Do you think this shit is funny, Jacko? Fuck are you doing?

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently. He sees Charlie roll Mr. Black up out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

(01-19-2021, 02:01 PM)Charlie Nickles Said: Do you think this shit is funny, Jacko? Fuck are you doing?

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently. He sees Charlie roll Mr. Black up out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.
Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Ocean City, Maryland.

It’s the town that Claude Savage calls home. It’s the town that he’s called home for his entire life. And to be honest, he doesn’t quite fit in here. Ocean City is a tourist operation. Every summer, the masses descend upon the boardwalks and beaches. Vendors sell gaudy t-shirts and overpriced saltwater taffy and families spend their days getting conned by carnival games and getting sunburned instead of tanned. And then there’s Claude. He’s a little overweight, got a beard, and wears ratty clothes. He hates the beach. He doesn’t love carnival rides. But he grew up in Ocean City and you can’t outrun your home - so you might as well just accept it. Just try and make good with what you got.

The scene we see now is one of those boardwalks that get overcrowded in the summer. But in the winter? In the winter they’re empty and Claude much prefers it that way. So now he just sits on a bench, staring out at the waves coming in and out. On Wednesday, Claude makes his debut for the XWF. And that’s what he’s reflecting on. Maybe he can finally escape Ocean City. Maybe he can get away from it all and forge his own path, make his own name. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

For now, he stares at the waves and feeds the seagulls. For now, he waits patiently.

“You know, I don’t presume to know the first thing about RL Edgar. I’m sure he thinks he knows me though. Most people do and when you factor in the ego of a wrestler, it’s almost an inevitable outcome for me. He probably thinks he knows what I do for fun, he thinks he knows the beliefs I hold, he thinks he knows where I stand in this crazy world. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.

This ain’t nothing new.

I’ve been scraping and clawing my whole life. I’ve got a weird nickname. I live in a tourist trap of a beach town on the Maryland coast. Of course, you see Maryland and horses and the brain naturally goes somewhere. The glitz and glamor. High society. But that ain’t me. That ain’t where I was raised. As a teenager, I helped out at Ocean Downs. Little casino in Delaware that also has a horse track. I wasn’t socializing with the elites. I was shoveling horse shit as drunk degenerates wasted away at the track. And yeah, in the summer you get your fair share of well-to-dos on vacation. But in the off season? Alcoholic townies addicted to trying to pick a winner. It’s sad really, but hey I made money for pizza and pot.

Now, if I’m honest, I didn’t know the first thing about horse racing. I still don’t. I was good with my hands, put my head down, and did my work - no questions asked. As you might have guessed from what I said earlier, I was more interested in my uh, extracurricular activities. Needed a way to fund that and I had it. I was a shithead teenager, as a lot of us are known to be. Problems in school, got into fights, no real discipline outside of when I was cleaning stables. I’ve always had a bigger frame. Football coach always wanted me to play but I never had any interest. You’re built like an offensive lineman! You could be all-state! You could go to the NFL! Whatever. Never even cared. But just let it be known I was a kid who grabbed someone’s attention, and that’s what happened to me at the track one day.
Some track regular spotted me one day, came up to me after a race, flagged me down. Gave me a similar speech to what the football coach always gave me, except it wasn’t about football this time. It was about wrestling. Some guy who wasn’t worth a goddamn ran what he called a school. Handed me a business card that was really just his phone number written down on a piece of scrap paper. Told me to give him a call. And I did. And I’m sure now, you can begin to pain the picture of how I got to where I’m at.

I told ya I was more likely to get in a fight than I was to do my homework. And so the uh, controlled violence of wrestling appealed to me I guess. I wasn’t the prettiest or most technically sound for sure. But I hit hard. And I fucking reveled in it. Man, there was no holding back for me in that ring. That became my new home. Stable money went to wrestling school. Eventually my trainer gave me the whole Murder Horse thing. Figured I could be a violent jockey or some such shit. Thought it would catch on. It didn’t. Most people don’t know what the fuck it means. But I have a hard time letting go of things, that’s why I’m still in Ocean City. And that’s why I’m still the Murder Horse. I haven’t spoken to my trainer in years. Matter of fact, he may not even be alive if we’re being honest. Dude didn’t stay in the best shape. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Definitely trained me under the influence more than once. But he gave me my break. Let me wrestle in old rec halls in and high school gyms. And the locals loved me.

Let me be clear, I never got into wrestling so I could be famous. There are much better ways to go about doing something like that. I’m not a man meant for Hollywood, but I could probably at least go viral on YouTube and be more known than I am now. I got into wrestling because there’s not much better than just punching someone in the face and then slamming them to the ground. It’s an outlet for me.

And as I got deeper and deeper into the independent circuit, I found better ways to express that violence. My trainer wasn’t some deathmatch guy. He wasn’t one to throw himself through barbed wire and glass. But of course that’s where I naturally ended up. Look at me, it almost seems like destiny. Lord knows I wasn’t gonna be jumping off the top rope.

And at the end of it all, I paid my dues and cut my teeth and I ended up in XWF. In a couple weeks I’m gonna wrestle in a goddamn football stadium. It’s crazy how life works.

But before we even think about Snow Job, I gotta focus on RL Edgar. Look man, you listed your accolades. You talked about who you’ve been in there with. And for whatever reason you said I make you mad. But to me? You’re a nameless gray face. You’re someone who’s standing in my way. As soon as that bell rings, anything that happened leading up to the match is gone and all that matters is however long it takes for a match to end. I’m in there to put up a goddamn fight. And please, don’t mistake that for me underestimating you. Because that just isn’t the case. Every time I’m in the ring it’s like my life depends on it.

Because there’s a difference between me and everyone else you’re ever gonna meet. When I said wrestling was an outlet, I really meant it. It’s necessary for me. For my wellbeing. Without this, I fall apart. I lose the thread. I become nothing.

With this opportunity in front of me, I finally feel like I’m going to be able to make something of myself. I feel like there’s something I can do here. And maybe I win. Maybe I lose. But you’d best believe I’m going to fight for my life. RL Edgar is going to have to struggle for every single inch. It’s not gonna be easy for him. Not at all. And I’m gonna earn his respect. And I’m gonna earn the respect of every single fan watching.

That’s what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve always done.

I look dirty. I’m out of shape. I ain’t a picture perfect wrestler. But I know what I’m doing. And I deserve this. And goddammit, I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this go to waste.

So yes, prepare for the Murder Horse. I’m a goddamn Clydesdale. You’re not gonna know what hit you. I’ll come at you with everything I have. I will stop at nothing. Call it bloodlust, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should be in a therapist’s office. But for me, this match I’ll have is better than anything any quack could give me. For me, this is all the therapy I’ll need.

So Mr. Edgar, please strap in. Or if we want to stay on theme, you can saddle up I guess. I’ll be there. I’ll probably have my shovel with me. My boots will be laced and my wrists will be taped. Prepare for a goddamn war. And I’ll be the one firing the first shot.

Bang.”

The waves go in and out and the sun sets. In a few days, Claude Savage debuts. And some time after that, regardless of outcome, he’s gonna go down in history.

Whatever you see is highlighted, any repeats also falls into this line also. Whatever i miss, I don't really care... since I anit going to highlight anymore of the repeated promo key elements of the pins and other variants...which exist.. but still i don't care.

BTW.... Charlie Pins Jack Black... in the description too.

Moving along...


JB quickly kickout of Charlie's attempt, then stomps on him for good measure, then he plays a never ending Bollywood film that he stared not that long ago on a TV, and he leaves the place with his belt in tow.

Ol' One Trick Charlie did it again!

Winner and NEW HMW Champion - Charlie Nickles

JB then turns back around, and hands Charlie the belt...

"Here you g--"

Then he drop the belt, and smashes it with a hammer in pieces. Then he takes some ducktape, and places it on the broken title plate, then writes "Memorial" onto it and hands it back to him.

"Now that's much better, it fits with your ego...all broken and smashed out on a looped basis.... consider this as gift from me to you, champ."

JB walks off with the hammer.

Doc watches in the shadows as all of this goes down.

Marf watches Doc watching the poor heavy metal weight title become more destroyed from the further shadows...

Vinnie, get me a new belt!

It's cool, I buy these in bulk.