“DAG ON IT SUNNY, I TOLD YA I WAS FINISHED!” Mad Dog shouts as his hand slams into the dashboard of Sunny Jim’s Lincoln Towncar.

Mad Dog was madder than a hornet about Sunny signing him up for War Games, but also about being on team T.E.A.M. Sunny smirks and shakes his head, knowing he has swindled the gullible hillbilly.

Mark, XWF wanted you to come back. You got a nice win at March Madness and just disappeared.

Shoot Sunny, that was against Barney Green. That boy has been beat more than a teenager’s pecker that found his daddy’s Playboy stash.

Mark, the people of XWF love you. The fans, and the management both. You could be a big star there.

Mad Dog shakes his head as he looks out the passenger window watching the roadworkers and the road cones that are locally known as the West Virginia wildflowers. Mad Dog looks past the workers and to the rolling fields of I-35. Without looking back at Sunny, Mad Dog speaks again.

Sunny, I ain’t cut out for being a big star. I don’t want to travel the world and be away from home for three hundred days a year to just be middle of the pack. If I was the top dog, making top dog money, that’d be one thing. I could retire after a few years and spend my time at home with my family. I ain’t sacrificing my time with my family to spend years wallowing in mediocrity.

Mark, you’re selling yourself short. This War Games match is your ticket to the top my boy.

Mad Dog snaps his head around like Sycho Sid and looks at Sunny.

Ticket to the top? Sunny baby, I’ll be lucky if my own team don’t drop my rear end with some friendly fire. Thunder Knuckles, Doc D’Ville, Jenny Myst, and ya boy old Mad Dog, which one of them ain’t like the other?

Mark, TK specifically drafted you. He passed on fellow B.O.B member Crash Rodriguez for you.

Sunny, that’s like saying you passed on the girl with herpes for a hand job.

Mark, that is disgusting.

Yeah, but it’s the truth.

Mark, the only person counting you out in this match is you. You’ve got all the tools to survive this match, move onto the finals and win that. You win this War Games match, and you’re going to be rocketed to the top.

Mad Dog says nothing, and just shakes his head as he finishes off his bottle of Mt. Dew. After swallowing the last gulp from the 20oz, Mad Dog begins to pack his lip with a big pinch of Coppenhagen. Sunny has told Mad Dog a million times not to dip in his car, he didn’t want any falling into his floorboards and didn’t want whatever make-shift spitoon Mark used to spill on his leather upholstery. Mad Dog was doing this out of spite, making sure he starred Sunny down while taking the sloppy pinch, letting grains of the snuff fall into the floor as he shoved the pinch into his lip.

Sunny crinkles up his nose, both in disgust and anger. He then lets out a long sigh, knowing there isn’t much he can really do about it, and that he deserves the ire of Mad Dog for tricking him into the match. Sunny had got Mad Dog to sign up, by telling him the contract for a Moonshine Cook-off, that is how he got Mad Dog to sign the contract for the match. Mad Dog isn’t much of a reader, so when Sunny pointed and said “Sign here”, Mad Dog trusted him.

Sunny broke the news to Mark when he sent him a link to the live draft of the War Games teams. Mad Dog had been furious with Sunny for a few days, but deep down Mad Dog could use the extra money from the match. The two men sat in silence for a few tense moments, when Sunny flipped the radio on to try and break the tension.


Mad Dog reached over and flips the radio off of the classic country station. Sunny takes a long, and big gulp, his Adam's Apple clearly moving down his throat. Sunny nervously regrips the wheel as he turns his head to look at Mad Dog. Mad Dog looks pissed off, but also fired up and ready for a fight.

Alright, Sunny, you got me into this, but I’ma big boy. I ain’t one to take being overlooked, and I dang sure ain’t one to just roll over and die. These sum b*tches wanna fight, I’m gonna give um the fight of their lives and show um that old Mad Dog is tougher than woodpecker lips. They wanna go to war with old Mad Dog, they gonna get a Brahma boot so far up they butts they gonna be left with a hitch in they giddy-up. I’ll put knots on they head bigger golf balls.

Gimmie dat run down on this here first team of sorry sack sons oh Bet Middlers Sunny.

Well, you got Dolly Waters team first. Dolly herself, Corey Smith, Unknown Soldier, and Dionysus.

OH DANG! I didn’t know old Gilbert Grape was in this here war. Shoot fire, you should just told me that Sunny. I been wanting to whoop that wine weasel since March Madness. I’m fitten to fold that boy up like a fourth graders love letter, the things I’m gonna do to that boy gonna be so evil after I’m done with him I’ll have to look up to see hell. I’m gonna knock his teeth so far down his dag on throat he gonna know if he’s spitten or shitten.

I know when on Dionysus seen when we was fitten to go to war again each other he had to get as nervous as a Nun in a cucumber patch. That boy sweaten this match more than a whore be sweaten in church. Yeah, old Dionysus got me in the March Madness tourney, but even a blind hog finds an acorn every once in a while. You got luckly and found ya acorn in that tournament wine boy, and you gonna have to nut up and step in da ring with the Mad Dog again. I know ya’d rather sh*t in ya grandmama’s favorite fryen pan than to fight me again, but ya ride on that gravy train with biscuit wheels is about to get derailed.

Mark, Dinoysus is the least threatening of the members on that team. Sure, he’s Television champion, but with a man like that is it any wonder that over ninety-five million people cut the chord of cable television and are going to streaming. Dinoysus is the perfect television champion, because he is as irrelevant as cable television.

But, we need to focus on the two real threats of this match. The team captain, Dolly Waters, and her first round pick Corey Smith.

You mean old Dolly the dingleberry Waters. Caller her a dingleberry cause that is exactly what she is, a dried up piece of sh*t clinging to the hair around a bunch of a$sholes. Old Dolly has done been passed around from group to group than a talken stick at a pow-wow. Makes one assume that you done been ran through more than a middle school hallway too. Probably why you are always the brides maid and never the bride, cause ain’t nobody want old loosey goosey hangen around.

Dolly, you get wallowered out like a woodscrew with a cranked up impact driver. I ain’t talken about ya ladie bits, na, that ain’t none my business or concern, but I’m sure all TK will tell us about your position within B.O.B is face down and ass up. I suppose ya gotta offer something up to the people you got carrying ya through life. Thing is, your friends can help ya get to the dance, but when it’s time for ya solo, they can’t dance for ya. When you step out on the stage for your solo, ya seem to trip over ya own claud hoppers and fall flat on your face.

Dolly, you are the Buffalo Bills are XWF. You get to the big dance, and fall right on your face while your opponent walks all over you. Never thought I’d say this, but I guess I’ll be the Dallas Cowboys and run you into the ground. You might be the Buffalo Bills, but you’re no OJ Simpson, you ain’t a killer.  In this war you gonna get left like Nicole Brown, layen in a pool of ya own blood. So if someone asks me if Dolly Waters is going to lose, the answer is “does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?”.

Now, Dolly might be the captain, but the real power house is Corey Smith. This kid is cagey, and has proven himself to be a very tought opponent.

Corey Smith? That boy ain’t no bigger than a hiccup, and can’t be any stronger than a mosquito fart. Corey Smith is supposed to be some tough guy, that’s faker than a dildo. That boys softer than a pillow.

It’s not the weakness of his body you need to exploit Mark, it’s the fragility of his mind. This young man is more confused than a homeless man on house arrest. Corey’s mind is softer than your momma’s fresh baked bread. He’s had his body and mind taken over on more than one occasion.

Sunny notices that Mark is staring at him blankly. Mark's jaw hangs like a slack-jawed yokel, as he slowly blinks at Sunny. Mark slowly shakes head from side to side and rubs his face.

Sunny, you expect me to believe that? You sound crazier than a sprayed roach brother.

I’m telling you Mark it has happened more than once. If you want to fight Corey, you need to get into his head, which has proven to be easy today based off past events.

Shoot, I’ll get in that boys head when I crack it like an egg, but you maken it sound like he’s already scrambled. Rumor has it he goes over easy too, like his sunny side up.

What is that supposed to mean?

I think ya know.

Sunny slowly repeats “likes his sunny side up” to himself, but still doesn’t seem to grasp it. Sunny shakes his head and gets back on topic.

If you think what I told you about Corey is crazy, wait until I tell you about Unknown Soldier.

You mean that tall skinny feller? Walking around looken like a fence post? Poor boys momma shoulda gave him extra helpins of tators when he was grown up.

Yeah, that’s him. But here is the thing, he’s dead.

Oh man, my condolences to his family. Who will be replacing him?

He’s still in the match.

Well, shoot fire Sunny, this’ll be a walk in the park. By War Games, his body will be stiffer than Grandpappy's after his blue pill.

No, he’s dead, but his soul is living in a doll of Jenny Myst, your very teammate.

Mad Dog again looks flabbergasted. He then starts cracking up laughing, even slapping his knee.

Dag on it Sunny you’re pulling my leg.

No Mark, I’m being serious.

Mad Dog shakes his head and can’t help but chuckle more.

You telling me that I’m facing a team of a clout chasing dingleberry from Pike County, a meat puppet, a voodoo doll, and a wine maker, all while teaming with maybe the biggest asshole in the wrestling business, and that’s covering a lot of ground, a crazy doctor, and some sorta witch? Brother it don’t sound like I need to go to Jay-Pan, it sounds like I need to call the Ghost Buster and an Exorcist.

The Pope’s Exorcist, you know Russell Crowe.

Shoot fire, I wish we could get that movie to sponsor this trip. Got me driven to Ohio, and then flyen to Jay-Pan. Dag on Sunny you know how much I hate flying.

Look at it this way Mark, it’ll give you plenty of time to gameplan and strategize for your match.

I already got my strategy figured out Sunny. I’ma go in there rompen and stompen, and smacken head like a rock'em sock’em robot. I don’t give a good gosh dang if it’s Dolly “gonna run the easiest route” Waters, Corey “meat puppet” Smith, the dead and bloated wish he was still Unknown Solider, or…. Na, actually I do hope it is someone, old Dinoysus.

I ain’t gotta problem with the D man, and by that I mena Dinoysus, not deadman, so at ease Soldier. As I was sayen though, I ain’t got a problem with Dinoysus on a personal level, but professionally I wanna whop that boy like a redhead step child. I ain’t just saying that cause you’re a ginger. Na, if I was gonna do that, I’d talk about how I’m gonna burn ya worse than the sn when you’re putting up hay and forgot your sun screen.

Shoot, you ain’t know nuthin about putten up hay though, cause you dantey, fancy, little twat. Busier decorating some little wine tasting facility than you were for prepping for Ned Kaye. Crazy thing is with a dead dude on your team, you are still the one looking most like a ghost. Your streak you been on is gonna be a ghost though when I plant ya pale ass in the ground at war games.

Team Wishmonger, shoot with Dolly and the deadman on the team they should be called Team Fishmonger. Ain’t none of y’all going on to that ultimate survivor match, or whatever the heck they callen it. All y’all Fishmongers are gonna be casualties of war, cause the only place any of y’al is going, is going MAD!!!

A couple more hours, a few Hostess cakes, a can of skoal, and a sixer later and Sunny and Mad Dog are pulling into the “Shady Acres” trailer park. Upon pulling into the park, Mark who is five cans deep into the sixer shakes his head as he gives a little laugh.

Shoot I tell ya what old boy, you could plop this northern buckey state trailer park slap dab in the middle of the mountain state boonies and it’d fit right in.

So, you’re saying it’s a real piece of sh*t?

I was going to say dump, but sure if you wanna get vulgar that description would work too.

As Sunny’s cellphone chimes out “your destination is on the right”, Mad Dog and Sunny look over at what must be the biggest trailer in the whole park, you might even say it is a modular home, which is even bigger than a doublewide. In the front yard along with all the normal white trash decor, there are several large crates that line the property along the street.

It looks like Thunder Knuckles needs to run to Home Depot and get some help.

I’m just hopen them boxes aren’t from IKEA, them dag on Sweeds give directions like some real a$s holes.

After finally passing what must be a dozen large crates, Sunny pulls his Lincoln over to the side of the road. Sunny turns to Mark and says, “remember, he specifically selected you”.

Mad Dog grabs the sixth and final can of PBR as he looks back to see Thunder Knucles walking out onto his front lawn. Mad Dog shakes his head as he cracks the PBR open. “Well, here goes nothing”, Mad Dog says as he exits the car.