Bartholomew "Boots" Lichter sits in his office, watching Fox News as he scribbles something into his notebook of speeches. The notebook is filled with various talking points. Anything said by a political commentator gets added to the book, only to be regurgitated later for a profit by the newly named Team MAGA. Sitting in the corner is Officer T-Law, sipping on a beer and scrolling through his phone.

"When do you want to fly out?"

"As late as we possibly can. I don't want to be stuck in that pot filled cesspool for any longer than I have to be."

T-Law nods in agreement, knowing that Portland, Oregon - the sight of this week's Thursday Night Anarchy - isn't exactly known as a place that buys into their...ideology. Or at least, the ideology they show to the public.

"Nice strip clubs in Portland, though."

T-Law winks over at Boots, who looks up at him. He sets his pen down on top of the notepad and mutes the television, looking completely disgusted at T-Law's statement...but not for the reason you may thing.

"If you find cracked out communist whores to be hot, sure. Personally, I appreciate women who take the time to shave their pussy, and who bathe more than once a month. Is the real reason I tried to get out of this match this week."

"Because you don't want to fly to Portland?"

"No, because I don't want to wrestle Vita Valenteen and the Mexican chick. I've heard rumors of the amount of people that have fucked that Vita girl. Apparently the whole roster took a turn, which I don't really understand. Dolly Waters? I'd fuck Dolly Waters. Or any of those blue haired bitches. But Vita has a face uglier than a bag of dicks."

T-Law laughs and shakes his head as he takes another sip of his PBR.

"I have no idea how those rumors about you began. A whole bag of dicks? Is it a clear bag?"

"Somewhat transparent. It's one of those bags you get from Wal-Mart. They're kind of flimsy and somewhat see through, but it can also hold quite a bit. That's Vita's face. A Wal-Mart bag filled with dicks."

Now both men begin to laugh as T-Law shakes his head, knowing that what Boots is saying is incredibly non-PC, but it's also the way he has spoken his entire life...which explains the situations he has been in. Boots, meanwhile, leans his chair back and puts his feet up on his desk, casually smiling in the most obnoxious way and showing off a set of teeth you could use as a mirror.

"Though, at least if we lose to Vita, we have come cover. People seem to think he's an ok wrestler, so getting pinned by her wouldn't be a big deal. We can't let the Mexican beat us. The last thing we need is for those Twitter trolls to be spamming "oh, look at the Trumpers getting beat by a Mexican wrestler! lol!" It would be terrible for our brand. I'm ok with losing, but I will not have it take money out of our pockets."

"I think we just need a win. Our fans are eagerly waiting for us to climb the ladder, but I don't know if they will wait forever. If we don't start putting some victories under our belt, I'm worried they might stop caring and move on to someone else. It is an election year, after all. They might give it to some Republican running for Congress."

"These dumb mother fuckers don't vote. They have no concept of what Congress even is. They just want someone to go on television and tell them what they want to hear. We don't have to win a single match - if we just tell everyone we're on the rise, they'll buy into it."

Before Boots can continue, a knock is heard on the door to the office. Both Boots and T-Law turn their heads to face the door, and standing in the doorway is an older, shorter man in a suit, and a nearly 7 foot tall, over 400 pound hillbilly in jeans and overalls. Boots quickly dismisses them as fans looks away from them.

"We're not selling any merch here. You'll have to buy it online. And our autograph signing dates are on there, as well."

The old man cracks a smile, as the tall hillbilly just stares into the void as if a single thought hasn't crossed his mind in over two decades.

"Do I look like someone who is looking for an autograph? I'm here to discuss business. A way to get your name out to more people, while also providing you with the services needed to actually win some professional wrestling matches and become the true American heroes you were born to be."

The man reaches into his jacket and pulls out a file folder.

"And to show you how serious I am, I'll give you this one for free."

The man tosses the folder onto the desk, which causes some of the papers to slide out. The folder is filled with scouting reports on Vita Valenteen and Latina Submission Machine - their moves, their weaknesses, their wins and losses - everything you would need to know. Boots immediately takes his feet off the desk, and both he and T-Law sit up to face the man and his hulking sidekick in a serious manner.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, my apologies. I should have lead with that. My name is Father Jefferson Cheney."