I had a bizarre dream this week. I had a dream that me and my tag team partner, Angie, had a baby. That was why I needed to meet up with Angie in order to discuss our future as tag team partners, or as I like to call it, "life partners." You see, my mentor in Calgary told me that the relationships you make on the road will last for a lifetime, and I see Angie as a lifetime partner. She's so tall, talented, and... well, there isn't a synonym that starts with "T" that means sexy, but she's a very beautiful woman that I have no business doing business with. 

So, I arranged a meeting at a waffle house. Well, technically, my tag team angel "Angie," arranged it. My mentor in Calgary always told me not to spoil your own promo, but I just did for the sake of catching the attention of my viewers. 

Would you like to see the interaction between me and the beautiful queen, Angie? If you said yes, then you're in luck.

I ran in pure jubilation to the location of the next show on the night of Angie and I's title win over those stupid little girls. Did I mention that tall women are 100 times better than small birds like Dolly Waters? Why play with a "doll" when you have a bronze statue of a woman next to you who can protect and admire you? Haha. 

I was running in the middle of the street holding up my belt for the world to see. I was like Taylor Swift flaunting my new album to the world. My "best that there ever will be" mentor in Calgary always told me that the miles that you put in for the fans are more important than the miles you put on your body and soul. He also advised me that my virginity was sacred and that the quality of your dance partner in the ring was more important than the quantity. Anyway, my plan was that I was going to make appearances in my current championship-state at bookstores and hobby stores across the country. 

Anyway, about my super sexy and cool-a## tag team partner! Where in the "7 hells" was my cool b### Angie? She "obvs" needs to be here right now to share this moment on Twitter for Elon Musk and his slave factory, which was built on blood emeralds. Beto For Texas and screw Twitter, there I said it. I digress, she pulls up in her sexy ride to divert me from my hobby store tore. 

Angie: "Dude, do you want a ride? We should hit up Waffle House, I'll pay and everything. That was an amazing performance! I wasn't expecting that type of chemistry! Sorry if I'm blushing. So, what do you say, can I take you out for waffles or are you more of an omelet's kind of guy?"

M Jr.: "No thanks! I'm going to run to the run to the next show with my belt! I got to promote us my sweet angel!  And for the record, I'm a brunch guy."

Angie: "What? You're not going to run to the next show! That's nuts, your next match is against the TV  Champion Isaiah King. Get your dumb butt in here!"

M Jr.: "I have to show the world what we did tonight, Angie! The fans want to see us! When it comes to Isaiah King, aka IK, F HIM!"

Angie: "Ok but I can just have my agent book some special appearances and exotic photoshoots together. You're going to get robbed, dude. Also, you need to be in good shape for your match against "da champ."

M Jr.: "Wait, you really think that I'll get robbed?"

Angie: "Obvs. because our next show takes us through some pretty shady areas."

M Jr.: "Oh. Yeah, take me to Waffle House then. But I'm paying since I'm the man of the house."

Angie: "Ugh, Oook, Maddy."

I got into Angie's car and made out with my title belt. Probably let a fart slip out too. My mentor in Calgary always said that you'll appreciate your accomplishments more if you kiss them before every match, and fart afterwards because his last named rhymed with "fart." I had hoped that I could impart some of my mentor's wisdom onto Angie, but I think she was on the rag.

M Jr.: "Angie, my first idea for our tag team run is that we kiss our belt."

Angie: "No thanks."

M Jr.: "Well, I'm doing it."

Angie: "That's fine."

M Jr.: "Why are you so opposed to it? Just kiss the dang belt, ok?"

Angie: "Fine! But you owe me for every time I have to do it."

M Jr.: "Ok whatever, I'll rub your feet or something. So did you think of a name for our team yet?"

Angie: "Obvs. What do you think of the name Maddy and Angie? Doesn't it sound cool? I think it makes us sound like we're outlaws that rob trains and steal gold from the crummy capitalists."

M Jr.: "Ok, but I got one even better! 'The Mangie Duo'"

Angie: "Haha, I kind of like it in an ironic way. I see what you did there. Let me think about it."

M Jr.: "Maddy and Angie is a good name too, don't get me wrong."

I thought about my creative input for a second, and I began to back pedal on this rotten "Mangie Duo" idea that I conjured up, and cornered Angie into. How could I do that to such a beautiful, long-legged creature? I couldn't have Angie go by that name, she's too perfect. My mentor in Calgary always hammered into my brain that this business isn't about only me or my strange creative experiments. He taught me that selfishness was his ultimate downfall. I needed to reevaluate the idea because it wasn't just about me. It was about Maddy Sr, Maddy Jr, my mentor in Calgary, and Angie; we needed to run our creative ideas like a business. (what my mentor in Calgary always said) I had to fix my egregious error on Angie right away, since I know women are emotional creatures that want a connection and not just sex.

M Jr.: "On second thought maybe we should be Maddy and Angie. You were right, it does sound elegant, rolls off the tongue, and bada## sounding, pardon my language."

Angie: "Right, I think it would look better for our public appearances!"

M Jr.: "Yeah, by the way, did you alert Elon Musk that we won? Maybe we you should make a Parler account while you're at it. Gee, I wonder what neat comments will trend with our name now that the space man nipped censorship in the bud-"

Angie slammed on her breaks before I could continue with my Ted Talk. It caused me to hit my head very hard on the dash! I thought Angie knew the severity of concussions. I began to question her commitment to our tag/life partnership since she was so willing to damage the most vital part of the human body. 

I had to put my foot down or she would think that this was acceptable behavior. She must have slipped into a fragile, emotional state from my comments about her allegiance to Elon Musk and his alt-right social media crusaders. Maybe she needed a cigar of weed for her little meltdown. I'm sure that would show her lunatic, evangelical parents "what's up." I wonder what her childhood was like? Don't those people beat you with a stick for showing your ankles in public? Did they try to arrange a marriage for her? These were things that I hoped to learn from this strange, sexy lady over time.

M Jr.: "What the heck, Angie? You 'obvs' did that on purpose! Did I say it right? 'Obvs.'"

Angie: "Sorry! Look, we're here! Let's eat!"

M Jr.: "Ok but we need to go over driver safety before we leave. That was a reckless move, Angie. I know you're probably anti-Christian because of your nutjob, right wing parents, but there's no need put my life at risk. I thought you community college graduates were supposed to be intellectuals. Hey! Don't roll your eyes at me!"

I hoped that Angie would get her act together. She had already broken the window to my car with her purse where she stored free weights for some reason. I kept a yoga mat in my trunk and met with my psychotherapist before every match, so I can't judge. But my brain still asked, "what kind of a person carries gym equipment in their purse?" 

Probably the same type of person that engages in those social media cesspools. I was disturbed when I learned about Angie's in social media presence. I thought an intelligent woman like that would know better than to rot her brain like that. It's like a person with a family history of diabetes eating chocolate muffins every day. But I digress. 

Back to my comment about "driver safety." You better believe that I'm holding Angie responsible for the repairs. For those of you who missed it, I was locked out of my car and Angie slammed her purse into my driver's side window in order to rectify the situation. I'm all for rectifying, but Angie was out of line. Then she suggested that she would "call her insurance company."

The nerve of her to suggest that we would hold the insurance companies liable for HER mistake. 

No, girl. 

She would need to pay me out of pocket so that she would learn a valuable life experience. YOU DON'T F### WITH PEOPLE'S CARS! I was starting to become concerned for what her idol, Elon Musk, was teaching her, seeing as how he gave Kanye West a platform to spread anti Sematic views. Was she actually a carnie sleaze ball underneath that beautiful, slender, creamy mountain of flesh? She seemed too comfortable with throwing something through a window. Isn't that what they did to the Jews, or is Hollywood deceiving me?

M Jr.: "Angie, I brought you a gift in case we won."

Angie: "Oh, Maddy, you shouldn't have!"

I felt as though Angers telling me "I shouldn't have" was a foreshadowing. 

I gave her a shoebox, which I put 3 hours into accessorizing with her interests and watched her face light up(?) as she opened it. Inside the box was a cigar stuffed with the finest weed from Guadalupe St, a SpaceX shirt so that she can show support her new overlord, and birth control pills in case she becomes attracted to me. My mentor in Calgary always told me that a Rum and Coke here and there was ok, but the best way to recover from a match was with a strain of Sativa. The Excellence of Execution might have been serious about wrestling, but he understood how important it was to decompress. He also taught me to be weary of long-legged ring rats posing as wrestlers. 

Angie: "Maddy, what are these birth control pills for?"

M Jr.: "To control your birth, "obvs." I imagine growing up in a dystopian-like, religious household, sex was probably frowned upon, so you have no idea what these are. I'm surprised that you graduated from community college to be honest. Anyway, it's to prevent you from having a baby by accident. Whatever you do, don't show your dickhead parents, they would probably burn you at the stake. 

"I know that for now our relationship is platonic, but it's good to be prepared for anything. You never know, you might fall in love with me when I'm posing on the turnbuckle with my belt and pubes sprouting off into the camera. I don't think we you are ready to have kids yet. Plus, if someone else were to knock you up, I would be forced into looking for a new tag team partner. I don't need a motherhood getting in the way of our success. My mentor in Calgary always told me to look out for your tag team partner because all it takes is one little mistake to throw the match off. Look, it's your body but the pills are there if you need them. By the way, Ms. Social Media Manager, we're trending on Twitter like crazy. You might want to pay for the blue checkmark, you Elon mark. Oh yeah, I also gave you something called a blunt that I made myself in your present. I noticed that you get kind of moody, and my mentor in Calgary has the best hookups."

I thought that Angie would stay with me to light up, but she walked away (without the blunt) instead. Maybe she didn't agree with my outlaw lifestyle, or maybe she needed to change her tampon. 



Elijah Isaiah King is a quick speaker. Did you see how quickly he got his promo out? I admire that tenacity. I'd do the same thing if I was wrestling against the son of a former #2 in the top 50, former (now inactive) King of the XWF, and total s### bag who's willing to do anything, including jail time, to win. The idea is to strike fear early on into your opponent, isn't it? I admire that, Elijah Isaiah. 

I noticed that my opponent defeated Angelica Vaughn, aka "Angie," my tag team partner, and potential girlfriend/wife. I know Angie is an intellectual who made really good grades in community college, so it's quite impressive that Isaiah King was able to defeat her. But, when you lay your hands on my girl, we got a problem. We'll address that problem on Saturday, IK. 

My girl was probably too wrapped up in her Twitter and Instagram likes. I always told her that would be her downfall. I don't bother with that social media stuff, it's just a distraction. I try to tell that to Angie, but she refuses to listen despite her space man overlord firing people and putting an end to work from home.

Do you feel good about beating up my dumb future girlfriend, Isaiah? I don't feel good about beating up girls, but the powers that be insist that I press their beautiful faces under my oppressive boot. It doesn't feel right when we do that, but that's what they want us to do, isn't it? The big wigs want us to beat up women for money and glory, Isaiah. It's a raunchy world that we live in. You probably know more about powerful people beating you down, right? I know you tapped out Angie, I'm pretty upset about that.

Here's the thing, Isaiah. I'm in love with Angie and I'll do anything to avenge the pain that you put her through. You made her tap out. There's nothing wrong with tapping out, I've tapped out to my own finishing hold. Still, I think it's pretty messed up to put a girl in a submission hold. I've had girls do it to me but if I beat a girl, you better believe that I'm doing it with my fists. No, wait. I will mat wrestle them into a pinning combination.

But yeah, Angie has her flaws. She posts way too many selfies and is a "social media moron," but she's my partner and savior. She picked me up when I was in my worst state; crying and tapping out in the parking garage. I friggin' dig her, and pardon my language, but you f###ed with the wrong partner. You beat up my moron woman, Isaiah, and I'm out for blood. I'm out for blood and gold, man. 

And for all the fans who hate me... I read the reports online and people like to say that I'm an Incel, and to that I reply with, "fair."

Ok, I'm an Incel. I don't have sex. I have other stuff like wrestling, gaming, and Lego to keep me occupied. I beat up people for fun and have a tag team partner who's the most beautiful athlete in the world and drives me to Waffle House. Yeaah, life as an Incel is rough. Like my father in prison would say, KISS MY F### DICK.