~"So if I win this, I get my choice of contendership," said Jay Omega, reclining comfortably in the lounge area of the Starlight Lost with Alex Richards "The TV title would be either Noah Jackson or Isaiah King; both of them are wicked scrappers; fought to a draw last time Noah challenged for the title."

  "That sounds like a good choice," replied Alex, sprawled upside down across a hanging bench, "Win or lose, you get a good fight out of the deal."

  "My thoughts exactly," said Jay with a nod, pulling a hot pink vape pen from inside his vest, "But then there's also the X-Treme Championship, which Mark Flynn is going to win, and even though extreme rules matches were my bread and butter for years, he's already whooped me in two consecutive tag matches."

  "Tag matches and singles matches are totally different beasts," interjected Richards, taking the offered vape pen, "I know you know that; we've both been Tag Champs before. Shit, we were Trios Champions with Jeff Purse back in WCF!"

  "Those were good times," Omega stated fondly, "Which reminds me; the third option available is a shot at the tag titles. I kinda flubbed that once already, by teaming with a different variant of myself each week. It was a great concept, but in practice, I just had too little time to properly strategize according to my variants' individual strengths."

  "[color=#6f8fa]Relying on other yous was the problem,[/color]" Alex teased, "You weren't exactly the closer back when you teamed with Steven; I seem to recall him being the one to score every pinfall."

  "Because he loves to lie on top of other men," Jay snorted, "You know damn well I'm a better wrestler than Osbourne, as evidenced by him retiring and me still wrestling. Come to think of it, you're retired, too…"

  "I'm sorry, are you implying you're a better wrestler than me?" asked Richards, flopping over sideways to sit up, and digging at his ear as if it were obstructed, "I must not have heard you right. See, I could have sworn there was this time where I worked for Action Wrestling for years before you showed up."

  "I was fighting Luchadrones in another universe," explained Omega, "That's a bit more strenuous than just wrestling. The pay is shit, though."

  "Even so," rumbled Alex thoughtfully, stroking his chin, "I have half a mind to sign with the XWF, just to prove you wrong."

  "Yo, for real?" The Omega Man said excitedly, "Dude, do it! We've worked in this industry together for something like two decades, and we've never had a singles match!"

  "Holy shit, you're right," said Richards in shock, "How is that even possible? We've fought beside each other so many times, but nobody has ever booked us against each other?"

  "Well, we do make a pretty impressive team," Jay said, then shrugged and added, "Granted I make any team I'm on look impressive."

  "Careful, Jay," Alex admonished his smaller friend, "Ego like that has broken up teams of rockers and rollers before."

  "What, so we're a team now?" Omega asked cautiously, "Again? You're really doing this?"

  "Fuck it, why not?" said Richards with a shrug, "I've spent the last year mending bones, now's as good a time as any to get back to breakin' 'em. You said you could maybe get a shot at the tag titles?"

  "Yeah, but Mark Flynn and the X–" Jay cut himself off with an upraised hand and shook his head, "No, no, you're right, this is a Hell of an opportunity. All right, we'll hit XWF headquarters before you go shopping. What are you getting, anyway?"

  "Oh, I've got to hit the thrift stores and get some new old boots," Alex answered easily, "I've been reusing my collection so much, the Zim-Quila is starting to eat through the heels."

  "All the more reason not to drink it, but you do you," Omega opined, "Why old boots, though? Surely new boots would taste better?"

  "Oh, don't get me wrong," Richards replied, "I enjoy the fresh leathery aftertaste from time to time. But an old boot has something about it the French call… I don't know what. The flavor is different for every pair, painting a vivid picture of its history. Every boot has a story, Jay."

  "I'll stick with my holoprograms, thanks," Jay deferred, warding off the proffered boot, "All right, contract first, boots second. Sounds like a plan, man!."~

*Welcome back, True Believers! We here at Jay-Omega-Promos-dot-com-dot-net-dot-org-dot-gov-dot-cc-backslash-wingding-dot-html are proud to present yet another Epic Jay Omega Promo(trademark pending)! Or we would be, if we had an Epic Jay Omega Promo(trademark pending) to present. Instead, we have this crap. Enjoy!*

*We fade in on a dingy, red brick storefront; most of the right half of the screen taken up by a picture window, affording us a view of the interior, which in turn lets us know we're standing outside some sort of clothing store. In the center of our screens, leaning against the wall just beside the window, is the hero of this tale and a thousand others; the Red Eye Jedi, the Galactic Gladiator, the Potent Pot Potentate, The Omega Man, Jay Omega.*

JAY OMEGA: Hey there, ladies and gents; future Tag Team Champion Jay Omega, here. That's right, I ain't gonna waste any time makin' y'all guess which title I'm setting my sights on; I'll tell Kido and Cashe straight out I'm gunnin' for 'em. But not just me, oh no. Some of y'all might have noticed a new entry on the roster; a good friend of mine by the name of Alex Richards. He expressed some interest in getting back in the ring, and I saw this as a golden opportunity to fast track him into the limelight.

*Jay pulls out his black spliff carrier and gold Zippo, then lights up a fat blunt. Omega takes a generous lungful, holds his hit, and exhales a thick cloud of smoke that's snatched away in the breeze.*

JAY OMEGA: But first I need to bust a few skulls in order to even get that opportunity, in the form of a five man contendership match. I tell ya, I love these multi-man clusterfuck matches; it's a target-rich environment, and the odds of accidental teamwork putting me out of this match are pretty slim. I mean, unless everybody decides to rush me at once, then I might be in trouble. But considering one of my opponents is a near-seven-foot metal man, methinks there might be someone with a bigger target on their back.

*Jay waggles a finger at the screen in admonishment, and hits his blunt again.*

JAY OMEGA: Granted, I should be everyone's primary focus in this match; I am the most dangerous man in it, after all. OCP's Finest? That walking, tin-plated gravy boat is heading for the scrap heap. Rebellious Reggie? Didn't I already beat him last year? I dunno, maybe; he seems pretty forgettable. Pikey Mick? Okay, I'll admit, Irishmen are always good for a decent scrap, and they'll usually buy a round afterward, too. McBride might be worth talking to after the show. Who else? Ah, Country Roads Tiberius. I guess he was kind of a big deal a few years ago, but his record since returning is abysmal.

Omega pauses in the act of hitting his blunt, then ducks his head in concession.*

JAY OMEGA: Okay, my record ain't exactly stellar either, whatever. I'mma turn that around at MayDay. Not too happy about going to Florida, but I am looking forward to hanging out with Corey Smith again; dude's handy in a bar fight, when he's not freaking the fuck out.

*Jay gives an offhand shrug, and hits the blunt,*

JAY OMEGA: Can't really blame him, though; everybody's a little jittery the first time they're involved in a shootout with a bunch of aliens. But that's neither here nor there; 'there' is Corey Smith's compound, and 'here' is the man who's gonna be standing tall at the end of the match.

MALE VOICE(off screen): What match? I haven't even been booked yet!

*From the right of our screens enters the man who spoke, the Doctor of Mass Confusion, Alex Richards; a tall, burly, bald-head and bluff-faced man, carrying several shopping bags that seemingly contain an assortment of boots in varying styles and sizes. Alex sets the bags down on the sidewalk, and takes the blunt Omega offers him.*

JAY OMEGA: Not you, me; I'm talking about my clusterfuck match next week.

ALEX RICHARDS: Ah. Carry on, then.

JAY OMEGA: Thanks. Ladies and gentlemen, I present the man who will be my tag partner going forward, the Archduke of Mass Confu–

ALEX RICHARDS: Doctor.

JAY OMEGA: What?

ALEX RICHARDS: It's "Doctor of Mass Confusion" now; I changed it to reflect my status as a respected medical professional.

JAY OMEGA: Right. So yeah, this is Alex Richards; one of my oldest friends, and my new tag partner.

ALEX RICHARDS: HI!

JAY OMEGA: Oh no, it's promo time; we're not getting carried away with banter unless it's about how awesome I am. Or about how much my opponents suck. But I'll do most of the trash talking next round; this promo's all about me, and how I excel in situations like this. And I really do. I could go on and on about how I defeated three other men for a Hardcore Championship, or about the three times I've competed in massive elimination matches - each with more than fifty men on the docket - and finished seventh, first, and second in each of them. I could talk about the ten-man Ultimate Showdown match, where I walked in with nothing, and left with one half of the tag team Championships.

*Jay takes the blunt back from Alex and has a mighty haul, then hands it off again.*

JAY OMEGA: But none of those matches happened here, so there's not much point, considering Alex and Dionysus are the only two people who would recognize any of the names in those matches. Sadly, the only clusterfuck match I've had in this universe was more than a year ago. But, in case you missed it, I did in fact win that match. Granted, it wasn't the best showcase of my ability, since the only other person in that match worth a damn was the Chameleon, aka Ned Kaye. I mean, it's easy to look good against Dick Powers, or Rampage; at least Chammy made me work for it, y'know? Not that it was much of a workout.

*Richards passes back what's left of the blunt; Omega fills his lungs and stubs out the remainder.*

JAY OMEGA: But, there's no one in this match who can compete at that level, aside from me. So tune in to MayDay 2, coming at you from Coreytopia, on Saturday, May 6th, and watch yours truly layeth the smacketh do–

ALEX RICHARDS: Are you trying to get sued again?

JAY OMEGA: How about "yabba dabba"? Purse ain't gonna sue me.

ALEX RICHARDS: That doesn't even make sense when he says it.

JAY OMEGA: Whatever; I don't need no stinkin' catchphrases anyway. Just make sure y'all catch the show and see me in action against a bevy of lesser competitors. All right, that's all folks; wubba lubba dub dub!

ALEX RICHARDS: I'm beginning to reconsider teaming with you.

JAY OMEGA: Shut up. C'mon, let's go get drunk and find someone to scrap with; I'm feeling froggy.

ALEX RICHARDS: Now you're speaking my language! Let's go!

*Alex picks his bags back up, and the two men exit to the left of our screens. The scene then fades to black.*