never competed in a casket match, I know it doesn’t take a genius to prepare for one. Stuff your opponent inside a coffin and shut the lid - that’s it. Pretty simple.”

“What’s so ironic about the stipulation? The fact that I, The Wizard, am going to stuff you, Robbie Bourbon, inside a coffin, silencing you. A man who wants to be heard. A man who craves attention will be locked inside a box, hidden from the world.”

“There’s no way you’re getting me inside that box, Bourbon. I’ve spent the past month tucked away in darkness. I’m tired of living the vampiric life. I’m ready to resume life under the lights. Like you, I too want adulation and acclaim. And I won’t get it by being stuffed back into the darkness, voice stifled, hidden from the pro wrestling world. The way I’ll get it...the way I’ve always received it is through hard work and performance. I’m going to defeat you at Warfare, Bourbon. I’m going to take that Hart Championship. And, I’m going to stuff you in that box, silencing you for the time being.”

“In life, we get knocked down. We fail. It happens. There’s nothing to be ashamed of by failing. Where shame lies is in defeat. Failure is not defeat. Failure is failure. Defeat is the inability to pick yourself up after failure. The inability to adapt, evolve, to learn...to strengthen one’s self. I failed against Robert Main. Some can laugh at that, go ahead. It’s fine. But Robert Main did not defeat me. I stand here, sharpened and ready to go. I stand here determined to move forward and continue building my legacy in XWF. I stand here the future XWF Hart Champion. I stand here, the mother fucking Wizard. Get ready to bask in my aura!”

---

I just wanted to rest. Experiencing a state of exhaustion far beyond anything I’d encountered in recent memory, I leaned back into my couch. Mof was getting ready to leave. He, too, was extremely weary.

Slowly removing my beard, I gave it a glance, scratching my chin.

“Ya know, Ed. I was thinking about this earlier. I think I might show my face in XWF. I think I might go around without The Wizard get-up.”

“Really?”

“Yea, I don’t think I need it anymore. It might be holding me back. I think I want to embrace the celebrity of being a successful wrestler.”

Eddie smiled, “Well, I think that’s just great. Sounds like you’re overcoming some of that social anxiety.”


I smiled.

Something on the TV caught my eye, “Hey, they are running a news report on my ‘bombing’.”

We both laughed, until the situation ceased to be humorous.

“We have obtained a photo of the perpetrator.”



“If you have any knowledge on the whereabouts or identification of this man, please contact your local authorities.”

Mof stared in my direction. Angrily, I tossed my beard to the ground. He rushed to pick it up, “Might want to treat this thing a little kinder. Looks like you’re going to be needing it moving forward.”

A disguise by choice had now become an imprisoned identity. Fuck you, Life.

---

TRANSMISSION INTERRUPTED

IMPORTANT MESSAGE FOR THE WIZARD

JOIN BOB

JOIN BOB

JOIN BOB

THAT IS ALL