Sir Mix A Lot's OTHER iconic track plays a bit too loudly in the background as the television screen comes to life. Your girlfriend had invited you over to her place for some head, but you knew that you couldn't miss the big announcement tonight. I mean the XWF hasn't exactly been building it up, but you're just some loser with a fat girlfriend and a slightly smaller than average endowment. You follow the hype, news, and rumors circling the XWF like a bloodhound trailing it's prey. D.D.S. was your favorite tag team, obviously, and you were absolutely thrilled when they became the number one contenders for the tag belts. The rumor on your reddit subforum was that tonight D.D.S. was going to make a HUGE announcement. An earth shattering declaration that would change the world. You just knew you had to be here, sitting in front of your couch with a mountain dew code red in hand, waiting patiently for the moment.

Now, the moment has finally come. You don't even try to hide the half chub forming in your undergarments. Your eyes are glued to the screen, and your focus is entirely on D.D.S.!

Sir Mix A Lot's iconic track continues to play a bit too loudly as the video opens up on a shot of Charlie Nickles and Cool Jimson. The number one contenders are posted up next to a concrete wall with a shit ton of random graffiti on it. Jim is decked out in a blue and white track suit, a jet black hat turned sideways, and his classic pair of shades. The 'cool' Jimson is leaned against the wall with a boombox on his left shoulder and his right hand tucked into his pants pocket. Charlie is pacing back and forth in front of Jim with his championship belts wrapped his around his waist. The Heavymetalweight belt is on top and the Television championship is right below it. From the looks of the baggy pant legs on Charlie's dark blue jeans, the belts are the only thing keeping his oversized pants from falling down. The champion's sleeveless black shirt hangs loosely from his body. The two men are framed from the waist up with only a marginal amount of space to either side of them.

Tell em' what you have to say, brotha' man!

Charlie ceases his pacing, turning to face the camera directly as he stands a few steps from Jimson.

Doc, Doc, Doc....

What makes a man a doctor?

We're asking the real fucking questions!

Is it a piece of paper? Is it the bank account? Is it the years of groveling before the all powerful institutions, begging for their recognition?

People hear that little word, that little formality, and they take everything you have to say as pure, absolute, unfiltered truth.

But people are sheep. Fools. They'll go along with anything you tell them.

But I'm not so easily swayed.

I've been around my fair share of doctors. I've seen mind doctors, spine doctors, hell I've even seen dick doctors. But no matter their diversity in specialization, skin tone, gender, they were really all the same. At the fundamental level, each and every one of them was identical. They were all smug, condescending, greedy cunts. Doctors really think they're something special, don't they? They think they're better than us because they wasted years of their life on their knees, sucking off big pharma while paying out the ass to go to a school they hate. They think they deserve five hundred grand a year to look at piss samples and tell grandma she's got cancer? Bite me!

Doctors are supposed to calm, measured, and strictly regimented. But every time Louie opens his mouth, his ego takes control of his tongue. You won't find that 'deep analysis' of his opponents that we're always promised. You'll just find a sickly old man ranting and raving while living out his final fantasies. He talks himself up and convinces himself that he has some rare wisdom, some nuggets of truth that must be shared with the world. But it's all poppycock. Smoke and mirrors.

There is nothing of substance behind the doctor's coat, just ego run amok and unregulated greed.

Shit, the whole lot of em' are garbage. These medical schools pump out worthless simps for the pharmaceutical corporations who don't know anything but prescribe the pills and collect the paycheck. Sometimes I doubt whether or not Dville even has a degree, given his rampant idiocy and self aggrandizement. But then, I remember every other doctor I've ever met. And they're all the same.

That's why I don't pay them no respect. I don't put any weight into that little degree of theirs. Doctors can talk shit, but they can't hang. And they sure as hell can't bang with the best of em'!

Doctors are massive pussies!

That blind little bitch doesn't even see what's coming. Figures. When him and I step onto that roof, I am goi-

The Sir Mix A Lot song suddenly comes to an end. Charlie's speech stops abruptly as he turns to face Jim.

What the fuck? Jim, play the tape! Play it!

I got this shit big homie! Don't even worry bout this shit!

Jimson presses the eject button on the boom box before closing the tape deck once more. He presses play and the music comes to life as Charlie launches back into his tirade.

You know Louie, you're not the man you once were. The champion you once were. You held the biggest belt in the business all those years ago. Held it for quite a while, too. You were the MAN backstage. Everyone loved you, everyone feared you. You had everyone's eyes fixated on that stupid little grin of yours. They sniffed your farts and licked your balls all day long. But that was years ago.....

Now you are nothing but a husk of a man who once was great. A passionless stick man, awkwardly stumbling around the ring in hopes of padding that ever shrinking retirement account. Like a star that faded long ago, you've been reduced to dust caught in orbit. Trapped in the empty nothingness, given purpose only through Duke's gravitational pull. The kid's special, isn't he? Like a phoenix risen from the ashes, the young Duke has reclaimed his father's crown and wears it with pride. He pulled you back into this whole thing. In fact, before he brought you back, I had heard a rumor....

It was probably nothing...but it's been gnawing at me for a while.

You see, I was told that Louie Dville had killed himself after his contract with the XWF ended. I had heard that it was pretty rough for him, getting cut from the roster and having his action figure pulled from the shelves. He was a smart man, he saw the world soberly. He knew that he would never again climb that mountain. He knew that he would never again win the universal championship, and shit, that father time would probably keep him from even winning a midcard belt. By the time the supposed "Doc" was let go his body had given up on him. His tank was on E. A shame, really. He once was great, but that luster faded long ago. That old man knew it, too.

He wasn't about to go back into that gym and be exposed by the average joes at the YMCA. Train? For what. He knew he wouldn't be booked again, save for the local companies willing to pay him fifty bucks to job to their champion. I heard that he couldn't accept his fate...he couldn't bear to be thrown from the mountain and forced to live in the squalor that every old, washed up wrestler has to face one day. So he took a colt 45 and put a hole in his head. His body wasn't found for months. No one cared, no one checked up on him. A few days after his landlord evicted him for nonpayment the sheriff's deputies busted in on his rotted corpse. I had searched the internet for headlines...but shit, lets be honest. No one would have cared. No one would have written about it. Washed out wrestlers die every day.

So I investigated a bit further.

I watched all of your old shit, every old tape, every title defense. And then I watched everything you've done since you came back to this federation.

You're different, Louie.

Not just in the 'washed up veteran embarrassing himself and ruining your memories of him' type of way, either.

You're an entirely different man.

You don't stand tall and proud. You sulk around like a little weasel, circling Thaddeus in hopes that he drops a few crumbs of success upon you.

You don't deliver cold, cerebral blows to your opponents. You scratch, bite, claw, and reach for anything you can like a panicked child in over his head.

You fly over the top rope in championship rumbles. You sit around and watch while your tag team partner carries your team to victory, standing around with your thumb up your ass as Duke literally grabs your championship belt for you.

You used to expose the underbelly of society and give nightmares to the preteens infatuated with Vinnie Lane. But now?

Charlie chuckles to himself, lowering his gaze as he brings his palm to his brow. His laughter trails off as he turns to face the camera once more.

Now you run around with Scooby Doo and the mystery crew. The Doc Dville that I watched back in the day would never pull such gimmicky shit out of his ass and pretend it was passable. I used to make Tyler and Emily watch your promos, to see how a real man handles himself! But now? You're downright embarrassing. Come sit on Santa's lap? Pissing and moaning about having to defend the tag belts?

You're not the same Dville I remember.

You're a different man.

You.

Are.

Literally.

A.

Different.

Man!

And I have the fucking proof!

You're a fraud, buckster! You swap meet Louie lookin' ass!

Whoever the hell Thaddeus pulled out of the homeless camp and dressed in slacks, you're not the real Louie! You're a god damned fraud! The proof has been there the entire time. Your slowness. Your weakness. Your total inability to really go all out, your total reliance on the little Duke boy to carry you to glory.

Charlie shakes his head from side to side as he spits on the ground.

I should've fucking known. Those Dukes are slick bastards, they know how to make money. Daddy Duke's been in this business a long fucking time, and he's made some major bank. That motherfucker must know marketing, and he saw a fucking opportunity. Dead wrestler? No problem! Take his image, put it on your own guy, and market the fuck out of it! Ohhhh those Duke and Dville t-shirts have been flying off the shelves. Outselling D.D.S. merchandise...heh.

Charlie's brow furors and a real rage overtakes him. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, breathing in and out slowly before flying back into his accusatory rant.

You fuckers really thought you had a good thing going, huh? That you could just pass this two bit knockoff off as the real Doc and get him over? Sell some t shirts and single handedly win some tag belts in a weak division?

Bitch, you thought We're here to blow up your spot!

You're god damned right, Jim! We have the proof!

You see....Louie didn't kill himself.....he was pimping himself out on the corner to pay his rent! Tell them, Jim!

I found that sorry son of a bitch on the corner of Washington and Sixty-Third! When I approached him, he said he's blow me for five bucks! I gave him ten and he let me splooge on his face!

Charlie chuckled, placing a hand on his belly as he recalled the encounter.

But ever since I planted my seed on his face, he's been following me around, hoping for another payout!

Come on out, Louie! The people wanna see you! The REAL you!

Yeah come on out you dolphin loving harlot! Show the whole world your big fat dolphin pound hole!

Charlie grinned as he crouched down, reaching for something below the view of the camera. A few moments went by before Charlie came back into the frame with, well, this:


That blood on his face is from me! Ever since I lost my V card, I've been jizzing blood! Charlie says that's normal for men after they blow their first real load!


Charlie snickers as he holds the sex doll with the Doc Dville face by the neck. He cranks his own neck to face the sex doll as he launches himself into a derogatory rant.

They're making a fool of you, aren't they, Doc?! They have that fake-o version of you out there sucking Duke's dick and selling merch! Making all that money off your name while you suck off strange men for hamburgers! Are you going to take that? Are you going to take that?!

Charlie pauses for a few moments while he waits for the sex doll to respond. Jim just looks on, absentmindedly nodding his head to the beat of the song playing off his boombox.

Oh what's that? You're not going to do anything about it because you're a massive pussy? You're just a little doctor, most comfortable in his chair, looking down upon his patient as they divulge all their deepest, darkest fears? Oh you're a scared little man, who likes to be in a position of power, huh? You're not much of a fighter, are you, pretty little thing? What's that? You say you're more of a lover?

He's the doctor of love!

Charlie brings the sex doll to his ear, as if listening to a whisper.

Oh you want to suck me off to congratulate me for winning the tag belts? Well, it hasn't technically happened yet, but shiiiiiit.

Charlie brings the bloodied sex doll down to his groin, imitating fellatio as he leans his neck back and moans loudly.

Ohhhhhhhh. Ohhhhh yeah that feeels so good! Don't you love champion dick? Ohhh yeah you do! You love champion dick. That's why they call you Dick Dville, the Doctor of Love! Ohhhh yeah.

Jimson looks on enthusiastically, making a fist with his hand as he cheers Charlie on.

OH YEAH! Get it bro! Give him that champion dick! Bust in his fake eye, he loves that shit!

Ohhhhhhh yeaaaaaahhh!

Charlie makes an exaggerated 'O' face as his body convulses. He shakes for nearly half a minute, moaning and hollering as he squeezes the blow up sex doll's neck tighter and tighter.

POP

The blow up doll explodes! A hole tears through the top of it's head, sending days of collected semen into the air! The bloodied cum sprays around the screen, covering part of the camera lens. Jim and Charlie simply laugh as the deflated sex doll falls to the ground.

I guess I killed the old doctor! This champion dick is lethal....no wonder the bitches only want to fuck you, Jim!

It's a shame! I was just getting to know Louie...he seemed like a fine guy! We should honor him! What would he want, what would he want.....

Charlie and Jim scratch their heads for a few moments, pondering what the blow up sex doll would want them to do in remembrance of it's existence. Then, Charlie puts a finger up and turns to face Jimson.

I know! We'll beat the pig shit out of Duke and that swap meet Louie motherfucker he's tagging with!

That's a great idea, Charlie!

Charlie turns to face the camera.

Listen here you swap meet Louie bastard! You have something I want, and you're disrespecting the legacy of the greatest whore I've ever known! I'm going to take those tag belts off of you and expose you for the fake that you are! But first, I'm going to stuff your brittle body down that chimney shoot. Then, I'm going to stand on that chimney and pull my drawers down. I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll drop a big ol' Dukey on your face as your laying there, crippled and broken in the fireplace! And that's for disrespecting the memory of my favorite doctor, you piece of shit!

The scene abruptly cuts to black. You feel like you should've went and gotten head instead of watching....whatever the fuck this was. Maybe she's still up?