Pass the potatoes please, Connie.

The shot opens with Charlie Nickles sitting at the head of his dining room table looking down at the empty eating mat in front of him. A hodgepodge of empty bowls and plates are strewn across the table. Three scarecrows sit around the table. One of the scarecrows is considerably larger than the two scarecrows it is seated across from. The human sized scarecrow is adorned in a low-cut red dress, black heels, and a brown wig. The other two scarecrows are dressed in XWF onesies. Charlie turns his gaze to the largest scarecrow.

Connie, I said pass the potatoes.

Charlie narrowed his eyes and titled his eyebrows as a thunderous silence echoed throughout the room. His gaze stayed fixed on the wigged scarecrow.

Did you hear me, bitch?

The scarecrow was unresponsive. Charlie's rage began to bubble to the surface. He brought his hands up to the edge of the tabletop, gripping it with malice as his eyes turned into iron sights and his tongue turned into a barrel. The proverbial bullets flew as sweat begin to drip down the champion's forehead.

You cunt! You always do this! You always ruin our family time! You think you're setting a good fucking example for the kids, telling them to disobey their father? HUH?! YOU BITCH!

Charlie flipped the table over, smashing the window on the far wall of his dining room with the tabletop that was firmly in his sweaty grasp just a few moments ago. He pointed a finger at the largest scarecrow as he flew into another drugged out rant.

You bet your ass you're sorry! Sorry you made me do this to you again!

Charlie charged at the scarecrow with his right foot extended, booting it in the face with major force. The scarecrow, chair and all, slammed against the wall before falling to the ground defeated. Charlie turned around to confront his sobbing scarecrow children.

You want to cry? You want me to give you something to cry about?!

Charlie raised his right fist and walked towards the scarecrow children. With each step he took his rage diminished. By the time he to the children, his fury had subsided and his senses had come back. He brought his fist to his waist as he sighed softly. He looked set to apologize before an idea popped into his head, totally shifting his demeanor. A smile spread across his busted face.

Don't worry- we still have pumpkin pies, kids! I made them just for us!

Charlie walked back towards the kitchen with some pip to his step. The camera followed him as we saw three mini pumpkin pies cooling on the window sill. Charlie approached the pies with a warmth in his features and a hunger in his belly. He reached out for the pies when, all of a sudden, a cat jumped onto the window sill and snatched the pies, knocking two of them to the ground while gripping another in it's mouth by the rim! The cat looked pretty fucking weird, even to Charlie's methed out ass. It was an inconsistent shade of pink with white patches scattered throughout it's body. Dried blood had caked into the fur around the feline's mouth. Fresh blood was dripping from it's claws. He jumped off the windowsill, pie in mouth.

YOU RAT BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!

Charlie jumped through the window after the cat. His fat waistline busted the frame of the window. Splintered pieces of wood followed Charlie out of the open window. Charlie reached out with his left hand, blindly grabbing for whatever he could.

MROOOOOOOW!

Charlie yanked the cat by it's tail as the pie fell to the ground facedown. Charlie stood to his feet, holding the spray painted cat upside down by it's tail as it squirmed and meowed. It tried to claw at Charlie, but it's pink little arms were simply to short. Charlie spat on the cat as he began to walk towards his garage. He shook it around a little bit, delighting in the cat's misery.

You're a lucky cocksucker, you know that? Not very many cats get to be put down by a champion!

Charlie approached the garage door with a grin. He swung the cat, HARD, against the garage door. Not once. Not twice. Three whole ass times. The cat's meows of pain grew softer and more vulnerable with each mighty blow. A trembling voice shot out from directly behind the camera.

What the fuuuuuuuccck, dude! Stop! I'm not filming this! YOU'RE FUCKED!

Charlie paid no mind to the shriveling vegan doing camera work for the federation. He slammed the red and pink cat against the garage door once more before bending down to open the door and grant himself access to his joint wrasslin and butcherin studio.

Jesus Christ!

The cameraman turns around and runs from the demented scene. The camera shakes as it fades out on the setting sun hanging lowly over Steubenville.



We cut back to see Charlie in handcuffs, sitting dejectedly in the back of a police car. The footage that is seen is from the dash cam of the cop car. The police officer is a burly black man with a distinctly Morgan Freeman-esque voice.

Man, you're a wild son of a bitch, Charlie.

Fuck you, pig.

Hey now, tubs, if you treat pigs like you treat cats then you just verbalized a felony threat. Look, if you can get my son a Johnny Legend autograph, I'll think about letting it slide. That motherfucker is hilarious. Next TV champion, for sure. Shit, just look at the odds!

He's not winning shit! That dimwitted icicle only has one dimension and he isn't even bringing it to the show. Homeboy can't stand and bang with me in a last man standing match. No fucking way! Bet your whole fucking house on him so you and your thug family can feel what it's like to live under a bridge and beg for table scraps.

So you a fucking racist, huh, tough guy? Thug? I'm an officer of the law. YOU are a criminal. I should pull this car over and beat your ass.

I'm not a racist. I voted for Jo!

Biden?

Jorgenson! She said she would legalize meth!


Jesus fucking Christ...


The cop car rolled into the garage of the local precinct, rumbling along the concrete ground before coming to a stop. The cop opened his door before coming around to the other side. He opened Charlie's door only to receive a kick to the balls and some spit to the eyes! The cop fell over as he moaned in pain. Charlie ducked out of the car and booked it for the exit. He made it halfway there before being tackled by a half dozen officer's, all waiting for the chance to do another Rodney King. The batons came out and the beating came down. Shrieks of pain were heard as four more officers jumped into the fray with their batons, whooping the shit and piss figuratively and literally out of our beloved television champion. Then, a booming voice echoed throughout the precinct's parking garage.

ENOUGH!

The officer's begrudgingly concluded their beating, landing just a few more shots before packing their batons away and stepping back from the innocent-until-prove-guilty man laying on the ground. Two men approached him, walking side by side. One man is considerably taller and larger than the other. He is dressed from head to toe in a police chief's uniform. He looks just like the great khali. The man walking besides him is scrawny and pale skinned, with red hair and freckles. His eyes shine olive green. He is wearing casual slacks and a green polo. He's a bit young in the face and his clothing looks a bit baggy, almost as if they were hand me downs. The police chief stops walking as he addresses his boys in blue. The scrawny looking ginger in the baggy clothes, however, continues to walk to Charlie.

We have to cut this fool loose this time. Mayor's orders. I know, I know...but it's out of my hands.

The police chief attempts to delicately explain the finer politics of the situation as the ginger kneels before Charlie, holding out a white business card. Handcuffed Charlie, of course, can not reach out and grab the card...but he can still read the fine print on it. There are a few jet black letters in the upper left corner of this eggshell card.

Biyobi Consulting and Management, at your service.


Wh-what? I..I don't got money for a lawyer!


It's all expenses paid. Totally pro bono. We're here to work for you, Charles, and make sure you're taken care of. You have friends over here at Biyobi Management and Consulting. Let us show you what we can do for you.

The ginger turns and snaps at the police officers assembled in the garage.

Get this man out of these cuffs! He has a limousine waiting out front for him. And go grab a few of the hookers you got jailed up in the back and bring em around for the big fella over here. It's the least you can do to repay this clear and flagrant brutality. You don't want the mayor finding out you went against Biyobi now, do you?

The smug ginger smiled at the police chief as the scene faded to black for good this time.