I toss my sweat stained linens onto the other side of the bed as I swing my aching legs off the mattress. As my feet slam onto the hard wooden floorboards I can feel the shock moving through my aged joints. I grit my teeth in pain as I rub both my knees with my calloused hands. The morning’s are usually the most painful part of the day for me, because the nightmares always feel fresh but my bones never do. I feel the strain on my lower back as I lean over and rub my legs, it feels like the weight of the entire universe is resting on my spine: because to me, it is! 

As I sit shirtless on the bed I feel a chilling breeze blow through the shoddy walls of this Steubenville shed. The Ohio winters were never pleasant, but raw-dogging this brutal weather while sober was the absolute worst. I shivered instinctively as the goosebumps sat up all along my skin. I brought my hands up to my arms to warm them before shaking my head and staring at my own frosty breath.



It was a question I asked myself often, but rarely wanted to answer. The chase for championship gold had preoccupied my mind for the greater part of the year, but where do I go from here? I looked over at the empty highchair tucked away in the corner, dropping my gaze to the floor and sighing deeply, as if I were trying to exhale the pain itself.


I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, Connie…


I clasped my sweating palms together before I prepared to stand up off the bed. I avert my gaze from the empty highchair, instead choosing to look through the only window in the room. To my chagrin, the suffocating darkness beyond the window held no comfort.


But they were going to destroy you either way…..they would never let someone as beautiful as you live…..your kind of beauty has no place in this sick and twisted world.


I leave the bed and walk briskly towards a nightstand across from the highchair. From the nightstand I grab my pipe, my baggie, and my lighter before taking my real best friends back to bed with me. I lay the goodies on my mattress as I grab the white bedsheets and wrap myself in them like some kind of sweaty looking klansman: but it’s purely aesthetic. 


I spread my friends across the bed and feel a little giddy as I palm them with my hands. I knew I was just moments away from the bliss, moments away from escaping the lingering pain in both body and mind. The weight of the universe was about to be lifted from my shoulders, if only for a moment. The pressures, expectations, and limitations that define existence were about to melt into something entirely different, my life itself would meld to match the slow burning of the rock cocaine.


I looked up at the XWF drone flying above my bed, silently watching me, mocking me, like it always does. I sneered at the drone that never left, even if this drone in particular had only been with me a week. I knew that the faces behind the cameras were the same sniveling pricks as always. The producers, standards and practices, and the fans were all exactly like drones themselves: one and the same. Cheering for the men they’re told are heroes, never quite grasping the subtle similarities between virtue and vitriol.


The universe can’t stomach my success, so it wants to revel in my failure: it’s all they want to see. It’s a satisfaction I’ll never give them, because as long as I live I’m going to slay titans and kill gods. As I pack a rock into my bowl my mind drifts to another group of bitches that wants to see me fail.


Maybe it was just the bugs crawling on my skin telling me things, but I felt like they all wanted me to die. I felt like Emily and Tyler would be happier if I wasn’t around to embarrass them anymore. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if I just wasn’t here anymore….I shook my head and sighed as I lit the pipe, taking quiet relief in the knowledge that this pain would soon be soothed. I knew that Charles Nichols: the man, the father, and the husband would soon give way to something far greater.

The Nickleman: the myth, the icon, and the legend killer would soon be born again from the ashes inside his pipe!




Charlie Nickles.

Doc D’Ville.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they?

We can sit here and spin those wheels, we can beat off this dead horse until it fucking cumbusts, but at the end of the day everyone knows exactly what to fucking expect next week- and that’s why everyone is tuning into this match. It’s the real Main Event of the night, everyone knows that. Even Mark fucking Flynn knows that; that’s why he’s only asking for half the airtime I’m getting this week!

So what else am I being paid to do, but sit here and belabor points to you? You imbeciles and ingrates behind the camera need everything perfectly spelled out for you these days. You jackmonkeys already know what’s going to happen like it was fucking predestined by the one true TV God, the living Nickleman in the flesh.

Because it is. 

Yet still, you freakish fiends beg and plead to feel the full force of my tongue, each and every week. It’s like you sick fucks need your filthy fix of my afflictions and curses. So fine, fuck it, I’ll roll with you dirty bitches and play my part. For those of you following along at home, this means it’s time to start sharpening your Devil Hooks....we’ve got a squawking Dawk to Drop- and I’m the only NICKLE  MAN enough to do it!

I’m the most powerful man in this business, and the proof is in the blood pudding! I ended Caedus and Granger, I drove ALIAS into EXILE while pushing the EXILE down to Bad Medicine’s fucking undercard! I ended War Crim’s years-long winning streak, causing Flynn to ditch him like a bad fucking habit….and then I still beat Mark Flynn in a tag match anyways, just for the fuck of it! I’m a fucking PROBLEM in these streets, and the Doctor’s prescriptions for me just won’t work anymore!

The good bitch is going to come to the mic and start reciting our match results from YEARS AGO, as if that means fucking anything anymore. The truth of the matter is the Doc’ used to be a topstar in the XWF, he used to be the headliner- but those days are past. THOSE DAYS ARE MINE NOW, BITCH! Jealous much? You should be. I know I was jealous back when Doc was on top…..my my my how the tables have turned. Nowadays, I’m the only headlining act of the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular and Doc is just another Elijah Martin coming on through for a cheap sequel.

But honestly, what would the XWF be without the good Doctor?

……………..

The same it’s been all year, not a damn thing lost!

The good Doctor is a relic of the past, and in the past he shall remain. I bet you 20 X-bux half the people booked for this final Savage don’t even know WHO Doc is….or was.

But can you even imagine what the XWF would look like without the NIckleman’s fingerprints all over it?

We’d still have an unbeaten War Criminal running around, ALIAS and Peter Vaughn would still be champions. Marf would still be a Dissentient and Jim Caedus would still be roaming these halls causing problems. The Brotherhood of Bastards would’ve never been born: Them No Good Bastards would still be a 2-man band and the BOB of old would just be collecting dust. Even my unwrapped cumshots from 20 years ago have grown up and are now dominating the XWF Anarchy brand! Like it or not, I’ve pissed all over the XWF and claimed it as my backyard and now there’s no going back.

And next week, I’m going to piss all over the good Doctor’s legacy by stuffing him down that chimney and then literally pissing right the fuck down it! The good Doc’s gonna think he’s all the way back in 2016 with all the human excrement coming his way next week! You know….back in the shitty days when Doc D’Ville was a ‘Charlie Nickles’ level draw! But then, the competition got tougher and the Doctor got sparser….now, the only doctor anyone cares about is the doctor they have to see after they have a match with the Nickleman!



We cut back to a shot of The Nickleman absolutely wilin’ out inside of a shed, clearly hopped up on crack. He’s running around shirtless while shadow boxing the shadowmen he sees. He celebrates each knock out blow with a hearty ‘HOO-RAH’ and a raise of the fist. On the bed just behind The Nickleman we can see that the ash inside of his pipe is still smoldering.

Fuck, I feel great! No pain, no aches, no stress! They should definitely make this shit medicinal….I should smoke more of this stuff before I wrestle! I feel like SUPAH-MAN!

The Nickleman jumps up into the air and strikes a superman pose, giving a smile and a thumbs up to the drone camera before he lands on his bed. As the fat man lands on his bed the pipe flies into the air, spreading smoldering ash all over the sheets. The Nickleman stands up off his bed with a big smile before placing his hands on his hips and looking right at the camera. Multiple fires are starting on the bed behind him.

Don’t listen to the propaganda, this is truly a victimless drug! …..is it really cold in here for anybody else?


The Nickleman looks down and realizes that he is wearing nothing but basketball shorts, so he starts looking around the floor for a tshirt to put on. The bed is now engulfed in crackling flames.

Is something burning?

The Nickleman looks around the floor before he both sees and smells the smoke. He jumps to his feet in a fright as he realizes his bed is aflame! He places his hands on his head as he looks around the room for something to put the fire out. Seeing a half empty vodka bottle from last night, The Nickleman leaps into action and pours it on the bed.

FUCK!

The flames grow more intense as he adds more fuel to the fire in classic Charlie fashion. The Nickleman is forced to charge through the front door as a fiery explosion blasts throughout the room.

NOOO! I FORGOT MY COKE BAG!

The drone flies out with The Nickleman before flying above him to give the audience a greater perspective of the scene. We see Charlie, of course, laying on a wooden door in the middle of an empty field while bemoaning the loss of his week’s supply. Behind him, the shed is being burned to a crisp.

Charlie Nickles has, yet again, sparked the fire and fanned the flames: because that’s all he does anymore. Knowingly or unknowingly, The Nickleman has set perfect the stage for his next crackventure. The Nickleman holds up his LEFT HAND and, with the light from the inferno, he can see that it is BURNED……but why doesn’t he feel the pain?





Charlie Nickles.

Doc-da-Vil’.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they?

Or at least I thought they did…..they used to…..but one of these names has barely spoken a word all year. The other name has marquee victories over every XWF Universal champion from 2022!

Do you know who’s who?

Raion Kido does; he was knocked off twice. Mark Flynn, Peter Vaughn? You’re god-damned right. ALIAS? Well, that checkmark was picked off with a pinfall!

Do YOU know who’s who?

Charlie Nickles.

Doctor Vil’.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they? Even if one only speaks with the sounds of silence. I’m sure he’ll finally be speaking up this week….and you know what I think he’s going to say? My name, his name, match results. It’s going to be like a god-damned cat stole his tongue, but the truth is, his tongue shriveled up and lost its sharp edge ages ago.

Because ALIAS stole it from him.

Ol’ Cheddar Al ran a train on him, picked his pockets, stole his confidence and his manhood and left him st-st-stutering like a damned r-r-r-r-r-re-DAWK! That was a full-on fucking blunder, wasnnit’? Ol’ Doctor Demos over here must’ve let my losing streak demon possess him. But at least Demos fell ass-backwards into championship gold; Dawk just fell ass-backwards into a god-damned retcon!

I took ALIAS to his limits 3 times in bout’ as many months; Doc fought him once and folded up like a little bitch for months on-end. Dude lost one time to Alias and went full r-r-r-r-r-re-DAWK! You should never go full D-D-D-D-D-D-AWK! It just makes things awkward for everyone, especially when you don’t have charisma like Dicaprio in Gilbert Grape!

I want to see REAL development with the Doctor…I want to hear him say FUCK!....and I think I know just the trick. I think after I stuff this bitch down the chimney he’ll be saying ‘FUCK THIS SHIT!!!!!!’....just like we all know he was really saying after ALIAS beat him a second time!

DAWK had all the charisma of a wet diaper…probably because the name ALIAS is all it takes to make Doc wet his diaper these days! So it’s no wonder that when DAWK went up against Ol’ Cheddar, he pulled a Nickles and fell flat on his fucking face. But he ain’t handle those sour nickels like a REAL MAN does…like the real Nickleman did! DAWK was never a man at all….just the projection of a torn up pussy who never stopped bleeding, blabbering, and trying to excuse his own failed inadequacies.

But don’t you worry one bit good Doctor, because I’ve made the XWF a safe space just for you. I drove away the bad man who kept touching you, bloodying you, brutalizing you, embarrassing you. Everyone admits it when they don’t think I’m watching. Everyone who was here this summer knows I made live shows a living hell for the Doc dream-crusher.

I know Doc can’t handle the pain like I can, because his bones are too brittle and his ego is too big. I took all the big-boy lumps this year so he wouldn’t have to, because we both know his body can’t handle the main event scene anymore. I stared down the face of the golden calf and I spat a big fat fucking loogie in it, over and over again, until he was so covered in my slime that even Raion fucking Kido could do what Doc never could! I chopped ALIAS’S legs out from underneath him, so it’s no great mystery how someone who’s beneath my level was able to sneak off with his belt!

You know the ‘modern era of the XWF’ is dead when guys like Raion Kido can move the boulders Doc never could. We’re entering into a new age of professional bloodletting, a twilight zone and a zenith all at once.

We are in the ‘NICKLEMAN era of the XWF’, baby! And fuck it, if you just take on gander at how I’m doing over in I.I.W. and O.C.W. you might just call it the ‘NICKLEMAN era of professional wrasslin!’. I’m a 5-TIME CHAMPION…….and that’s just counting the belts I’ve won this year! Across three different promotions! While Doc was resting his aching back in a hospice bed somewhere, I was putting all of pro wrestling on my back and carrying us into uncharted waters. That’s why Marf keeps calling me Captain Charlie, even though the only War Games I played this year was the XWF invasion of OCW!

I’m the god-damned Nickleman baby, and after all I’ve done this year, that name is certifiably twitter-famous…and I don’t even have an account! But can you imagine the havoc I’d cause if I did?






The Nickleman looked past his BURNED left hand as he stared into the inferno engulfing the shed. He squinted through the darkness as he tried to make out the origin of the sound. Was it coming from within the flames?


The Nickleman cocked his head as he sat there in the darkness, staring into the fire. Within the flames Charlie saw all sorts of shapes, and perhaps even the outline of a familiar face….but could it really be? Or was his mind just playing tricks on him?


The Nickleman picked himself up and stood tall as he shook his head from side to side. He looked back into the fire overtaking the shed, and within the inferno he saw a face he never thought he’d see again.


I finally send you to hell, bitch? Heh. I’m not ready to join you down there quite yet.


The Nickleman approaches the char-charred shed as the flames slowly burn it to a crisp. The mysterious face inside the flames twists and contorts, as if in pain….before bursting out in disembodied laughter….that was coming from behind The Nickleman!


Charlie turned around on the defensive, ready for a fight: but he saw nothing there. A chilling breeze ran down The Nickleman’s exposed spine, which was known to stand firm against all odds.


The Nickleman looked down at the origin of the sound and saw an antique radio resting on the cold earth, just a few feet away from him. He recognized this radio immediately…


What the fuck kind of games are you playing?


The Nickleman turned back around to confront the face in the flames, only now, everything was BURNED. The flames and the shed had vanished, both replaced with ASH. Confusion washed across Charlie’s face.


The antique radio called out to Charlie Nickles in the middle of an otherwise empty field.


I wish I fucking didn’t.


The Nickleman stared down at the mysterious radio with equal parts contempt and confusion.


I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.


The Nickleman crossed his arms in frustration as he stared down the radio. He tapped his feet impatiently against the cold ground.


You gonna fuckin’ explain or-

One of the buttons on the old radio pressed itself in, and The Nickleman immediately ran behind a bush and ducked for cover, because now this seemed like a bomb!


A green laser light shot out of the radio and up towards the heavens. It widened a few feet before suddenly turning white and somehow shattering, causing hundreds of luminescent orbs to fall to the ground. The Nickleman covered his head while peeking through his hands at the mysterious lights.


Suddenly, the orbs all shot back towards the radio, sliding inside of its tape slot before exploding! Bits of metal went flying everywhere, and a disproportionate amount of the metal seemed to fly right into Charlie’s body!


Fuck that hurts!


The Nickleman stood up, pissed off and bloody with multiple pieces of metal and plastic embedded into his hands and shoulders. He was prepared to go beat that radio’s fucking ass, but what he saw when he stood left him speechless.





The Nickleman was confronted facefirst with a green and red portal leading somewhere unknown. Rhymes and schemes poured out from the other side of the portal, all but compelling our despicable antagonist into its intricate webs. The scene faded to black as The Nickleman walked through the portal and was swallowed by it.





Charlie Nickles.

Doctor Phil.

Fuck it, the names speak for themselves, don’t they? Or at least you all thought they did…until I ran his name through the muck and showed you who the fuck he really was beneath all those wrinkles! Not every wrestler can stand the test of time, and after I’m done with the good Doctor next week, that little bitch won’t be able to stand up at all! And if he doesn’t like what I’m saying, he can catch me ousside, how bou’ dat?

Shit, does that old geezer even know what the fuck I’m saying right now? I bet Jason Cashe thought that line was hilarious. Shit, does that senile old man even know who the fuck Jason Cashe is? Does he know what Trilogy is? Does he have any fucking clue what’s going on in today’s XWF? He’s coming back for a one-off match and leaving again that same night, he doesn’t have any skin in the game or any stake in this company anymore. At this point he’s just another warm body  passing through the halls, filling out the bookings.

But hell, I’m sure someone’s told the old fart about my little dosey-doe with Nedward. I bet he’ll pick and prod on that like a god-damned vulture on day-old meat, filling his belly with the stuff. That’s crazy, right? For someone who lost to Peter fucking Gilmour to say jack shit about anyone else’s losses?

Doc birthed the ALIAS legacy. I ended it. That’s the difference between us. That’s the difference in our defeat, and it is only in defeat that the true measure of a man can be taken. The Doctor slips one time and he tumbles down the hill, disappearing for months and years at a time. But The Nickleman? Fuck, The Nickleman takes his lickings and he just keeps on kicking…ass and taking names! I’ll never leave just because I bit the bullet, fuck, I’ve been biting bullets all my life! Why do you think I’m missing so many teeth?

The Doctor’s days are numbered, and I’m just here to do the math. To crunch the numbers, and to stuff his ailing fucking frame down that chimney just before he ends his career for good and hangs up those boots.

They told me I had to be smoking crack if I thought I was going to win the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular……so it’s a good thing I never put down my pipe.