oot-doot-doodle-oodle oot doot do do

We are immediately thrust into a fantastical circus as a classic soundtrack repeats on loop in the background. On the ground beneath the tarp of the circus tent there are three distinct circus rings, but only the ring in the middle is blessed with the shine of the spotlight. The filled-to-capacity bleachers lining the circus rings are shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of randomly placed neon light sticks in the audience. The soft mumblings of conversing audience members quickly cease as a grimey voice begins to crawl into their ears through the speaker system.

Whores, pimps, sluts, and cunts! Thank you ALL so much for being here with us on this very special day.

Charlie Nickles steps into the spotlight of the central ring with a microphone held just beneath his lips. He’s dressed in an outlandishly elaborate outfit that is exclusively scarlet and gold in color. Looking like a circus ringmaster who stepped straight out of a previous century, Charlie’s legs are covered in loose fitting pants made with a shiny golden fabric while his upper body is totally concealed by a scarlet overcoat. He wears a fancy tophat that is both golden and scarlet in hue…..wait, are those sequins all over his hat?

We have a very special performance lined up for all you childish imps and fiendin’ simps! But first…….let me tell you all a little story.

The crowd erupts in a chorus of boos.

WHAT?! YOU DON’T LIKE STORY?!

The crowd continues to boo the very concept of stories. That’s not what they came HERE for. Charlie cracks a sly grin.

Well then, I believe the audience has spoken! But if you all don’t want stories….what DO you people want?!

Charlie scans the now voracious crowd as he raises a knowing eyebrow.

I know what you want. Daddy Charlie always knows what the people want….just ask Just ask Connie. Or Sue. Or Amanda. Or Karen. Or Jessica. Jessica, perhaps better than all, knows that the Nickleman always gives the people what they want….

And it’s always just so convenient that the people want to see me bust up Jessica’s roast beef putang! Jessica, Jessica, Jessica. She’s always been on the receiving end of my Fury. Literally. Every. Time.

But how could I ever spare her the pain and the misery? The people scream, holler, and cry out for her head….and her head is always amazing, because the bitch is absolutely toothless. Standing at five feet five and weighing a whole lot of nothing, this bitch somehow still manages to hold every single one of her incestuous step brothers down.

Oswald? Ghost Tank? That’s a household name. He should be a star in today’s XWF, I mean my god, just look at his history! He’s won his fair share of championship belts. And I mean REAL championship belts, not just that little toy that he refused to share with Solace. That man has defeated Thaddeus Duke, but even more impressively….he beat Demos!.....Well, at least I think that’s more impressive. I wasn’t around to see it, truthfully, but our good bitch Thaddeus Duke is always quick to point out that Ozzy’s most impressive victory was against Demos- and I’ve always just taken his word for it.

Ohhhhhh how the tanks have fallen, turned into ghosts of their former selves. Where’s the fire, Oswald? Where’s the passion? Is Jessica the only one in your little cult that’s allowed to have any trace of fury whatsoever? My my my, Ozzy, they sure have that cock cage locked on tight. But you must enjoy it, surely. SURELY.

Oswald clearly has a shameful humiliation kink. It’s true. Why else would he stay in BoB? They routinely mock, ridicule, and castigate him! AND HE LITERALLY PAYS THEM TO DO IT! He funds their lavish lifestyles, it was his vast array of resources that put BoB on the map….but he’s not BoB elite? That’s fucking rough.

In fact, Oswald is so far outside of BoB Elite that he almost had a rivalry going with them! For all of about two seconds! It was great. It really was. I think I speak for us all when I say we loved seeing Oswald’s balls drop in real time. It was fucking epic to see him ripping back against Chris Page and his cronies. For a few brief days, Oswald was exciting the XWF universe again. He had everyone on the edge of their seat….

‘Has Oswald finally snapped? Has he had enough of BoB Elite’s abuse? Is he going to crush them all for publicly mocking him while they stole his shrinking riches?’

We were all waiting for the fantastic face turn. We were all excited for you to flip the script, and actually start doing something of substance again!

And then….pfffffft. You shit your panties and went back to your abusers and detractors. Pathetic. They literally used the money you gave them to create an in-group inside of your organization that you were not invited to!

The mockery. The ridicule.

Where do you think it all comes from?

The embarrassment. The shame. The fleeing confidence and the shattered ego.

Where do you think it all comes from, Oswald?

It doesn’t come from us. It doesn’t come from the XWF. It doesn’t come from the fans, it doesn’t come from your fellow competitors…..well it didn’t start with us at least. It started much, much closer to your glass house than you care to believe…

Seriously, Oswald….how can you expect anyone to take you seriously when your own faction doesn’t respect you? As soon as Chris Page came into the fold you were cast aside like an abandoned step child.

And nothing’s changed.

Isn’t that right, Thunder Knuckles? Nothing has changed. You said it yourself, those words came out of your own cocksucking lips. They were sweet words, truly, and I couldn’t agree more.

You see, fine folks out there in the audience, I came into the XWF nearly one year ago from today......and in that time? Nothing has changed. At least, not when it comes to Thunder Knuckles and I. Of course in that year Shawn Warstein went from being the universal champion to consistently being the mysterious loser in every major battle royale. But when it comes to leaky teeky and I? Knuckles is absolutely right- nothing has changed.

He’s still nothing more than the cheeky little asshole leaving shitstains on my leather boots after every match. It’s ridiculous, really. Cut him open with a can opener, nothing but shit comes out. Slice him apart with a saw, same story. You could even sock the bitch square in the jaw on national television and still nothing would come out except a whole heap of bullshit justifications and excuses.

You can see it for yourself! Look at the results of our first ever match against each other! It was a crazy one, a real cakewalk for me. I shocked everyone. Every single member of BoB at the time- Bourbon, Fury, Oswald, TeeKay, and a whole host of forgettable flameouts- had entered the retro battle royale. As a team. To keep me from earning a shot at TeeKay’s television belt.

That’s right. The entire BoB war games team, and then some, decided to enter a battle royale with the specific intention of making sure Charlie Nickles didn’t win it.

And guess what?

I fucking won it. EASILY. But you already knew that. EVERYONE knows that I single handedly eliminated BoB’s war games team from that match by myself. All on my own.

And then later that night I pinned Thunder Knuckles. Then a few weeks later I pinned him again. I’ve beaten him every time- and all he’s ever done is sniff my farts- and that’s true facts. After every win against Thunder, I’ve been sure to rip a doozy right in his unconscious face. And that’s three straight doozies.

But for some reason, TeeKay likes to bitch, whine, and pretend that I only farted in his face twice. As if 2-0 and 3-0 are really that different, but shit, who am I to judge the coping mechanisms of another? Even still, Thunder’s nostrils know the truth.

And so does every fucking one of his stable mates.

Do they just sit there stroking his cock and wiping his tears when he tries to deny my first victory against him? Are they going to be hyping him up in the back before our finals match, telling him that he’s definitely going to beat me this time because he’s only 0-2 and not 0-3 against me? That’s a tough fucking sell, and no one in the XWF likes to be a good, honest salesman anymore.

But enough about those Bitchy Ovulatin’ Broads.

I know which ragtag gang of superstars you all REALLY came here to see….



A brief sound of thrashing metal is followed by a spotlight close beaming down over Marf the Strongman. His face is dirty with dried filth and blood and his mustache is twisted with what we hope is beeswax. He’s wearing an old timey, black wrestling singlet and flexing his arms.

Marf takes the surroundings of the carnival tent in, and can’t help but feel bonded with this strangely put together group. All of them people he gladly would have tore through just weeks ago but now...almost friends. That might’ve the scariest thought swimming with the sharks in his mind but Marf can’t help but grin wildly.

So this is it, the final stretch of way too many fucktards shouting to the rooftops why they’re the best. I already have a headache having to decipher all the nonsense every so called team has puked all over themselves. This is getting me more aggravated than Centurion on a Sunday morning when his neighbor mows the lawn at 7:30am. Stupid old fuck is suddenly on Team Corey like I’m supposed to give two shits. Congratulations Cent, you’ve somehow made the most boring team in this thing even more brutally, mind numbingly...boring. Silly fuck doesn’t even know why he’s here other than to do his best Clint Eastwood impression and yell at us to get off his lawn or some shit. I’m shocked he hasn’t self imploded just from listening to Alias speak. Good luck with that Cor, I’m sure your rag tag group of twats will be almost as successful as your last TV title defense.

Should be interesting to see who survives that first round between them and team Thad and Dock. I think there’s two others on that team but I couldn’t be bothered to give a shit. It’s a shock they weren’t replaced I mean fuck, Andre Dixon is still alive? Is Chaos still doing the corporate whore shtick or is he back to being just a regular ole whore. Yeah, it should be real interesting to see if Thad can stop stroking his...ego, to carry this team over overrated, underwhelming wet farts. I hope Dock at least makes it through round one, we haven’t had the pleasure of sharing a ring together since I stabbed him at Snowjob. I promise not to play any safer…

Marf stops to grin again, those memories bringing joy to his soul.

Speaking of stabbing, a little birdie told me the substitute on Team Betsy doesn’t like me. Yeah, I heard ya pal, and guess what? Fuck you too, Shawn. Ah jeez, Warstein threw shade at me, whatever will I do? Am I supposed to give a fuck about your opinion? Help team Betsy fail, blame it on everyone else but your toxic self and then fuck off. Again. Seriously, nobody fucking cares what you’re doing in other feds, stop putting us to sleep with your wonderfully useless accolades. I feel bad for Lycana having to sit in the group therapy sessions with you, the other dickstain Estrada and the time travelling mongrol Betsy. The other groups are rough but Jesus Christ you guys are worse than a two hour Jenny Myst promo. And almost as riddled with STDs. I think only BoB has you beat in that last category.

Ahh, BoB, you fucking clowns. Here we are again, yet again I see you’ve been making promises and claims you can’t possibly uphold. My favourite one easily is stating I’m going to quit after War Games. Umm, why exactly? Because a giant group of shrivelled cocks laughed at me? Fuck it, better just pack my bags now. Just like last time I faced the Bastards right? Oh wait, I’m still here. Still pulling myself up and still fighting tooth and fucking nail. And I’ll keep doing so, without surrounding myself with a million other useless fucks. I’ll keep doing it without making a bullshit title and pretending people care about me. I’ll keep doing it without getting fake tits and making my own show so I can book myself and loser friends to be relevant. I’ve said it before and I’ll never stop saying it, fuck BoB.

Fuck team Thad, team Corey, team Betsy, team Bobbing for cock and most of all, fuck team limp Dick. The same team that has Geri fuckin Vayden and actually things they’ll do anything other than fail and fade away. That dumb cunt actually had the audacity to call me out for being picked late. Yes, the same shovel faced bitch that didn’t even get picked herself. You were the fucking leftover! You have no legs to stand on in regards to who got picked where now why don’t you go shove another guitar into that cum covered mouth of yours. It’s okay if your team plays it later, I’m sure you’ve given them all herpes by now anyway. For Powers that should help him complete the trifecta since he’s already got crabs and chlamydia. Even though poor Jimbo can’t spell chlamydia he’s still no stranger to it. All those gutter rats known as cheap hookers he’s blown his money and several loads on, not really a surprise there. But then there’s Ned...can soccer moms even contract STDs? Nah, he’s probably cleaner than a Lysol wipe and just enjoys scratching his balls. Oddly enough he’s also as difficult to find as a Lysol wipe these days. Too much time failing with Avaleft Hand Lite. Not one of you limp Dick warriors will survive this war. Only thing I can recommend for you at this point, go get tested once you’re done hanging out with ole Dicky boy...


Marf smirks one last time and nods over to an unlit spot of the circus tent. As he does, another light flashes on, revealing Robert Main. The Monstrosity. His face is warped with every bad intention, and every bloodthirst known to man. He’s wearing a mane of a lion around the collar of his leather jacket.


” Dick Powers wanted to subjugate Robert Main for the Xtreme Championship is a joke? Sure, if we could even get the syphilis-covered clown to show up for the match… You wanted about as much of Robert Main as Noah Jackson did when he wanted to fearlessly defend the Tag Team Championships or as much as Gator did when Robert was slated to defend the Universal Championship… Robert Main has never taken the words of a no showing bitch slinging dick jokes to heart… And never will... All this coming from a guy who would have one beer at a party and then start sucking dick for painkillers… Real bad boy… Powers the second you stepped foot in the squared circle you would have been steamrolled like the frail transvestite that you are… You never wanted a shot, that’s just blowing SMOKE (not the piss pump he cherishes) up everyone’s ass… But never fear my herpes covered friend, ask and you shall receive a cracked skull… I’ll make dame sure that you get every single word you uttered right up your loose ass hole sideways, just how you like it... Dick says that Robert Main just pops up and sells pay-per-views… When’s the last time we had a Dick Powers sighting? When has Dick Powers accomplished anything more than being the butt of everyone's jokes… Robert Main might be a rat running around in a maze, but that maze leads to the hall of legends… Unlike Dick Powers maze that leads to his local drug dealer's custard launcher and a crack pipe... Power’s is trying to run a team like a man with two prosthetic legs and when he falls flat on his face, he will wonder why… Dick you are and always have been a God damn joke and team that you assembled is chalked full of incompetent deadbeats that couldn’t wrestler their way out of a paper fucking bag… Each person that you picked, had their best days years ago… You’ve assembled an entire team stacked with lemons from top to bottom, catastrophes that will crumble in the willing and able hands of Team Charlie… Including that thin dicked politician Jim, trying to thread every needle he can with his pintsized pecker… Jim Caedus cannot carry the weight of an anemic team built of jack offs… Hell, Jim can barely carry the weight of everyday chores without thinking someone is out to get him, let alone handle the pressure of this situation… If there is one thing that Jim Caedus is known for, it's when the limelight is shining down, he becomes an insubstantial, insufficient, bush-league bitch… And if the past tells us anything… Well... You're all sorts of fucked…”



The Monstrosity snarled before continuing…



”B.o.B.”



A sinister chuckle comes from the demon as he lifts a Louisville slugger covered in barbed wire….







” It’s time for payback and this sort of thing just tickles my gigantic balls knowing there is a chance that after I’m finished stomping on Caedus’s face until he wheezes and gurgles and puffs up like a baboon’s ass… I’ll then slide my dick down his throat as he thanks me for the ass beating, I just handed him… I’ll have the opportunity to knock TK’s teeth out with my swinging dick, then smash him so brutally his eyeballs pop out of his skull. All so I can skull fuck the sockets like the money-grubbing whore, live on pay-per-view… I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a long time now… Each one of you B.o.B fuck-tards all thought that you’d all grow old together running rough shot over the XWF, sitting at the table stacked to the ceiling with Championships on lazy Sunday afternoon, with those shit eating grins and live out your wrestling careers happily ever after… WRONG! I’m coming into Wargame on a kamikaze mission, and I hate to break it to you, but life just isn’t going to work out the way you hoped for… Because I’m not going to allow it… Jim Caedus is going to get Blingsteen part dux in the first round and there isn’t a damn thing any of you can do to stop it…. Chris Page kept the big dog locked up as long as he could… But he had to know, each one of you had to understand one fundamental fact… Sooner or later, the dog’s going to run… That moment is rapidly approaching where each of you will realize you don’t know shit… You little bastards see that no matter what you decide to do, you don’t mess with “The Omega”. Robert fucking Main settles scores that need settling and eventually I’ll get my hands on each one of you and settle those score… Wargames you’ll be up to speed real quick and you’ll regret the moment you decided to crossing me. The only way now is punishment, I cannot move an inch forward without it… Retribution is how I’ve built everything I’ve ever obtained… And I refuse to move forward until I have it… After everything that has transpired, there is no turning back, there is no getting out of it… I wouldn’t accept your surrender if you came to me begging on your knees like the bitches that you are… Winning isn’t about beating B.o.B. Winning this war is about ending your careers. That is the reset needed… That is starting over. That is the breath of fresh air that allows this federation to flourish once more… I know that is a mighty big pill to swallow… But swallow it you fucking will…”

There’s a moment of quiet anticipation overtaking the crowd as Robert bows his head...

They’ve always asked: ‘what would’ve happened had Dolly Waters never left?’

‘What could she have been with more training, with more motivation, more experience?’

‘What would happen if that little girl who turned the wrestling world on its head in just a matter of months is ever properly motivated?’

A third and final spotlight casts down over Dolly Waters, her face is like stone, and smeared with dried, cakey blood. Resembling something like a horrible cosmetic accident of a circus clown,

I hope yer’ all ready to find out.

They’ve all circled in that echo chamber for years, because they know that the real Dolly Waters is dangerous. They’ve used those talking points to make sense of why every time I step in that ring I leave egos shattered like a coffee mug. They use those sentiments to make excuses for why I ended up on the original XWF Top 50, with all the names that have since moved on to the Hall Of Legends.

‘Dolly could've been great’ they’ll tell you, ‘If only she weren’t such a flake’.

It’s the only argument any of this War Games field has for me, and they scramble to clutch it, tearing it from one another’s hands because just my presence alone has them slipping on their gear shifts. Because truth be told, they’re terrified.

Why wouldn’t they be?

How many times have I had to return to the XWF and slaughter everything that gets stood before me while being doused in a torrent of bad-faith by people who have been just as in-and-out of wrestling as me, if not worse. Dick? Jim? Ned? Geri? REALLY?!

A pissing contest to see which one of them pisses their pants and disappears on a regular basis the hardest?

It’s fine, let all of the cowards hide in their hypocrisy. None of them have the balls to face down and acknowledge the worst of themselves the way I have.

I’ll be the Joan of Arc for their collective failures, because I’m not afraid of what makes these unimaginative shitwad wrestling acts insecure. You know why? Because Dolly Waters is a fucking natural.

Naturally, since my return, I’ve been called a flake for the millionth time, and yet naturally I returned after two years and smacked James Raven and Centurion around while barely breaking a sweat.

Naturally I have the “big” “bad” Brotherhood of Baddies conflicted and contorting because I won’t join their hyper-saturated, ego-reeking, clout-chasing stable. I know Fury stays misdirected, too doped up on turning herself into hentai clickbait for her basement dwelling fanbois to follow along with her own plot... but you can’t both simultaneously beg me to join your group and tell everyone I’m not worth a fuck, DEAR.

Talk about an attention seeking whore, right TK?

You sure do like em’, I guess that’s why BOB’s “offer still stands” for Dolly Waters, huh?

Naturally…

Miss Fury’s pretend superiority didn’t sound like someone punching-down at me in that whiny, menstrual cramp of a promo, she sounded like someone offended. Someone with their feelings hurt. Not evil, not intimidating, just the fury of a scorned cunt who ain’t got a chance in hell of beating me. She should stick to trying Bobby’s one liners, that type of thoughtless doody-splatter should be easy for her to pick up. It’s more entertaining than listening to Fury victimize herself with my name.

I ain't scared of you, JESSICA. I’ve beaten better, and I’ve lost to better. But WHEN we meet in that ring at War Games, I’m going to show you why yer’ justified in wanting Dolly Waters as a member of BOB.

Yes, I said: *when we meet*.

Naturally… because the Carnival is coming to Bethel Woods, NY and sadly, Dick is too short to ride in the main event of War Games. Short sighted, short changed, short handed and shit out of luck.

I’m sorry, but it’s pretty obvious that he had no clue what he was doing when he drafted his team, and not just because they’re a flaming bag of dog shit, but because Dick is notorious for not having a clue what’s going on around him. In the lead up to our match at Leap Of Faith, the promo he doubled-down on, the stupid fuck said that Vita held my hand. When were Vita and I ever friends? The only thing Vita ever held onto was for dear life when I dragged her around the ring with her nostrils. He said the same thing about me and Doc, and he was just as wrong.

It makes perfect sense why Dick would’ve drafted such a terrible team because he doesn’t know a goddamn thing about any of them. Dick said he drafted each of them because they’ve been a part of a stable.

That was your brilliant strategy?

I would pause to laugh right now, but this should serve as a moment of concern for you.

Jim Caedus has just recently self-destructed a stable for what? The second? Third time now? And awoken this grisly s.o.b standing stage right.

She points her head towards Robert Main’s Monstrosity,

Great selection! Before our match is over, Jim Caedus will be down on his knees crying and apologizing like every other time he fucks up just before Robert reminds him of APEX’s pecking order.

Ned Kaye? The guy who couldn’t cut it in APEX Legacy and quit the company?

I mean you call it quitting with me, same shitty sentiment should apply huh?

Ned Kaye got his ass handed to him not only by Cap’n Charlie, but Demos as well. You think Avalanche is a stable? They’ve been on TV together how many times? Twice? They couldn’t take out the Bastards, and they couldn’t keep Ned’s paper championship reign intact against Thad either. What type of 7-D chess do you expect Ned to bring to these War Games? He couldn’t beat Robert, he couldn’t beat Edgar fair and square, he couldn’t beat the Stalin cuck version of Charlie, and his lackeys couldn’t Marf. The only thing Ned is capable of beating is his shitty home made video games, and only if he uses cheat codes.

I think you put yer eggs in the wrong nest, Dick. Maybe ACUCKalypse Now would’ve been able to overcome whatever in the fuck that disaster Betsy drafted is..

-I mean hold the phone for a second, can we all not sit back in awe at that heaping pile of garbage? They’re probably the only team in history who could add a former Universal Champion to their ranks and actually be taking a step back, it’s mind blowing-

...but Dick, yer’ not getting past the Carnies. I’ll do everything in my power to see that through. I’d do anything for these Carnies, and I could care less if they appreciated it or not, Dick. That was when I knew you weren’t going to be able to beat us, the moment you scoffed at the idea of me repping my squad.

Naturally...

You laughed at me being dedicated and loyal to seeing this process through. Saying I’ve got too much potential to waste my time with them? Eat shit. It ain’t about me. I’ll throw myself in harm's way, I’ll take the fall, I’ll burn every ounce of my energy, my ability, my sanity, and my body to see to it that Charlie’s Carnies wins War Games, with, or without Dolly Waters. I’ve already killed myself for this team in more ways than one. I’m willing to risk everything for them, because that’s the kind of person I am.

The only reason there’s a difference between us, Dick. A difference between us and the entire War Games field is that we confronted and destroyed our egos, and we did it as a team…Now we’ve got nothing to lose. We don’t need to mask ourselves with hypocrisy and a pretty face to go to war. Other than that we’re exactly the same, except I know the worst of Dolly Waters, and it’s the same bad elements that’s in each and every one of you. I know thy enemy because I am thy enemy, and I’m not scared to admit that. WE’RE not scared to say aloud, the truth you all whisper to yourselves:

That we’re all just stars in the dope show.

I couldn’t have said it better myself, baby.

The spotlight shines down on Charlie once more as sets his gleeful gaze on his carnies. A look of psychotic adoration overtakes him as he wipes a bit of mist from his eyelids. Outside of the tent, the air locks pop on a vintage tin covered greyhound bus. The sound brings a glowing smile to The Ringmaster's face as he turns back to address the audience.

Ladies and gentlemen… It’s time for Charlie’s Carnies to take the dope show on the road. Next stop! Bethel Woods, New York for a little war, and a lot of games.

Get your tickets now and see this spectacle before you in all it’s deranged might!

Oh, but before I go….can one of you fine folks in the audience deliver a message to little Dicky Pee for me?

I have his mojo. It’s on the tip of my cock. He can slurp it up after I’m done putting the spirit of a great wrestler inside of Geri Vayden.

The camera zooms in on Charlie’s face. He gives the audience a sly wink before the feed cuts out.