And lo, our gallant heroes have arrived at the climax of their grand adventure. But, many questions remain unanswered! What does the Disney Corporation have to do with B.O.B.? What dumb shit is Thunder Knuckles going to say next? Will Thad and Corey’s unresolved sexual tension result in an explosive and passionate love scene? Find out next time on….oh, actually, you’re just gonna find out right now!

Corey, still stripped to the waist and looking like the world’s most adorable action hero, and Thad, still repping Dean Rose in his quest to stamp out the egos of D-list celebrities everywhere, stealthily creep through the wooden door. They are met with a small alcove, which ends and opens up into a much larger room. The alcove provides them a measure of concealment as they enter. Looking at each other, they both get down to their hands and knees and creep up to the corner, popping their heads around for a surreptitious glance at the boardroom.

And it is, in fact, a rather perfunctory looking boardroom. Check, it’s got a long expensive table. Check, it’s got a bunch of old white guys in suits. Check, it features a large bay of windows overlooking the cityscape which will in no way factor into an intense action scene in the near future. The only outlier is a huge elevator concealed by steel doors at the far end of the room. A man in a black suit wearing Mickey Mouse ears steps up beside the elevator. He lifts a horn to his lips and TOOT-TOOT’s it for attention.

Gentlemen, please give your full attention to his eminence, Mr. Walt Disney!

Corey and Thad look at each other in befuddlement before returning their attention to the scene.

The elevator thrums to life, and the man beside it starts to sing.

When you wish upon a star
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
Will come to youuuuuu….

He casts his arms out in a grandiose manner, like an elegant opera singer polishing off a particularly difficult aria. But then, the door opens and Thad and Corey have to slap their hands over their mouths to conceal their gasps.

From out of the elevator steps a mechanical monstrosity. Ostensibly, it bears a resemblance to a Mad Max version of Mickey Mouse. It’s some sort of mech, humanoid in design and with the painted on trappings of Mickey’s clothes and irrepressibly happy face. But on this monstrosity the smile is an ironic counterpoint. The body itself is a mass of wicked spikes and overlapping plates of armor, Warhammer meets Mickey in a net display that’s as grotesque as it is terror inducing. But, worst of all, suspended in a compartment full of a viscous liquid just above Mickey’s painted on pantaloons, a sagging, sickly, feeble head can be seen. Wires of various widths run from the stump of its neck and from ports embedded in its skull up and into this ghastly machine. It dawns on our heroes that it’s Walt Disney himself.

The robot’s legs thunderously tamp down on the floor as the man continues to sing, prancing around Walt and throwing rose petals in his wake.

Like a bolt out of the blue
Fate steps in and sees you through
When you wish upon a star
Your dreams come truuuuuuueeeeeee!


Finally, the Disney Mech reaches the end of the table, and, releasing a plume of pneumatic gasses, it sinks to its knees in a resting position. As it does so, flakes of dried blood crumble and drop from the metallic body. In fact, the entire thing’s body seems to be covered with the blood of various kills. A browning tear of crimson drops from Mickey’s left eye, just to add to the sense of deep unease.

The singing man comes to a rest next to Walt, tossing another handful of rose petals above his head before bowing deep and replacing his position at the door.

Walt Disney’s eyes open, revealing the dull gray pupils of one who should be long dead. He doesn’t even open his mouth to communicate. Rather, his voice emits as a haunting echo from a speaker built into the Mickey Mech’s mouth.

We had intruders in the building. Walt states matter of factly. The board members stir, their anxiety palpable. Oh, no worries, no worries. I’ve already replaced our head of security for his incompetence. And dealt with his predecessor. The Mickey Mech’s massive gauntleted hand rises over the top of the table, and then with a screech of metal it drops something pink and fleshy on the polished wood. Or rather two pink and fleshy somethings, covered in blood. The board members start to look at it curiously, before they realize what it is. Some of them start to retch. Others avert their eyes as their faces pale.

Corey grabs Thad by the shoulder and pulls him back into the alcove.

That was a man’s balls! That was a man’s balls! Corey hisses in terror.

Shh shhh shhhhh!Thad shushes him. We gotta find out what’s going on here. Okay?

Corey steels himself and nods, and they both slowly crawl back into place to peer into the boardroom.

Look at those testicles gentlemen! Those are the testicles of FAILURE! Walt rants. And we have no room left for failure! The Disney Corporation has already managed to extend it’s mighty arms of influence into nearly every facet of world culture. We own the networks! We own politicians! We’re a television conglomerate. A film conglomerate! We gobble up the world’s most beloved stories and BEND them to our will. We strip away every ounce of creativity, all trace of inventive nuance, so as to make them palatable and inoffensive to EVERYONE. What is the Marvel Movie paradigm again, gentlemen?!

Like trained dogs, they all call out in unison,

Exposition-funny quip-action-funny quip-action-more quips-big action!-satisfying resolution that foretells more films!

That is the formula gentlemen! Walt commends. And I assure you, the creative team behind WandaVision have already been summarily disposed of. They were made to dig their own graves, nude, and were shot in the back of the head! Anymore creative license like that will be met with a swift and grueling death! And naturally, it turned out the writer was a JEW on her father’s side! A JEW! He froths in rage! There will be no more Jewish influence in this company, do you hear me?!

Whoa, antisemetic! Corey whispers.

And they bitched about my cussing.

I am...Walt’s eyelids waver, and his pupils roll back into his head. Unsere Stärke ist unsere Schnelligkeit und unsere Brutalität. Dschingis Khan hat Millionen Frauen und Kinder in den Tod gejagt, bewußt und fröhlichen Herzens. Die Geschichte sieht in ihm nur den großen Staatengründer! The mech wavers a bit, and Walt’s eyes flutter as he comes to. His brow furrows, and he spits out angrily at the board, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!

They all avert their eyes.

Walt’s decapitated head clears its throat, and a couple errant bubbles escape from his neck stump. At any rate, if we are to bend the entire world to our vision of a bland, flavorless, all encompassing, normative existence that is devoid of humanity there is still one nut we have left to crack before we implement the Final Sol-I mean, Total Market Saturation. I speak of course, of the XWF! Walt looks to the right side of the table. Freddie Prinze Junior...REPORT!

That schmuck?! Corey hisses.

Wow, he writes a few shitty wrestling angles and thinks he’s God’s gift to wrestling.

Freddie seems to be ensnared by something on his cell phone. He casually looks up at Walt. Oh! Uh, yeah! I’m on top of the whole B.O.B. situation. They’re doing great! The brand is completely, nauseatingly, overexposed. All over every show like herpes on a Saigon whore! And they’re recruiting members without any sort of requirements for talent or competence. Like, they’re taking literally everyone boss! Spreading mediocrity all over the place!

Uh huh. And how is the B.O.B. mass recruitment drive of the general public going?

Freddie holds up a finger. Hold on your lordship, I got...uhhh...a thing here…. He looks down at his phone again.

Walt narrows his dead eyes in frustration. Freddie! What could be more important than B.O.B.’s progress? They are a key arm in the Disney Corporation’s quest to turn everything into bland, omnipresent homogenized shit!

I’m sorry, sir. But you see, there’s this guy on Twitter named Dean Rose and he won’t stop being mean to me and I HATE HIM! He bashes his fists on the table like a petulant child. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!

Thad gestures to his Dean Rose shirt and pumps his eyebrows a couple times. Corey sighs.

This has nothing to do with the B.O.B. project!

He’s in the XWF!

So what! I’ve never heard of him! We need to stay focused Freddie, we need to win this war against passion and freedom and innovation! His eyes roll back in his head as he goes full 'Fash again. Dies un kampf die Rettung des Erbes, der Geshichte, und….he blinks back into the here and now. And he looks disgustedly at Freddie, who has his nose completely buried in his phone.

I’M NOT OWNED! I’M NOT OWNED! Freddie howls right into the phone as if Dean can hear him.

Walt’s mech stands up, and the other board members around Freddie start to scoot away with a quickness. A few of them even plug their ears in anticipation of some carnage. Freddie remains oblivious to it all, still screaming into his phone and having an infant tantrum. Two belt fed chain guns unfold from pockets in the Mickey mech’s arms and aim squarely at Freddie. By the time Freddie finally looks up, it’s far too late. The chain guns start belching death, round after rapid fire round tearing through Freddie’s body, sending chunks of him into the air like so much bloody effluvium. The force of the blows pushes his chair back towards the bay windows, which shatter from some errant shots. By the time Freddie tips out the broken window, he’s basically just a pulped torso.

We’re going to need someone else to field the B.O.B. project. Walt announces casually, lifting the smoking chain guns into the air as the barrels stop spinning. The board members all look at each other, hoping someone else will volunteer, when a defiant voice calls out.

Oh, we’re gonna “field the B.O.B. project" all right. Corey declares, thumbing the button on his lightsaber.

You guys might wanna bail, shit’s about to get real. Thad says to the board members as he too activates his lightsaber.

Ach! HOMOSEXUALS! Walt sneers.

What?! Are-are you saying we give off that vibe…? Corey’s insecurity bleeds through. Because I don’t think that’s the case at all!

The board members scurry past Thad and Corey, each rushing to be the first to the door.

You cowards! Then, turning his attention back to our heroic duo. I’ll be damned if all my plans get undone by a couple of poofs!

Whoa, that's not cool either!

Thad nods his head at Corey, and Corey nods back. And just like that, our boys are in perfect harmony.

Thad cuts left and Corey cuts right. Walt’s chain guns start to spin like twin demon cyclones, but it takes them a moment to warm up again, wasting precious time. Corey severs the belt of ammunition from the gun on his side, and Thad does the same on the other, leaving what’s left in the gun’s themselves. They meet up behind Walt, and he wheels the mech around to unload a salvo in their direction. Corey backflips out of the way in the nick of time, while Thad dives under the spread, getting close enough to Walt that he can’t get a shot. Thad buries his lightsaber up to the hilt in the mech’s chest, and Walt responds by batting Thad away.

Thad! Then, eyes training on the gun, Oh shit! Corey slides under the table, and the mech starts lighting it up, punching massive holes in the wood grain as Corey desperately crawls away.

Thad rouses, definitely feeling the ache from that resounding blow. But, seeing his friend in peril, he throws himself into the action once more! Thad leaps into the mech’s back, scrambling up and over the shoulder to try to extricate his lightsaber that’s still deep in the mech’s chest. Meanwhile, Walt’s chain guns finally spend the last of their ammo. Corey dashes out from under the table just in time to see the chain guns fold back into their compartments...and a lightsaber appear in each of the mech’s hands!

Oh fuck!

HA HA! Walt cackles, bringing both of his lightsabers to life. Thad’s eyes go round as saucers at the sight, and he leaps off of Walt before he can retrieve his lightsaber. Unfortunately, this puts him right back in Walt’s crosshairs. The mech proves to be surprisingly dextrous with the energy blades, cutting swathes through the air as Thad dodges and ducks. But, a wall is rapidly approaching behind him.

FUCK YOU, you wannabe Hitler! Corey stabs Walt in the back, the blade just barely missing the tank containing Walt’s head. Walt calls out in fear as Corey pulls his blade out, sweeping low for another strike that cleaves halfway through one of the mech’s ankles. The massive robot stumbles a bit, but surprises Corey by pulling a 180 degree turn on its torso to face the new threat. EEP! Walt raises his lightsabers high and brings them crashing down. Corey barely avoids them as they cut deep scorches in the floor. Walt recovers quickly, weaving deadly figure eight patterns in the air to dazzle Corey. Corey brings his lightsaber up to parry, but shrinks in fear under the oncoming two blade assault.

That’s when Thad rolls in between the mech’s legs, reaches up, and plucks his lightsaber out of the mech’s torso. Walt backs the mech up in response, looking to take a downward swipe at Thad. Thad reignites his saber just in time to block the attack, with Walt crossing his sabers in a figure X, bearing down on Thad’s single blade.

Little help here! Thad cries, as he starts to buckle.

Corey gets back into the action then, diving in and sliding on his knees to finish off the earlier strike on the mech’s ankle. This time, he saws the whole foot off! The mech bucks in response, losing its balance and crashing down on one knee. Walt is forced to abandon his attack, but when he regroups he starts pinwheeling the blades wildly. An errant slash just barely sizzles into Thad’s thigh. He screams in pain, falling to the ground and pulling himself away, his lightsaber deactivating as it hits the floor. Corey maneuvers around to cover his friend, casting a concerned look his way. Are you okay?

It didn’t go that deep, just hurts like a bitch!

Their dialogue is cut short as Walt’s mech rises up to its full height, taking a tentative unbalanced step toward, walking right on the cauterized metal stump of it’s leg. He swings with one saber at Corey. Corey parries that, and then parries the next blow. But the force behind the mech’s strikes is awesome, and his arms start to ache. With a determined cry, Thad forces himself to his feet, scooping up his own lightsaber and turning it on Walt, forcing him to defend himself. Corey, seeing the opportunity, also presses the attack.

And suddenly, the air crackles as four lightsabers crash against each other, again and again! The three figures seem encased in a bubble of whirling deadly colors, flashing blades tracing glittering curvatures in the air. But to the keen eye, it starts to seem that the young men are beginning to turn the tide of battle. Walt continues to hobble on his broken appendage, his back now to the broken windows.

Keep pushing! Thad rallies through his pain. And push they do! Walt snarls and sputters as he tries to keep up with the frenetic pace of the boys’ attacks.

Walt takes a larger step back with the mech, a critical error as he tries to plant his weight on the broken limb. This causes him to stumble, waving his arms out to his sides for balance, which leaves him wide open! Corey cries out defiantly as he cuts a sizzling path straight through the mech’s left wrist, severing the hand. And Thad plunges his lightsaber in a forward stabbing motion, striking true and penetrating the tank that contains Walt’s head! The burning blade barrels through Walt’s mouth, causing his eyes and ears to briefly glow like a Jack-O-Lantern! The viscous goo starts to spill out and onto the floor, and the mech heaves backward towards the window. Thad is forced to let go of his lightsaber or follow the mech’s path through the busted egress. It takes to the air, falling like an immense stone until moments later, the sound of it striking the ground below ushers in a mighty crash.

Corey and Thad, panting with exhaustion, smile at each other in unison.

Heh, I never would have….

But then, a deafening explosion comes from the streets below! The floor roils beneath Thad and Corey’s feet, and a wall of fire cascades up the face of the building. Thad, thinking quickly, grabs Corey’s arm and pulls him away from the window just as the blast of fire permeates the room, setting the ceiling ablaze.

What the fuck was that?!

My guess is it was that thing’s reactor core going critical!

Both of them struggle to maintain their balance as the floor beneath them heaves, accompanied by a dire groan from the bowels of the building.

That did not sound good! Corey looks fearfully up at the spreading fire.

Oh my God, the explosion must have devastated the building’s foundation!

The building shudders again, accompanied by more echoing groans. Corey's face goes slack with terror. Glassy eyed and quivering, he addresses his friend. Thad….are we gonna die here? He gasps out.

No! Never! Get to the stairs! They both run towards the door, but they only make it halfway there when the ceiling caves in in front of their means of escape! By now, the room is a choking miasma of smoke. Thad coughs and sputters. Elevator… is all he can choke out. He grabs Corey's wrist and pulls him in the direction he prays the elevator lays in. Corey is beset by a dry wracking cough too, and Thad has to pull him to his feet even as his own lungs start to burn. Finally, they reach the elevator, collapsing into it. Thad, on his knees, reaches up for the controls to shut the door, but there is no response. With an anguished cry, he presses the button again, then runs his hands down all the buttons! Still nothing. Dumbstruck, Thad sinks to his hands and knees. Then, he feels an arm wrap around his shoulders, drawing him into a hug.

We're gonna die… Thad utters dreamily.

Yeah. Corey hacks and coughs again. We are.

Corey...you have to know before we die. You have to know if your feelings for me are real.

What?! Corey sounds shocked.

Thad dissolves into a coughing fit. The smoke was almost impenetrable now. Kiss me, Corey. And know if your love is true.

Corey starts to stammer out a reply, but no words can suffice. Here, now, in the end, he knew Thad was right. And maybe at the very least, he could die knowing he loved Thaddeus Duke.

Corey pulls Thad in closer, gazing at his soot stained face. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Thad caressed the back of Corey's neck, a gentle touch and tacit permission. And with that, their lips finally meet! Thad and Corey melded into each other at the end of the world, and in that brief moment, their pending deaths became irrelevant, bowing in submission to this blissful here and now, as a love as strong and true as….

Corey pulls away from Thad. He smacks his lips a few times, and a slight grimace appears. That was….weird.

Thad's expression is equally awkward. He screws his face up, looking confused. Yeah. Like, not how I thought it would go at all.

Dude...Corey releases his embrace on Thad. It was kinda like kissing my grandma.

Thad sputters out a laugh. Oh my god, right?! I felt like no passion there at all.

Me either… Corey's look is quizzical. So what the hell were all those weird feelings I had for you?!

Behind them, a huge part of the flaming ceiling collapses through the floor, but all thought of their peril seems to have taken a back seat to this anticlimactic makeout sesh.

Thad is seized by more coughing. I don't know man. Feelings are fucking weird.

Excuse you! LANGUAGE!

And just like that, in a puff of chirping birdies and fairy dust, Cinderelli has appeared in the elevator!

Cinderrelli!!!

Fancy seeing you boys again. And oh dear, what a mess you've made! But at least you've done away with that terrible man.

Corey, eyes fluttering as asphyxiation starts to set in, manages, Can you help us?!

Oh but of course I can! All you need to do is believe in magic, and I will whisk you away to the most wonderful place on Earth!

Okay…Thad gags….but please hurry…

So do you both believe in magic?

I'll believe whatever you want! Corey cries out hoarsely.

With a chipper laugh, Cinderelli reaches down and places her hands on both of their ash crowned heads. And now….to the happiest place on Earth!





BAM! Corey, Thad, and Cinderlli appear at a table that has somehow already been served!

We really did arrive at the happiest place on Earth!

Oh did we ever! Fresh USDA Choice steaks at a reasonable price?!

A craft salad bar?!

Savory mouth watering seafood?! Corey claps Thad on the shoulder. It’s great to be alive.

Thank you, Cinderelli.

She blushes. Oh, it was my pleasure. I could tell you were good boys despite all the swears. And that the friendship you share is as authentic as they come.

Yeah. Friendship. Corey repeats the word for emphasis.

Friendship. Thad smiles back at him warmly. But hey man, if you ever need somebody to talk to to, ya know, help you figure things out….

I appreciate that, Thad. But I think I’m starting to figure it out on my own. I think I’ve been chasing things that I knew would never work out. Whether it be you or Dolly, I knew deep down that you guys were my friends and that anything more would never be in the cards. Because that’s not what I really wanted. I liked things the way they were with you two, and I tricked myself into thinking I wanted more.

So then what DO you want?

He purses his lips, looking contemplative. I’ve known what I wanted this whole time, but was afraid to take it.

But why?

Because it was new. And it wasn’t the “me” I had envisioned myself being all along. And that scared me. A lot. He breathes out a ragged weary sigh. And I was scared of what people would think. But, I think I’m ready to stop being scared. And I don’t know if I’m gay, or bisexual or….

Those are all just labels man. Thad leans in. Just be happy. Pick what you want, be true to yourself, and be happy.

Corey nods, eyes threatening to well up with emotion. Cinderelli has her hands pressed together next to her mouth, almost in tears herself. Truer words have never been spoken!

Yes! Corey exclaims. Yes! He slaps his palms down on the table, his exuberance building. He laughs, and it’s a laugh of one finally unmoored from the albatross of fears and insecurities he had been dragging for so, so long. It was freedom. Pure freedom. YES! He chants, in between bright bouts of jubilation.

Thad and Cinderlli both consider him happily. So what’s next, man?

Next…? He ponders the notion as though it had scarcely occurred to him. But then...oh. Oh, that devious smile. Corey looks deep into the camera.

Oh...Cinderelli, you may want to cover your ears.

Oh dear! She does so.

Thad cants his head at Corey and speaks two words: Wreck ‘em.

Corey acknowledges Thad with a nod of his own, and then slides out of his eat, embarking on a slow walk to the camera.

Uh oh boys, looks like C to the S has just added another feather in his cap. The feather of self actualization. Oh, you thought my FEELINGS had nothing to do with this match? That that was just an irrelevant counterpoint to the war we are soon to be waging? No, no, noooooo. You see what you two, facile and thick headed as you are, have failed to realize is that what makes us US, the things that go on outside the ring; our fears. Our loves. Our passions and insecurities. All of those are things we carry with us to the ring. It’s part and parcel of being an authentic, well rounded, human being. Because try as we might, we all carry the personal into the professional. And it impacts our performance. It plays at who we are and what we are capable of. Thad’s life, and my life, are not just some cluttering irrelevances to be panned and parodied. They are US.

And I….Corey points to himself….am now more comfortable in my skin than I have ever been. I’ve sloughed off self doubt like a molting cobra. And that is a very, very bad thing for Them No Good Bastards. He slaps his chest. Here I am boys! And there you are! He calls out boisterously, getting fired up! There you are indeed, a couple bifurcated, belligerent, bloviating, blasphemers….Corey dances a little jig. …..herp, a derp derp, I’m JIm Caedus now!

Behind him, Thad spits out half chewed prime rib as he starts to laugh.

I’m putting this bullshit parade to bed once and for all. The Bastards seem to be stuck in this gear of more is better. But when more has in fact largely been you fucking around with Chris Page’s tired ass, where are you going with this exactly? I’ve been loathe to tell you this up until now, but...Corey leans in to whisper at the camera….CCP is the UNIVERSAL champion. You two have idiotically been lending your clout to the WRONG TITLE DIVISION.

And how appropriate it is that the big minds of the Bastards would immediately think that more is better. That having an undiscerning palette and shoving as much content into your face hole is better than actual honest to God quality. Just like B.O.B. as a whole, the zone is absolutely flooded with Bastard shit and the more appearances they make the more ho-hum it becomes any time they get booked on a card. Just because there’s a McDonalds on every block doesn’t mean they’re better at fine dining, it just means they’re better at giving me diarrhea.

You don’t build clout just by showing up, you build clout by being great at your job. And so far, the Bastard’s record is far from perfect while Continuum, in any form, has yet to be stopped. Bobby wants to take issue with WHO we’ve beaten, speaking out one side of his mouth that he won’t decry our achievements while out the other side pushing that rock hard, week old, constipation turd of “only pinning the Left Hand and Jimson.” HUH. Now, color me geriatric, but there seems to be a thread missing there. Oh, I know!

Because that thread is TNGB desperately trying to distance themselves from their loss at Snow Job AGAIN. I’ve danced this dance with you guys before, and the first time you already proved that you know jack shit about the Mambo and can barely even complete the Chicken Dance without tripping over your own toes, but hell, let’s go to the ball a segundo. Just because neither of you ate the pin at Snow Job, does not mean you didn’t LOSE. There is no special “halfway there” award for the team that couldn’t stop the winning team from taking the win. You’re still just the other LOSERS. And that is what will be documented throughout the annals of XWF history. Bastards didn’t get it done. Full stop.

And if you really want to get deep in the nitty and the gritty about competition quality and “who pinned who when”, well, I can play that game too. Because of late, the Bastards greatest achievements have been busting up Salt and Pepper, a team that has been gone for MONTHS only to oh so conveniently be trotted out again to make you two look good, and pinning Mastermind in a tag match. Mastermind. A guy who has spent the last year proving he can’t even beat himself with his own right hand and a vice grip.

Ayyyuupp. So that’s what they done for the record books lately. Because God knows all the chicken shit ambushes and propping up the spectre of CCP’s dull as rinse water Universal Title Reign don’t mean a goddamn thing when it comes to actual wins and loses. You know, those pesky things that are the REAL determinants of quality in this here tag division, and not just slutting it up on every show and treating us to the entertainment equivalent of watching a hot turd push back and forth out of a rectum for the last month.

You boys wanna wax poetic about standing at the gates of hell together, holding hands and closing your eyes to the damnable truth heading your way like a freight train? Open those eyes boys. Open those eyes. Because what you’ll see standing amidst those hellfire flames are not “Corey’s and Thad’s” and their good intensions. Nah. It won’t even be Doc. It’ll be Betsy Granger and Atara Themis, ready to kick your asses again. Man, looks like no amount of preening showboating and bluster stopped you two from getting your shit pushed in by a team that’s about a third of your weight class, if that.

And hey TK, what rookies have I beat recently? Well, Savannah for one. And that's it, just Savannah. Because if you’re referring to Hawaiian Hardhead, who was old hat who won MULTIPLE XWF championships, or Andre Dixon, who competed outside the walls of the XWF, then I’m afraid I’m gonna have to go ahead and call bullshit on that. And you see, I took those challenges because I RUN towards real competition like Robbie RUNS to an Arby’s two for one deal. I wanted to see how well I stacked up against a hard hitter from yesteryear and a beast of a man trained by a former 6 time Universal Champion. And then, after I BEAT Andre, I called out said 6 time Universal Champion. Because excellence doesn’t stop with big shiny gold belts. And I challenge myself against excellence in all its forms. Unlike the Chris Page’s of the world, I shy away from nobody and nothing. I am here to prove myself whether it be singles, tag, three men and a baby, it doesn’t matter! I can take it all at once. Quote TK’s mom.

And Knuckles, one more thing. You salty because I said I’m better than you? Nut up bitch. Nut up and take a poll of your peers. You ask every goddamn one that if it came down to TK or Corey who you bettin’ your kid’s college fund on? How do you think that would go, TK? What does your heart tell you? Heh. I don’t have the title wins because I’ve been here a fraction of the time as you you walking pile of smegma. But in the time I been here, I’ve been tearing it up. Partner or no partner. EATING every challenge that comes my way like Alias gonna eat Chris Page. Uuugghhhhh, oh YUCKO. I’m talking about Alias! Laurel and Hardy minus the class and talent gonna be right triggered.

Let’s brass tacks it for you Bastards. And, I’m gonna permit myself a bit of ego and just focus on what I’m bringing to the match. Just me. Because, Corey Smith is a fire spitting 160 pound cannon ball of deep seated psychosis, with an arsenal of weapons learned at the feet of a time jumping assassin and a genocidal artificial AI designed by some of the filthiest players in the game. This body and its weapons BEAT Robbie Bourbon. This body and its weapons are MORE THAN ENOUGH to beat Thunder Knuckles. This body and its weapons are UNDEFEATED in singles and tag competition for the last 6 months, which NEITHER one of you can say and yes motherfuckers for the ONE MILLIONTH time SNOW JOB COUNTS YOU WERE THERE AND YOU LOST.

Corey Smith is 160 pounds of molten steel rolling across your battle field, chopping off legs, bounding through trenches and ripping heads. And my inertia, my momentum, is UNCEASING. And I’ve been rolling so fast that I punched the space time continuum in the dick and I can see the future! Ohhhhh yes! And I see a future where Them No Good Bastards, humbled again, humiliated again, and made to swallow that load of “most relevant, most dynamic, most MOST tag team ever” that they’ve been splooging all over our unwilling faces, right back down their own throats.

And they know they’re eating their own load too. They know. It’s why they signed up for that second, no, THIRD chance after March Madness. Oh and HOGWASH, “they were FORCED into it”. Because this far out from the show, there is NOTHING stopping you two from getting pulled from that match if you really wanted to. In fact, that would be an apex baller move to stand up proud, strong, and defiant and declare that you are SO assured in your victory at March Madness that no such alms are needed! Them No Good Bastards are no charity case. They’ve already got this shit on lock down, son. Just ask Robbie Bourbon. Ask him. And I will sit here and wait patiently for you two to remove your names from that booking sheet. I’ll wait.

But I’m gonna be waiting an awful long time, aren’t I? Because it ain’t happening. Because even management is so assured of your destruction at March Madness that they went ahead and slotted you into the losers array. They know how this is goin’ down. And so do you.

Hold hands, sing kumbaya, and imagine this future with me boys. Imagine a future where all the hollow talk, the narrative twisting, the running from your own failures, imagine after all of that, losing again. Losing to the combination of Continuum that you deemed lesser. Imagine the ramifications for B.O.B., that two of the only three people who actually mean anything in that bloated farce you call a faction, got their bluff called and their asses served twice over. I would say that the shame would be insurmountable, but I don’t think the two of you have a gram of shame to share between you. But the XWF will remember. Your once vaunted PEOPLE, will remember, Bobby. And best of all….here comes that smug smile that you hate SO MUCH….Continuum will remember. We’ll remember how we kicked these two loud mouthed also-ran wastrels back down the ladder so that real contenders can rise. So that Atara Themis and Betsy Granger can sneer at you as they move on up. Or maybe, some powerhouse team from the past. Maybe….

Corey starts to hum “Ebony and Ivory” by Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder with a cheeky grin. But then he stops.

Ehhhh, one can dream! And so can I. I can finally sleep soundly knowing what I want. No more nightmares. No more insecurities. And finally….

He throws his arms out in denoument.

...no more of Them No Good Bastards or their damndable, pointless, desperate, market saturation of the XWF. Man, I love it when the theme comes full circle like that.

Corey waves goodbye at the camera.

Now if’ you’ll excusez-moi, I have a date with a porterhouse, a Disney princess, and my best goddamn friend in the whole world.

With a parting glance, Corey returns to his table, slides into his seat, and he had Thad seamlessly pick up a conversation as though it never ended. Because that’s what friends do. That’s what partners do.

That’s what tag team legends in the making do.