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It's probably cum.

I say as I wipe some stain from the plate of my NEW Television Championship belt. People, you have not lived until you have fucked while wearing a title, I'm telling you now it makes you feel like me. And if you are me it makes you feel better, like a fucking GOD! No cap.

I stand in my finest kimono, a golden floral number which illuminates my title and sensational bulge. As I place down my martini on a silver tray, one of my several hundred butlers takes a bow as he gets the fuck out of my shot.

"Sup fuckers! As your brand new Television Champion, I wanted to do something special. Problem is, I couldn't think of shit! So here's Michael Graves."


"HA! Wonderful. He isn't actual Gravy, he's just some homeless guy that I picked up. Found him fighting a dog over an old boot! ... In fact is this Graves?"

I lean around to get a better look at him, who stares back in his meth induced dizziness.


I step back with wide eyes.

"Fuck did I steal the real Michael Graves? Shit... There must be a way to find out."

I think for a moment as this dude starts to itch behind his ear like a flea-bitten mongrel, very impressed by his flexibility. I give a click of my fingers.

"Of course! Gravy's most notable quality, his wet pockets! Hey boy, you want a treat?"

He turns to me slowly with manic eyes as I slowly take a bag of coke out of my thong and shake it like a pack of treats. Gravy darts at me as I dodge and hold the bag back and hold out my palm to back him away.

"Ah ah ah! Sit!"

He does as I ask.

"Good boy. Now, Gravy what's in your pocket?"

Gravy slowly moves his hand towards his pants pocket, his eyes switching back and forth between me and the bag. He slowly pulls out an empty syringe which he drops to the floor. I ponder this.

"Still iffy. Now you could even be Shawn Warstein! This just confuses matters even more?"

The hobo keeps digging around inside his pocket and pulls out some litter along with an action figure of Mark Flynn! Which is a shock as, one, I didn't think they'd make merch of that hairy little backstabber and two, people actually know Mark Flynn and watch XWF? I take the figure which is dry but has definitely been soaked in jizz at some point.

"Hmmm. Well, it makes sense for Gravy to carry his pocket protector with him at all times. I mean the only time the bitch has been entertaining was when Flynn was inside him; better than ripping off Freddy Krueger and Die Hard, at least Flynn made him unique for the first time in his miserable life... Wait a minute! No he just did Freaky Friday! Fuck, this asshole steals more than Noah Jackson! Parody laws be damned, mother fucker is basically Pirate Bay with more viruses. And the worst thing is that some asshats actually applaud this shit! Homeless man why is this figure covered in cum?"

I hold the little Flynn by it's head as I dangle it above him.


Gross. Yet once again impressive. I drop the figure to the ground and toss the coke towards him as he goes at it like a Pitbull loose in a kindergarten.


FUCKKKKK YEAHHHHHHH!!!!!

"Woah! Look at 'im go!"

I place my hands on hips as he zooms around the marble floor stuffing coke up his nose.

"Welp, that solves fucking nothing. I guess if it is Graves I just gotta wait for Flynn to show up and carry him home; if no Flynn shows up then I have a coked up homeless man in my house... What do I do here?"

I watch as he goes near a marble statue of me and begins caressing it.

"... I should get a net... Nah, if he is actually homeless I need to treat him with some manner of respect. Dude's been on hard times... But if he is Graves I should treat him with zero respect as he is most likely a potential rapist and paedophile. Could lure him out with Dolly Waters! ... Nah then I'd have Dolly Waters in my house too and she'd just most likely want to create a new tag team with me. Call it something dumb like Midnight Dicks or Dicky Waters... Actually the second one isn't half bad."

I glance over to the hobo who is now dry humping the marble statue of me.

"He certainly is acting like Gravy. Then again everything that moves want to fuck on Dick. How the fuck can I tell if he's the real Graves? OH! Get him angry! Dude is like a riled up Nickles with a better grasp on basic sentence structure. Hey cum-gargler! Call me a necrophiliac because on Saturday I'm gonna fuck Graves!"

He stops his humping and just looks over to me with a raised eyebrow. I feel dirty.

"Actually don't call me that. That was dumb. Fuck! It's weird trying to trash him when he may or may not be here. For the first time in my cock-rocking life I'm getting performance anxiety. How the fuck do you even insult an unwashed hobo? His life is basically a joke and when I hit home too hard he'll just put on a mask and reinvent himself; remember when you used to be a warlock!? You fucking hack! Why ain't you doing that cool shit anymore? Why are you now just copying famous movies!? You have been the weirdest mother fucker in the world but at the very least you were unique. Mostly for being a horrific piece of shit that should have been cancelled and removed from the company dragging and screaming. But this shit you're pulling now? Bland as fuck my dude. Yeah you can get away with beating jobbers like Latina Suck Machina but you better not bring that weak shit against The Golden God before you!"

"The thigh bruising, baby gravy producing, pussy perusing, fuck pursuing, jobber reducing, the greatest TV Champion of all-time that your daddy be disapproving, Dick "makes more than just your pockets wet" Powers! And once I lay the fuck on you in my home away from home, maybe you'll be lucky enough that I'll feel bad and take you out for a nice strip club buffet; get a proper meal in you before I kick your disproportionate, pimpled ass back to the curb."

"Shit, you wanna call yourself extreme hangin' around in your own personal circle jerk with the most brutal man in wrestling, the legend known of Darren Dangerous, by god if I wanted a real challenge it'd be him. No joke, I am 100% serious, he scares the shit out of me! Dude is NOT forklift certified and mother fucker brought it at Relentless. Legend in this biz, I'm telling you now. Anyway, you wanna call yourself extreme Gravy and you want people to think your brutal because you have to go ham fighting because you never learned how to wrestle properly, let's fuck up your whole shtick."

"The stipulation, your Television Champion will be choosing, is you cannot touch me in any way shape or form or else you lose the match. I don't want your stubby baby hands anywhere near the glow of awesomeness. Not a fingertip nor asymmetrical foot may touch the God! I have no idea why no one has thought of this shit before! It's the easiest win of my life! Well, it was anyway but now it's baby levels. Charlie Nickles couldn't even fuck this up! Bobby Bourbon couldn't do shit and now I have the XWF in the palm of my moisturized hands. I get given more TV time and I get to pick the match every fucking show!?"

"Fuck yeah, bro!"

"And I'm not even a real wrestler!"

"How dumb are you fucks to not do this beforehand?"

"Oh but Dick what about proving yourself or putting on a show?"

"Bitch, I am the show! Why would I need or want to prove myself in wrestling of all things? Against Michael Graves of all people?"

"I'll prove myself to people like Raion Kido or Darren Dangerous if I'm ever unlucky enough to face him one on one."

"This kinda treatment is worthy for people like you, Graves, the same treatment I'd give that bargain bin champ Mark Flynn. Took him TEN YEARS to win a fucking belt? What a loser! This shit is easy! I can count the matches I've had on my hands and I'm a fucking champion! I get to pick what match I'm in! I'm in the main event EVERY FUCKING SAVAGE! I am the major stockholder in XWF! I'm more important than that twat! I'm more important than every fucker in this place! I am simply better in every shape and form than ALL of you!"

"And what the fuck are you Graves? Just some cunt."

"Nothing!"

"And when we're in Vegas you're going to get nothing!"

"You don't even get the satisfaction of hitting me in my chiselled jaw!"

"You get the HONOR of looking at me in the ring. An honor many, MANY people don't have the pleasure to have. So, wake up from your next parody, piss yourself in fear and watch as the GREATEST TV CHAMPION OF ALL FUCKING TIME begins his rise!"

"Then put your tears back in your pockets to keep em nice and wet you weird fuck."

"... WAIT."

"POCKETS!"

"PLURAL!"

I turn back to the homeless man who is laying on the ground with the stature smoking a cigarette.

"You! Stinky man in my house, what is in your other pocket!?"

The dude reaches into his pocket, snorting and huffing as his coke binge reaches his peak.




The whirling galaxy in his palm shines brightly in his palm as he begins to scream.

"A pocket dimension? You kinky bitch."

I say as I begin to quickly begin to be sucked off into the immense gravity well... OH SHIT YO WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!?

I dig my fingernails into the floor as I am pulled into the dimension as my limbs stretch infinitely and I blood curdling scream exits my lungs.

Suddenly, everything goes black.




































































Well.







































































Least now I know it wasn't Gravy. He can't keep anything of note under control.




















































































































































Like I would be more mad if he pulled some Hobbit shit. If I was Gollum and Bilbo did that "what's in my pocket" bullshit I would have shivved the mother fuck out of that hairy bitch.

Oh shit. I got limbs again!

...

Where the fuck am I?

...

As I sit at a desk in a horribly decorated office; I see a chubby man across from me that I don't recognize.

"So I'll handle everything this week, not like there's much to cover anyway. Numbers have been declining."

Wha?

Numbers? What!?

He looks up to me from his notes; I look at my fat hands... Oh god I am so fucking fat!? EW! I hate this! And why do my lungs feel like I've been deepthroating an exhaust pipe for a week straight?! And what am I wearing!?

"Bob? You okay? You're brain isn't bleeding again is it?"

BOB!?

Nonononononononononononon NO!

I rush to find the first reflective surface I can, that being a tacky silver ashtray.

My stupidly chubby hands grabbing it as I peer back and see myself.


"Oh you have got to be shitting me!"

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