The XWF drone assigned to the TV champion continues to float outside of the last TV left in Loy’s now abandoned antique shop. For what seems like days now the screen has been resting on complete static, but like a good little robot the drone never left its spot. This allows the camera floating outside the old TV to see exactly what happens when the screen finally flickers back to life…..






TONIGHT ON GANGLAND






A wrestling powerhouse that runs like a fortune 500 company

The Bastards made millions by brutally punishing anyone who got in their way

“Either roll with the gang, or we’ll roll over you. It’s that fucking simple.”

They dominated the wrestling industry in federations across the world

Not since the days of The Kings had a wrestling stable ruled with such bloodlust

"The Kings were lame, hierarchies are so 19th century. We’re a democratic organization!"

They will insult you, assault you, threaten your family, and shoot you- in that exact order.

Kidnapping, torture, dismemberment…it’s all strictly business for the Bastards

"My army of lawyers has advised me to plead the fifth."

Nothing speakers louder than humiliation and degradation in the Bastards underworld

Any psychopath can roll with the Bastards, so long as they’re willing to take a leap of faith: in themselves

"You want to ride with the gang? All you gotta do is run a drill on the opps’; knock down their set’s O.G.! That’s how I got in."

Despite their blatant and obvious criminal racketeering, no Bastard has ever been convicted of a felony

Many experts suggest that the Bastards deploy a highly advanced system of police intimidation and extortion to stay out of the penal system

"Whenever one of us gets arrested, it’s my job as CFO to call the police station and try to bribe them with BarnCoin. When that doesn’t work, we usually just threaten their families."

When it comes to the Bastards illegal networks and finances, there are still many unknowns

But one thing we do know is this: the Bastards are not to be trifled with







You guys sound pretty badass. Can I join your gang, too? I have experience. I used to be a carnie!

We cut away from the show’s title card and fade into an interior shot of a grimey trap house. There is a polite Canadian man seated across a mostly broken table from a band of gritty gangbangers. Three of the table’s four legs have old tennis balls on the bottom, and the table’s last leg is propped up by an old storybook. Behind the gang we can see that they have plastered a portrait of a black woman amidst a galactic background to the wall. At their feet we can see a few roaches skittering up and down the cracks in the floorboards.

The gangster seated in the middle appears to be the oldest. He seems to have aged years since the battle at Golgotha, evidenced by the smattering of gray hairs now peppered into his mane and beard. On the right side of his head an old ear has been crudely stapled perhaps a dozen times to the outer edge of his ear canal. It looks like it has been infected for years. This gangster is the first to respond to the Canadian’s polite request.

Oh I know all about you, ‘Ice Pick’ Marfy. This BOBFather’s got no problem with you joining, I think you’d be an incredible asset…but let me consult the boys. Because unlike President Harris’s America, our gang is a real democracy.

The Canadian nods in patient understanding as The BOBFather turns to his immediate left, to see what this man thinks.



What do you say, Puta Bomba? Think this man has what it takes to bang?

The gangster in the durag carefully considers the question as he cups his chin with a thoughtful hand.

He could, but I still got some bad blood with him. He ran up on me with some blue-haired bitch and unloaded a whole clip, that kinda shit ain’t easy to forget or forgive.

The BOBFather nodded at Puta Bomba’s words before turning to his immediate right, to see what this man thinks of the situation.



What do you have to say, Tee-Kay47?

Well he sounds a lot like me, which is pretty fucking cool.

Charlie nods in appreciation at the comment from the man with Sister Pryce’s old rifle before he looks down the tabe even further, to this man.



Tell me it be like it is, B-Jizz.

You know it do.

Charlie nodded in agreement with B-Jizz before looking down the other side of the table at this man.



And what say you, Big O?

I say this better be ready to ride, cause if he wants to join the gang he’s gotta do some gangshit off the kick.

Well of course, Big O. Absolutely.

Now is exactly the time that this man decides to join the conversation by adding his own two nickels.



Wait…I know you went and got a spray tan, but I still don’t think you’re supposed to say that word, Big O!

What word isn’t he supposed to say? Shit?

No…...

Everyone in the room, including the polite Canadian, immediately gasps in shock. They all look towards Bobby with judgment in their eyes as they slowly shake their heads from side to side. Big O seems to be particularly offended by the comment.

Now why the fuck would you go and say a slur like that, Bobby Bourbon? Shit, I might start calling you Cracka’ Bourbon now…it’s about time you got a damn damn gangster alias, anyways!

There are no more gangsta aliases! Bobby Bourbon is the most gangsta name there is! And what is everyone getting all offended for?! I didn’t even say anything, Oswald said it!

Big O’s a black man now, Bobby. He can say it!

He’s not black, he’s not even Rachel Dolezaling it! He just got back from Sun Tan City today! And I didn’t even say it, I censored myself because I’m classy!

The rest of the bastards, and the polite Canadian, just shake their heads in disappointment with Bobby Bourbon.

God damn it Bobby, ever since you got that prison tat’ you’ve been saying all kinds of fucked up shit! Who even gave you that dirty ink? A fucking Aryan brother? Wrong brotherhood, bro! Fucking hell.

I didn’t say anything racist! I was just pointing out that Oz might be doing something racist!

Black people can’t do racist things. Even I understand that, Bobby.

Well hold on, I don’t know about all that…some of the most racist people I know are black!

What are you two talking about? Barney, Big O isn’t black! And Charlie, what black racists do you know?

Well, for starters: Big O! You should hear some of the stuff he says about the people on unemployment!

Bobby throws his hands in the air, clearly frustrated by this idiotic turn of events. All the bastards look once more at Bourbon with disappointment before turning their focus back on the new recruit across the table.

So…after all that, do you still want to join?

Fuck yeah I do!

All the bastards smiled and nodded to each other in polite approval of the crass language, except for Puta Bomba, who was still pissed off about getting jumped by Marf and his ex-girlfriend.

Well shit boys, looks like I need to hand this baby over to our new friend. Be careful: the thing has a hell of a kick to it.

Tee-Kay47 grinned as he passed the rifle over the table alongside a heavy metal ammunition box.

Here, this should do the trick.

‘Ice Pick’ Marfy eagerly accepted the rifle, looking it over closely as the heavy metal ammunition box sat on the table in front of him. The BOBFather looked at the box of ammunition, then frowned. He reached under the table and grabbed a much smaller paper box filled with rifle cartridges. He slid the paper box across the table while pulling the heavy metal box back and setting it on the ground next to his seat.

Take this ammo instead. You’ll need to hit him with a lot less of these to knock him down.

‘Ice Pick’ Marfy just shrugged as he opened up the paper box and grabbed a cartridge out of it. Marfy then tucked the paper box of cartridges into his pants pocket. The Canadian checked out the chamber, loaded his weapon, and flicked the safety on before looking back across the table at the bastards.

So who is the hit on, anyways?

The rest of the bastards turned their heads and smirked at the BOBFather seated in the middle of them all. The BOBFather called out the hits, he picked every gang target. The man with the mangled ear wasn’t the leader of the gang, not by a long shot, but they all agreed he was best suited to command the strike team. The BOBFather had plenty of experience leading a team through the games of war, after all, and he had a hell of an eye for picking out targets.

Deeper still, the man with the mangled ear was called the BOBFather in this universe because he took puerile joy from plotting the bloodshed. Every gang hit to him was a work of art, just waiting to be painted bastard’s red. The BOBFather has taken a sick sense of satisfaction from the violence ever since the core of his universe was stolen from his side.

Oh, Ice Pick….we’re going after him. He has something that belongs to me.

Who?

Him.

Say again?

Marfy cocked his head to the side as he squinted at the BOBFather, as if that would somehow help him hear better.

I told you. Him.

Marfy scratches his head.

Yeah I don’t think I know that guy. So where are we going to find Tim?

Him.

The BOBFather corrects the pronunciation.

Yeah…where is he?

Now isn’t that the million dollar question? Ever since I told that coward we could run a fade any place, any time he’s been a hard man to find. He ran off right then and there with his tail between his legs, only to come back a few weeks later and hide in my shadow. No one has heard shit from the bitch since. But I think we just got the drop on him, ain’t that right Tee-Kay?

You’re goddamned right indeed.

With a big ol’ smirk, Tee-Kay47 pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket. The bastard straightened the paper out before sliding it across the table to the gang’s newest initiate.

One of Big O’s street rats heard that the bitch is going to be on Mustafar Avenue sometime tonight around 5.

Mustafar Avenue? What the hell is he doing all the way out there?

I think it’s pretty clear to everyone he wants to get as far away from me as physically possible, for his safety. Mustafar is pretty far, but it ain’t far enough. If we leave soon we should be able to make it in time to catch this motherfucker. I just hope he has it on his body when we catch him.

Has it?

The BOBFather looks back wistfully towards the portrait plastered on the wall behind him. B-Jizz speaks up to answer the initiate’s question in his stead.

His main squeeze!

B-Jizz imitates the squeezing and motorboating of breasts as Marfy cringes. The BOBFather wipes a single tear from his eye as he turns back to face the initiate.

Cheddar Al has taken a lot from me, Marfy. Practically the entire universe. But it all ends tonight. We will pop up when he least expects it, and he won’t even know what to do before his brains meet his sneakers.

The other bastards laughed in merry unison as the BOBFather folded his hands together on the table. Ice Pick looked between each of the bastards, then nodded his head at all of them.

I can’t pass up a good murder plot! All you have to do is tell me when to go.

The BOBFather nodded his approval as he leaned back in his chair. The rest of the bastards all took turns dapping up Marfy from across the table, even Puta Bomba.

If we’re lucky, that piece of shit might finally have his daughter with him. Since he likes to talk about my kids so much, it might be time for the whole town to start talking about his kid! ‘Oh that poor little girl’, they’ll say, ‘it’s a shame she died in that shootout. It’s even worse what they did to her body after!’...hehe. Maybe dreams do come true, eh Marfy?

Ok, and everyone was trying to cancel me for what -I- said?!

Bobby looks around in exasperation with the cultural dynamics in the group, but no one else really seems to mind all that much. They all want to see that little girl dead, too.

Hey, wait a minute…

The BOBFather looks suspiciously between everyone in the room.

Is one of you wearing a wire?

Everyone in the room nods their heads ‘no’ while holding their hands up innocently.

I don’t wear wires, I don’t even wear underwear!

Same here, Puta!

The two commando bastards high-five each other from their seats.

Someone’s listening in on us…it better not be the fucking federalies.

The BOBFather scans the room until his gaze settles directly on the camera outside the TV.

There you fucking are!

The man with the mangled ear literally reaches THROUGH the antique TV set and grabs a hold of the XWF drone! He pulls it into his television universe before chucking it on the ground! The black drone cracks and scatters into multiple pieces on the floor! The drone’s camera, however, is still functional: albeit on the floor.

Them savages don’t call me the TV God for nuthin’...

We see a tiny pair of feet leaving their chair and walking across the floor towards the camera. A few seconds after that we see Puta Bomba’s face as he picks the camera up with a big smile.

Hey, guys- I think we could probably use this to film our next rap music video! We’ll probably get some killer footage tonight!

The BOBFather snaps his fingers and points at Puta Bomba.

That’s a great fucking idea. No one is allowed to snitch on us…except ourselves! Because if we did it, then they can’t use it in a court of law! The constitution says you’re protected from self-incrimination! You’re a genius, Puta!

Yeah!

No, that’s not how any of that works!

Bobby rests his head in his hands as Puta Bomba enthusiastically begins filming the Bastards gang himself.

Say hi everybody!

The bastards take their turns waving at the camera from the table.

Worldstar is going to love this shooting!

Fuck the world, the entire universe is going to love the shooting of this star!

So, what are we waiting for?

The BOBFather slams his fists down on the table as he stands up.

Fucking nothing! Let’s go run this fucking drill, you bastards! Marfy’s first drill with the boys. We’re making memories every goddamn day in this Brotherhood.

The BOBFather smiles in appreciation at all the bastards assembled. He then points at the cameraman and the newest initiate.

You two are coming on this drill with me.

Hell yeah!

Marfy stands up with the rifle his his grip as he starts walking across the table. The BOBFather then looks between the remaining bastards.

You lot stay here and do that financial meeting, or whatever the fuck it is.

The gang’s CFO, B-Jizz, steps out of his chair before plopping down in the middle chair the BOBFather was just in. He pulls a folder out of his singlet and opens it, showing dozens of pages of in depth accounting reports.

Now, it’s time for the real work to begin.

You’re telling me…

The BOBFather rolls his eyes, already bored by the numbers and graphs on the report pages. The man with the mangled ear gestures for the two accomplices to follow him through a wooden door placed on the sidewall. As Puta Bomba steps through the door with the camera, we can see that the bastards are walking into a big ol’ garage filled with tons of high-tech military and luxury vehicles. There’s even a helicopter and an airplane, too, but the BOBFather walks right past all that nonsense towards a black tarp posted up against the wall.

It’s been years since I’ve had a reason to bring this baby out of retirement…but we finally got the drop on his ass, and now he’s going to pay.

The BOBFather pulls the tarp off and reveals the very Indian Panhead we all were expecting. The motorbike looks to have seen better days, as it is still stained with dark blood and brown crust from the battle at Golgotha. A bit of rust seems to have collected around the sidecars- oh wait, no, that’s just years-old defecation. Regardless, Marfy and Bomba hop into a sidecar on either side of the bike. Marfy holds the rifle close to his chest while Bomba holds the camera on his shoulder. The BOBFather sits between the two men with his grip firmly on the handlebars as he revs the motorbike to life.

It’s time to motherfuckin’ ride!

As the garage door opens the Indian Panhead roars through the steadily growing gap. The BOBFather ducks his head to avoid being smacked in the face by the door as it opens, but Punta Bomba forgets to move the camera! The screen suddenly cracks, and we get nothing but static from the feed!





Some time later, the camera feed comes back to life. We see Puta Bomba’s smiling face through a cracked screen.

Holy crap, guys, I think I fixed it!

Nice work, Puta Bomba!

Puta places the camera back on his shoulder before reaching behind The BOBFather and fistbumping Marfy. The three men appear to be waiting on a parked motorbike in the middle of a cheap casino’s parking lot. A neon sign outside the seedy building reads ‘LEAP OF FAITH FIVE CENT CASINO’. The BOBFather can be seen leaning forward on his motorbike, looking out onto the street for any sign of his gang’s next target.

Man, this is taking forever…he was supposed to be here an hour ago. Are we sure we got the right drop on him?

That pussy is hiding again. He must know he’s going to get fucked…I wonder if someone tipped him off.

The BOBFather leaned back on his motorbike as he began scanning the sidewalks for suspicious individuals and known informants. That’s when the bastard noticed an anxious looking man, burying his face in a smartphone while typing away. The two men made eye contact, and the tweeterbird just about shit himself. The man on the sidewalk immediately tucked his phone into his pocket and began walking off the other way.

I think we just found our songbird…

The BOBFather revved the bike back to life, and the man immediately started sprinting through an alley.

Get him! Get him! Let’s gut him like a fucking dolphin!

I got my rifle at the ready!

Marfy holds the rifle up to his shoulder while aiming down the sights. The BOBFather whips the bike around like a complete pro and slides into the long alley behind the informant.

We’re going to run your ass down, boy!

No need…I’ve got the shot.

Marfy squeezed the trigger exactly one time, sending a bullet flying out of the barrel down the alley. The bullet struck the target in the calf, and he immediately fell to the ground in agony. His screams of pain were barely audible over the roar of the charging motorbike.

Run him over! Run him over!

Puta Bomba excitedly cheered on the carnage while he held the camera closely. The BOBFather, however, brought the bike to a stop just in front of the man, who was now trying to crawl away with minimal results.

AL! AL! HELP ME!

He can hear you, boy, but don’t count on his help. So you can scream all you want I suppose. You won’t hear it the same ever again, so go wild while you can.

The BOBFather kills the engine of the bike before stepping off it and crouching down directly in front of the bleeding man’s face. The BOBFather took the man’s chin in his hand, forcing him to make direct eye contact. Puta Bomba continued to film it all from the sidecar as Marfy went to reload the chamber of his firearm.

You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.

The informant sneers.

Or else what? You can never break me!

There’s no or else.

The BOBFather reached into his leather steel toed boot and pulled out a boxcutter. He flicked the blade up and held the man’s face tighter, to prevent him from pulling away.

Stay still. Or don’t. It doesn’t really matter in the end.

What do you mea-AGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!

AHHH HA!

The bastards laughed in merry unison as the razorblade began to tear away at one of the informant’s ears. The man tried to pull away, but it was no use, the grip of the BOBFather was simply too strong. The panicked victim looked around for help as he screamed in horror, but that only made the bastards laugh harder. Just as the ear was finally ripped from his skull, the man passed out on the concrete drive.

Now let’s hear what he knows.

The BOBFather rises to his feet with ear and boxcutter in hand. He brings the boxcutter up to his own mangled ear, and repeats the very same process. The other bastards look away as the BOBFather grimaces, cutting apart his own staple and pinjob. After a few seconds his old, infected ear falls off and lands directly on the unconscious victim below.

The BOBFather holds the new ear up to his bloody earhole and listens closely.

Yes, yes…I can hear him over there in that otherworld.

What’s he talking about

The BOBFather shakes his head a few times while listening before tucking the ear into his pants pocket.

He’s saying he wants to fuck your ex-girlfriend.

Damn, him too?! Shit she’s a whore.

But I know where he is. Now come on, we don’t have long to get there before he realizes something is afoot.

A foot? Jesus, is the dude hanging out with THUGZ like T-Wishbone now?

These days Cheddar Al is all about incest, backroom gossip, and dick jokes…so probably.

The BOBFather straddles the motorbike and revs it to life just like he loves to do. The camera shakes from side to side as the man holding it snickers to himself.

Cheddar Al…what a stupid name. What kind of parents name their kid Cheddar Al, anyways?!

The camera comes back around just in time to catch the BOBFather rolling his eyes.

It’s not his real name. It’s an alias.

Oh…right. We all have aliases, so I guess that makes sense.

The BOBFather presses down on the gas and the motorbike begins to slowly pull through the alleyway.

Bobby doesn’t have an alias.

Wow…you’re right.

The BOBFather slams on the brakes and looks between the two bastards with measured disappointment.

What? No he isn’t. Bobby IS his alias. He changed his name when he joined the Brotherhood, just like the rest of us!

Oh….right.

The BOBFather shook his head before finally driving the motorbike out of the alleyway. While he was driving fast, he made sure not to go over the speed limit. It’s never smart to do two crimes at once.

But you are kind of right, too, Puta. I mean, Cheddar Al is a pretty dumb name. Why does anyone call him that?

We’re the only ones that call him that, Ice Pick, but he responds to it none the less.

Wait, why do we call him that again? It’s kind of a silly name.

Kind of?

We call him Cheddar Al because we are gonna fill him fulla’ holes: plot holes, bullet holes, fuck holes, whatever kind of holes we please.

Plot holes?

Yeah, the holes they dig for burial plots.

As the bastards fled the crime scene the BOBFather decided to turn on the radio, to create a more enjoyable ride for his passengers. The gangster theme track had little meaning, but it sure set the mood for these killers as they cruised towards their next objective.



The motorbike drives around the city for about a dozen minutes, hopping on the interstate and heading to the far east reaches of the town. When the bastards roll off the interstate, they are stopped by an immediate redlight. The gangbangers use this momentary pause to take a look around for their prey.

He should be somewhere in this part of town. He can’t have gone far.

How do you know?

He heard it through the ear.

Oh, right. Of course.

Marfy taps his head a couple of times, as if he were checking to see if it was empty. The light turns green and the BOBFather slowly pulls the Indian Panhead out into the intersection. That’s when, out of the corner of his eye, Punta Boma spots something in the shadow of the motorbike. He points the camera right at it, and we can see that it’s CHEDDAR AL! And he’s holding GOLDI!

BOBFATHER! IT’S AL!

BASTARDS, OPEN FIRE!

The motorbike whips around and Cheddar Al goes a’running! He’s sprinting down the street at incredible speed, the likes of which had never been seen before. Thankfully for the bastards, the Indian Panhead was still faster. A lot faster.

The motorbike speeds past Cheddar Al before turning so that Marfy’s sidecar is directly facing their target. Ice Pick already has his weapon locked and loaded, so it takes him no time at all to begin firing upon the man in the shadows. The camera is right behind the gun, so we see the empty cartridges flying out of the gun with every single shot.

Get his ass! Get his ass!

Cheddar Al gets shredded apart by the bullets, and before long he is forced to a knee. Then, he collapses to the ground. Marfy continues firing anyways, until his empty gun clicks, signaling an end to the wanton devastation.

You knocked the big man down, just like I did! Way to go, Marfy- you’re one of us now!

Both the BOBFather and the cameraman took turns shaking Marfy’s hand and patting him on the shoulder for the achievement. The BOBFather then reaches into the console of his Indian Panhead and pulls out a BOB t-shirt, which Marfy immediately slides on over his other shirt.

I always knew you’d make a great bastard.

Do you think I’m a better bastard, or a better carnie?

The BOBFather grinned like a dog at the loaded question.

Only time will tell. You’ve done well today tho, Marfy, on the real. When I saved you from that bullet at War Games, I knew you’d pay it back a thousand times over.

Well, yeah! That’s probably the only reason you took that shot for me!

Oh absolutely! I was telling the fans some bullshit the other day about being a good leader and a noble man, but come on, we all know that isn’t true! I just spin the yarn for those idiot fans and they eat it up, every time!

The bastard all shared a joyous laugh as the blood of their opps stained the street. The BOBFather turned his sights back towards his latest victim, but his jaw immediately dropped when he saw nothing but stains and bullets.

WHERE THE FUCK DID HE GO?!

The BOBFather hops off the motorbike and sprints towards the spot of the shooting. He immediately crouches down and begins looking for Cheddar’s fallen body. A couple seconds later his bastard accomplices ran up behind him. Unbeknownst to the gangster, a police drone suddenly began tailing them from above. The drone set its tracker, and its camera, onto the BOBFather himself as the bastards hear sirens going off in the distance.

I definitely shot him!

He’s probably hiding! That’s like, his whole M-O!

He’s like a cancerous fucking mutt. He’s hiding cause he knows I’m about to put him down for good.

Boys, split up. Find this bitch and fuck his brains out before we have to smoke a piglet.

I’ll find him, but I’m not fucking him.

I’ll fuck him!

The BOBFather turns back to Marf with a scowl.

It’s a metaphor.

What the fuck’s a meta for? Fuck it, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to look for this sick cunt.

He wishes he was a sick cunt! Some people actually like those! I like them!

Ice Pick and Puta Bomba split off in separate directions as they try to track down their wounded prey. The BOBFather stands up and places his hands on his waist as he looks all around the street for any trace of Cheddar the coward. The BOBFather doesn’t see anything at all, but he hears the door to one of the stores suddenly open and shut, then he hears a bell chime. He turns his head and sees a small trail of blood leading into a local antique store.



The BOBFather narrows his eyes on the store as he approaches it. He looks down at the blood and begins sniffing the air like a crazed dog.

It’s him, and he still has her.

The bell above the door chimes as the BOBFather enters the store with evil intent. Loy’s antique store looks a whole lot different in this future, however, and the BOBFather is a bit taken aback by the new layout. There is nothing but a wrestling ring in the middle of the store, and only the two sidewalls contain any merchandise at all. The sidewalls are filled with shelves of shatter-proof mugs and intermittently mounted TVs running up and down the walls like a patch of wild weeds. On the back wall is where the lovely Goldi is mounted, and the BOBFather immediately starts walking right towards the only trap he’s fallen for this whole time.

A gift for me!

He squealed with glee as he walked around the ring towards the back wall. He picked the championship belt up off its mount, lifting it into the air with pride. Suddenly, his face dropped with disappointment.

So you’re still alive…

He looked towards the unseen figure in the room, his face awash with disappointment.

That piece of trash is not your gift.

Cheddar Al said, through muffled means, while leaking out of several holes across his body. By now Cheddar looked something like a garden hose that a pitbull got hold of.

In fact, I think after today, you’re just about done giving or receiving gifts all together.

What’s that then?

The BOBFather asked, pointing to where the figure stood out of sight. He still smiled that deranged smile.

Your goodbye present.

Click went the hammer.

And the barrel…?

Just so you know, your friends are out there right now. They’re accepted. Like you never would be. They’re not even going to come looking for you…

BANG!

The bullet punctured a hole in Charlie Nickles’s head. His body gave way instantly.

Cheddar Al thought he was dead.

Never forget…

You made me do this.

Cheddar Al cocked a loaded smile as he holstered his firearm. He shook his head from side to side as he stood over the body of the BOBFather and grabbed the championship belt. Cheddar lifted his mask up partially, just enough so that he could light a cigarette between his lips. The leaky man ashed his smoke on the BOBFather with a happy-go-lucky smile…that soon shifted to a frown as one of the TVs in the corner suddenly faded back to life.

I can’t die, Al…because I’m immortal when I’m on the TV.





The face of a madman suddenly sprang to life on even more TVs across the antique shop. Shatter-proof mugs begin to fly around the room, crashing to the floor one after the other.

Anyone can kill a man…but no one can kill the image of a God.

The BOBFather cackled madly as his face popped up on every single TV mounted to the wall, one by one and two by two. Shatter-proof mugs continued to fly off the shelves, and eventually some started pelting Cheddar Al. The leaking man yelped in pain before rolling into the wrestling ring to avoid the unrelenting assault.

All shall bow or all shall fall, there is no other option.

The man on the TV screen licked his lips as Cheddar Al rose to his feet in the ring, clearly refusing to bow. Cheddar held the title belt close to him as he looked around at the walls anxiously. Cheddar Al was so focused on the God inside the TV that he never noticed the corpse of the BOBFather standing tall in the middle of the ring. The TV God laughed mockingly as Cheddar Al unwittingly bumped into the animated corpse, fresh off his own twisted crucifixion.

Al didn’t even have time to respond before his brains met his sneakers. The corpse pushed the smaller man into the air before he used his hands to drive him to the mat. The POP-UP POWERBOMB that killed Cheddar Al came out of nowhere! But the signs were always there, in the shadows….

Talk about a Mood Shift, eh Al?

The man on the TV cackled psychotically as the animated corpse stood still in the center of the ring, staring down at the crushed body of the belt thief. By now Cheddar Al looked like the victim of landmine, the way the remnants of his body were splattered all over the ring.

Now come on, you earthly sack of flesh, you got somewhere else in the universe you gotta be!

The man on all the TVs gestures for the corpse to come on in. The remains of the BOBFather stand still in the center of the ring for a few more moments, soaking in the greatness of this endeavor, before it picked up the championship belt and stepped between the ropes. The corpse stepped on every mug en route to the nearest television, shattering them all with his step. Jagged pieces of glass stuck into the corpse’s foot, but it really didn’t seem to mind.

As the TV God smiled and gestured, the corpse with the belt stepped through a TV screen and joined The Nickleman back on our side of the universe. By now we can hear police sirens directly outside of the antique shop, but it doesn’t matter: the TV God is gone like a thief in the night.

When dozens of police officers from this alternate universe finally burst into the antique shop, all the TV screens suddenly turn to static. We now know for sure this is an alternate universe, because the police are actually responding and doing their job. Still, there is no protocol in any dimension for what a police officer is supposed to do when they see THIS suddenly pop onto every television screen that matters…..








Really, REALLY corny music with a rock backbeat plays throughout Studio 1, and the attending audience rises to their feet and clap along like good little sheep. You could swear to your TV God that you’ve seen this scene before...

The on-stage wall before the crowd slowly splits open, giving a glimpse into the backstage area, before Ellen Degeneres herself walks out to her applauding fans with a big smile and a waving hand. Still, despite the show host’s bright outfit and cheery demeanor, something about the tone of this show seems just a little downbeat. Ellen basks in the adoration of her fans before she walks to the front of the stage and formally addresses her audience.

Ellen does a stupid little dance on stage and nearly falls over, her age clearly wearing on her after all these years on air. The DJ at the booth shakes his head sadly, but continues playing the upbeat music nonetheless. The audience quietly cringes as Ellen plops down onto the stage couch and starts rubbing her legs in pain.

Woo….all these years and I still got it! Hello everyone!

The crowd is right back into it and begins applauding for their icon before she gestures for them to sit back, settle down and settle in. The music is cut off and Ellen gives her classic smile to the camera.

I’m so beyond grateful that you all could make it out here today for our last ever show. I know, I know, time flies when you’re having fun! But really…I want to thank all of you, each and every one of you. You know who you are. There was no way this show could have been what it was without the appreciation and hard-earned dollars you all gave us every week, so thank you!

The crowd clapped for themselves as Ellen gave a little curtsy to the crowd from her couch.

Ellen takes a long look at her audience. Her crowd is stacked to the back with the usual sort, middle aged white women and a few token gay men that kind of look like Corey Smith and Thaddeus Duke….no wait, that’s definitely just Thad and Corey sitting there in the audience. Ellen gives her boys a little wave and they wave back with big smiles on their faces. They know how much this show means to her.

Ellen claps her hands and gives a wide smile to the rest of the audience.

But enough with all that...let’s party like we can never party again, because I don’t think the studio will let us after our lease ends!

The crowd cheers as she initiates the transition.

My guest today is a complicated figure in sports entertainment. He has a sour past, he’s certainly no boy scout, but after all those completely unfounded allegations my piss-ant workers made about me it’s been really hard to get decent guests to come on. So, this is who we have for you today!

The audience doesn’t laugh. Ellen gulps, then forces a smile anyways.

So without any further ado…I present to you….THE NEW UNIVERSAL CHAMPION OF THE X-TREME WRESTLING FEDERATION!

Ellen looks down at the notecard placed conveniently in front of the couch.

“The TV GOD” Charlie “THE FAMILY MAN” “THE NICKLEMAN” Nickles….wow that’s a mouthful!

You’re damn right I’m a mouthful, baby!

Green and red smoke is pumped onto the stage as Charlie Nickles walks out from the back with his championship belt held high in the air. The boomers in the crowd murmur softly as they watch on in confusion.



Charlie holds the belt up high as he walks towards Ellen’s couch. He brings the belt down towards Ellen, offering her the chance to touch it. Ellen, being courteous, reaches out to touch the gold. Before she makes contact, however, Charlie snatches the belt away from her with a snarl!

Nobody touches my Goldi.

Oh oh…right! My bad…ah ha…they warned me about that.

Nickles continues to snarl at Ellen as he takes a seat beside her on the couch. His snarl quickly shifts towards the audience.

Maybe we could do a handshake, big fella? I promise not to touch your crown jewels...I am a lesbian after all!

Ellen extends her hand as the crowd laughs, and thankfully Charlie takes it with no further problems. The guest and the host shake hands politely before The Nickleman slings his modified belt over his shoulder.

Thank you for coming onto the last episode of our show, Mr. Nickles, especially on such short notice. We originally had Vita Valenteen booked, but after she canceled on The View we knew there was no way she was going to make her appranc with us! So…Nickles…that’s a pretty interesting name for a wrestler, right?

Charlie just stared blankly at Ellen as the audience looked on uncomfortably.

So….not one for small talk I guess. Hey, fair enough! You had a big night last night, I mean I’m sure we all saw it.

Ellen looks out to the crowd in affirmation, but everyone in the crowd looks as confused as Ellen is on the inside. The show host looks down at another notecard conveniently placed near the stage couch.

Last night you defeated…ALIAS?...at the Leap of Faith pay per view, put on by the X-treme Wrestling Federation! And what a match it was. You walked away from it as the Universal Champion, and some people are asking if…ALIAS?....will ever walk again. What do you have to say about all of that?

Ellen looked at tomorrow’s universal champion pleadingly, hoping he would take the hook and give a good appearance on the show.

Well….

Charlie looked at Ellen blankly, then out to the audience. Everyone in the audience looked away from The Nickleman as he turned towards them…no one wanted to meet his eye. When he finally looked back at the show’s host he shook his head several times while clutching his Goldi close to his chest.

I’d say you’re already making the same mistakes Alias was.

Well, what do you mean by that?

Alias had it twisted the entire time. He was never defending his belt, no one EVER said they wanted that piece of trash. I certainly never wanted his belt, it looked like something a child designed in fifteen minutes, while watching one of my Savage matches.

Ellen gestured towards the championship belt hanging around Charlie’s shoulder.

Well, isn’t that his belt? It says here he was the champion…

Charlie laughs mockingly as he gestures towards his Goldi.

This beauty? She was never his, she will never be his. She was mine when I walked into Leap of Faith and she was mine when I walked out, and that’s all there is to it. This championship belt is the single most valuable prize in professional wrestling, and that’s why Alias was so dead set on taking it from me. He knew the belt he had was trash, would always be trash because he fished it out of a garbage can at March Madness. He wanted to get his hands on my Goldi because everyone had been chasing her beauty for over half a year.

We both signed up for the main event at Leap of Faith for MY belt! I entered into the match because I wanted my Goldi to be given the proper respect she deserves, not becaus I wanted that cheap piece of plastic Alias kept around his waist- or rather, kept at home, because I’m not sure I ever once saw him with that belt. He probably didn’t want to wear it because it smelled like garbage.

Alias went into our match with the completely wrong mindset, and that’s why I sent his trash-ass reign to the dumpster of history last night. He was never the champion in this match, he was always just my 10th title challenger. My championship belt is what dominates this universe today, not his.

Ellen nodded along, not understanding a single word but not wanting to ruin the mood of the show.

So…tell me about your belt. Is that ear…

Ellen gestures towards Charlie’s mangled right earhole. He just chuckles as he shakes his head ‘yes’.

My ear? It sure is. My friend Jenny cut it off last year during some sort of PMS fit, but I decided to put it on my Goldi so she could hear all of my sweet whispers at night. Sometimes she would have trouble hearing me between the sheets, you know, because she didn’t have any ears. Now the whole process goes a whole lot smoother. Plus we can ear hump now!

Charlie continues to shake his head and smile as some people in the audience start to gag and dry heave. Ellen quickly tries to change the subject.

Well let’s just talk about something else, like maybe your match last night? Why do you think you won? It seems tough, getting into a ring with someone else and fighting them. It gives me shivers just thinking about it!

Ellen and Charlie chuckle together for a moment as the show host tries to bring the intensity of the show down.

Well…some people think I snuck up on Alias. But that isn’t true at all.

No?

Charlie shakes his head ‘no’.

Not one bit. If Alias thinks I snuck up on him, then he only has himself to blame. He decided the terms of engagement, it was his right as Theo’s paper champion to set the pace. If he wanted a long and drawn out affair with The Nickleman he could have had it, but I think everyone knows why he didn’t want that.

Well, I think I missed the memo! Care to fill a gal in?

Ellen leaned in curiously as Charlie detailed the situation.

He didn’t want to die a long, drawn out death with thousands of dying screams. He wanted to go out quick, so he could fade back into the shadows without another word….well, there’s always the chance he gives us another word, it wouldn’t be the first time...but after that? He’ll be gone with the wind, chasing after those ghosts he loves to play with so much. And that’s exactly where he is now, on this very day, exactly one year after I came back to this world as the man you all love to hate so much.

Charlie sneered at the innocent audience, taking Ellen aback.

Besides, it’s never been my job to upload the fucking youtube videos. They come out when they come out as far as I’m concerned, shit, I don’t even care if the promos never go out at all. The fuck do I need them for? My matches are going to play out the way they play out, I do all this shit on the microphone just to sell tickets and merchandise. Goldi likes a lavish lifestyle, and like the Family Man I am I make sure to provide. If Alias wanted to talk through his problems with me, he could’ve showed up on any fucking Saturday night and I could have squashed him right there. The pussy ran til’ the pay per view, so I won’t beg forgiveness for running his skull into the mat.

We don’t all have earless suckboys following us around and running our social media, I rely on the XWF production team to handle all my shit…and look, I’ll be the first one to tell you that they fucking suck!

Well then…how did you win the match? If you didn’t sneak up on him?

Ellen tried to continue the interview, even as it became clear that it was going off the guardrails. ‘Fuck it’, she thought. It was the last show, so why did it matter if it went south? The show is already canceled!

I won the match because Alias couldn’t bring himself to respect the XWF. His smarmy, douchey act finally caught up to him, and it bit him right in the asshole. Alias never really cared about his belt, so why would he fight like hell to keep it? But hey, I won’t be too critical of the guy. I already beat him, you know? No need to keep kicking a dead horse….but shit, when in Rome!

Charlie elbows Ellen and tries to play a funny bit, but everyone in the crowd is extremely concerned the moment he makes contact with their favorite show host. Ellen herself slides away from Charlie as soon as he touches her.

All I’m saying is it makes sense why Alias couldn’t fight hard enough to keep his belt. He never showed up to work, and if you listen to the way he talked, it seems like he thought the XWF was a pretty dogshit federation. Alias said half the roster, you know, everyone who lost to me for the TV title, is trash at what they do for a living! He was out there saying Elijah Martin and Ruby can’t polish his bootstraps, that Centurion can’t sniff his jockstrap. Alias is just a big shit talker, though, because if he really wanted to he could have gone over and showed us all how it was done on Thursday Nights! I’d like to see how he fares under those dreaded Anarchy rules. I bechu Alias won’t tho, I bechu he never will, because that pussy knows he can’t play this game on hard if he doesn’t get to pick the rules. I bechu Jason Cashe would legitimately wipe the floor with Alias on any given Thursday Night, but I don’t think the world is ready for that conversation yet.

Alias lost our rubber match because he didn’t think he needed to prepare for someone like The Nickleman, he didn’t think anyone signed to an XWF contract could ever touch him. If Space Jesus only knew how wrong he was, he never would have spent so much time playing make-believe while I was raiding his Golgotha!

Ellen blinked several times as several members of the audience got up and started to leave.

His…what? Huh? I meant like….what move did you use to win the match?

Oh…I just used my new finisher! The Mood Shift! It’s a pop-up powerbomb, Bobby Bourbon taught me how to do it. He said it was a move fit for a universal champion, and shit, he’s been there before so I figured he might be right! And TV God damn it…he was!

The Mood Shift, huh? That’s a fun name! How’d you come up with it?

It’s like, a metafive or some shit. I don’t know, Bobby was explaining it to me and it just made sense! It’s named after me, specifically, it’s named after what I do in that squared circle! Sometimes I can be funny, sometimes I can be mean. I can give it to you anyway the fans don’t want it. I can box, I can brawl, I can even get hardcore. But shit, if the bookers called for me to win a My Little Pony Pillow Fight you could bet your ass I’d adapt my style and make it work to my advantage. I can assert my will in any match stipulation across the universe! I’ll switch up any whole mood I have to, I’ll do whatever it takes to shift things my way. I’m just kind of sheisty like that.

Right….

See: Alias thought he was the universe, but he was only ever just a black hole that sucked people in. Not me, though, because for me…where there is a TV screen, there is a way. That’s why they call me the TV God, after all. When the screen is on I’m immortal, when the screen is on I can do the impossible, I can make miracles.

Well….

Ellen scratched her head as Charlie leaned back on the couch and began fondling the belt’s ear.

How did you spend your time preparing for the match, what was your secret?

Charlie looked back up at the show’s host with a wicked grin.

I spent two weeks before the match wearing turtlenecks to prepare for Alias. Not just because turtlenecks look refined and sophisticated, but also because wearing one is like being strangled by a really weak guy all damn day.

Charlie and Ellen laugh together as members of the audience continue to leave the studio in a steady stream.

Mitch Hedberg! A classic!

You know my favorite thing about Mitch Hedberg, Ellen?

No, I don’t. What is it?

Ellen smiles as Charlie leans forward, as if he is about to tell her a secret.

He fucking killed himself. Maybe if Alias would take a few cues from his faves, he’d off himself too, and then we’d really solve the problem of the High Lord once and for all. But I knew Alias was too pussy to walk in the path of his idols, that’s why I came into this match knowing I would be the ultimate harbinger for his end.

Oh no…

Oh yes.

Ellen sighed as she placed the palm of her hand on her forehead. By now she just wanted this all to be over, and that feeling grew even more intense when she glanced up and noticed that the entire crowd had now abandoned the building.

Oh jeez…I hope people are still watching on TV. But they’re probably not…I mean, we’re getting canceled for a reason….

Oh, don’t worry Ellen: people are definitely watching.

Ellen looks up towards The Nickleman in clear exasperation.

How could you possibly know that?

Because I’m on your show, and people love to hate-watch everything I do! Their hate-boners compel them, because I’m the motherfucker those sick sons of bitches all love to hate.

Jesus….just..just end it all now.

Ellen throws her arms out at her sides as she steps off the couch and storms off the stage. The Nickleman can’t help but throw his head back in laughter as the camera slowly zooms in on him and his Goldi. Charlie only stops laughing when he lifts his Goldi up and stares right into her ear.

You know I love you so much, baby…do you feel loved? Now that I’ve finally given you the universe, just like I promised to all those months ago?

The Nickleman waits for Goldi’s ‘response’, then he smiles.

We’ve really come full circle, haven’t we?

The newly crowned universal champion kisses the ear taped to his belt before the show producers have finally seen enough and decide to cut the feed entirely.