"Please! I swear! I didn't Claudette!" Sayors begs in the back of the prisoner transport van. ”How could *I* do such a thing?!? I lov-”

…

"I enjoyed her compa-"

…

"I FEARED HER *waaaaaay* too much to ever hurt her!" Sayors squeals as he presses his face against the bars!

"Sayors." A guard stoically barks.

Immediately, Sayors falls backwards into his seat, like a well-trained guard dog.

"Be silent." The guard commands. "You can plead your case at the courthouse."

Sayors’ face contorts in horror! "Courthouse?!?!"

---

WHAM!

In a perfectly-timed smash cut, Sayors is heaved onto the couches outside the courtroom, landing on his flat Hank-Hill-ass, his hands cuffed in front of his stomach.

The guard menacingly hovers, shoving a finger in Sayors’ face.

"Remain here. You'll be brought in once the trial commences." And with that, the guard departs.

…For a moment, Sayors is alone.

Sayors’ fear-driven rat brain immediately thinks of trying to escape! He tries to lift himself off the couch!

…Unfortunately, it’s a very cushiony couch. And with his hands cuffed in front of his chest, he’s unable to push off the couch with his hands.

The only way Sayors could lift himself to his feet is with his famously-feeble thigh and calf muscles, (a trait of every member in the frail Sayors family tree).

[FUN FACT: An entire branch of the Sayors family tree died in a house fire, when someone accidentally left a ten-pound weight against the door otuside.

Despite their collaborated efforts, 32 Sayors men failed to push open the exit door, and died of smoke inhalation.

The door was later blown wide open by nothing but an air conditioner brought by the fire chief to clear the room of ‘human ash’.]

Hence, with only a pair of cuffed hands and being pushed on his ass, Sayors has been immobilized.

Like a turtle on its back.

Or a baby with muscular dystrophy.

…Defeated. Trapped by his weak, brittle body, Sayors attempts to rest his hand against his head in self-pity…

WHAP!

Forgetting his hands are cuffed together, Sayors accidentally smacks himself in the eye, knocking his glasses askew.

"...Oh God..."

Sayors mews helplessly, as he tries to rub his eye with his left, accidentally rubbing his other hand up and across his nose. Like he's too physically-inept to even soothe his own wounds.

"How'd I get into this mess..."

”That's what we're here to determine, Mister Sayors."

Sayors squints through the eye he didn’t accidentally strike, adjusting his crooked glasses onto his nose.



”How this… FOUL, foul deed came to pass!!"

"Y-y-you!" Sayors gasps, trying to stand dramatically!

…

Nope, still not enough leg strength. He remains seated helplessly! "You're Claudette's attorney! From the limousine ride!"

"Indeed.” The attorney bows politely at his middle.. “Oswaldo Cunningham, esquire. At your service."

“Oh! Thank God!” Sayors wipes the sweat from his brow… (again gently smacking himself in the face.) “As Claudette’s fiancee-slash-pet-plaything…” Sayors beams in momentary relief. “You must be here to defend me!”

"No."

…

"N-n-no?" Sayors stammers. ”B-b-but you just said at my service!”

“A mere figure of expression. I’m not *actually* here to serve you."

“T-t-then…” Sayors squints in confusion, rubbing the inside of his glasses, as if his 20/200 vision was the thing making matters unclear. “What are you here for?"

"Executing Miss du Toilette's will."

"...Her will?”

Cunningham clicks his heels together. "Miss du Toilette knew that her end would be both grisly and mysterious."

The counselour tsk-tsks.  "The toilet paper industry is as cut-throat as one can imagine." Cunningham sighs forlornly, as one too familiar with a dangerous trade…

”Y-y-yes… Claudette told me as much…” Sayors follows.

"Then perhaps she informed you… of her post-mortem demands in her Last Will in Testament."

”...Post-mortem demands?”

"Miss du Toilette made crystal clear… Whosoever is accused of killing her..."

Cunningham’s teeth flash like a shark in the water.

"Be eviscerated in Court."

”Eviscerated?!?”

"Found guilty."

”Guilty?!?”

"Be FROZEN IN CARBONITE."

”FROZEN IN CARBONITE?!?”

"And TAKEN… preserved in her family mausoleum for all eternity." Cunningham bows once more. "To remind her adversaries the danger of crossing her."

"Whether she is alive or dead."

…Sayors heart drops two floors… But he shakes his head!

”B-b-but, wait! *I* didn’t kill her!”

”As you may have noted as a supposed-English speaker, Sayors…” Cunningham retorts disinterestedly, as if Sayors’ purported guilt or innocence was a non-factor in his analysis. ”Miss du Toilette’s will only stated she wished her ACCUSED killer be found guilty!”

Cunningham prods Sayors on the shoulder, pushing him down even further into this absurdly cushiony couch.

”...But! WAIT!” Sayors insists! ”You can’t have any evidence! Because I didn’t do it!”

”Oh, right… Evidence.” Cunningham grins. ”You mean, something like, you being discovered trying to cash a check in her name, her account drained... Screaming that you 'destroyed' her.”

…

”Th-that’s not what I meant!

”Or perhaps the fact that left at the site of the deceased… Was  picture.” Cunningham reaches into his pocket, revealing…



A picture.

Of Steve’s diseased feet.

…

”Those could be anyone’s!!! Sayors extends his arms pointing at Cunningham!

…

A pair of nigh-identical foot pictures fly out of his wrist, like cards from a cutrate magician’s sleeve.

…Sayors watches as they flutter to the ground… As they descend…

Almost as quickly as his chances of not being frozen-in-carbonite…

…

"Oh God..."

"Indeed. Cunningham nods pseudo-cordially. “Were I you? I, too, would pray to whatever higher power you believe in."

"And beg them for more mercy than I will show you."

"Au revoir, Sayors."

…

"W-w-wait! Don't I get an attorney, too?!?" Sayors looks at the ceiling, raising his arms, as if challenging a higher power to correct this grave injustice! "That's how court works, right? Someone HAS to defend me?"

"HAHA! NO FEAR, STEVE!"



"YOUR ATTORNEY-IN-SHINING-ARMOR HAS ARRIVED!"

…

Sayors isn’t even surprised at this point.

Like… of course, this guy would be here now.

…Still, Sayors had to ask.

"What are YOU doing here?"

"HAHA! I’M YOUR ATTORNEY, STEVE!"


"...Haha." Sayors laughs bitterly at the absurdity of this scenario. "No. That's impossible."

"SEE, I THOUGHT IT’D BE IMPOSSIBLE TOO! HOW COULD I CLEAR MY SCHEDULE AS A WRESTLER *AND* BANK TELLER!?! BUT, WHEN I SAW YOU DIDN’T HAVE AN ATTORNEY ON YOUR CASE, I CLEARED MY CALENDAR TOOK A SIX-HOUR-TO-BAR-PASSAGE OVERNIGHT CLASS AND BOUGHT A FALSE MUSTACHE (All the best attorneys have them!)!" YKW puts his hands on hips! Power pose! "VOILA!”

…

"No. No." Sayors breaks into a cold sweat. ”I-i-i must have an attorney! I emailed Mister Pryce when I was arrested! I begged him for XWF's corporate attorney!"

---

Theo sits at his desk at the XWF office. Furiously glaring at his monitor, which is full of spam and smiley emojis. Twisting a pen cap on an XWF branded pen.

"Nadine." He says to his secretary, in a voice clearly trying to remain calm. "I'd like to think I'm a reasonably tolerant man."

…

"But. If I get ONE MORE joke-of-the-day email from Peter Principle."

Theo grits his teeth.

And SNAPS the pen in half

"I'm going to walk into the hallway and break skulls until it stops."

---

"I love joke-of-the-day emails. It's the perfect idea."

Peter Principle puts a hand in the air like he’s making a sales pitch.

"Start off the day with a little laugh to get your brain set to do great business."

Principle leans into the camera.

"But you know what's better than one little laugh?"

He grins shyly, looking left then right… like he’s sharing the secret to success:

"More than one."

"Which is why I subscribed Theo’s email to forty-four joke-of-the-day newsletters."

---

Theo impatiently paces his office as his secretary hammers at his keyboard, opening and flipping settings. "I don't care what it takes. Make it STOP."

…Ding.

"There!" Nadine looks up at her boss. "I've blocked all external senders within the XWF email server, Mister Pryce!"

…

Theo sighs relieved, like a weight has been lifted that was slowly crushing his skull.

"Fantastic."

…The filter catches a panicked email from steve@sayors.com…

And filters it to the recycle bin…

---

…

"No." Sayors moans, trapped in this hell designed to maximize his suffering. "No no no no nooooooo. Not yoooooooooooou..."

YKW smiles assuringly down at Sayors. "HAHA! What's wrong, Steve?"

"Did YOU do this?" Sayors points (with both hands (cuz, y’know, still cuffed)) accusingly! "Is this another practical goof?!? Like convincing me that I'm cake?!?"

Sayors contorts his face, trying to do a YKW impression.

"'Oh, haha, another classic prank on Sayors… I'm gonna FRAME HIM FOR MURDER!!!"

…Despite his best efforts, it ended up coming out more like an RL Edgar impression…

YKW smiles, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

"STEVE. YOU SEEM TENSE." …YKW fishes into the pocket of red law pants. And pulls out a pack of Wrigley’s.

"HAVE SOME GUM!”

"...I don't want gum."

YKW shakes the pack.

"TRUST ME, STEVE."

“HAVE.”

“SOME.”

“GUM.”

…

"Okay."

Sayors grasps the gum with bo-

SNAP! METAL CLINCHES DOWN ON HIS FINGER!

”AH!” Sayors howls in pain, trying to sneak his finger into his mouth to suck on it.

Naturally, he smacks himself in the face with his still bound hands.

"THERE, STEVE! I’VE PRANKED YOU!"

"W-w-hy did you do that?!?"

"SO YOU'D TRUST ME!" YKW smiles, proud of what he believes is flawless logic. ”NOW I’VE GOT PRANKING YOU OUT OF MY SYSTEM! AND WE CAN MOVE ONTO ME HELPING YOU!”

"That doesn't make any sense!!!" Sayors tears up! ”Why would I trust you when you asked me to trust you and you pranked me again!!!”

…

YKW sighs with a smile.

He grabs Sayors’ cuffs.

…And pulls Sayors up to his feet, helping off the couch he’s been trapped on.

”I WAS THINKING ABOUT OUR CONVERSATION AT THE BANK, STEVE. DO YOU RECALL THAT?”

…

”The one where I screamed at two police officers that I destroyed my wife and they charged me with murder?”

”THAT’S THE ONE.” YKW taps his nose. ”BUT BEFORE THAT, YOU ITEMIZED OUR PAST INTERACTIONS… AND IT MADE ME REALIZE… I HAVEN’T BEEN THE BEST FRIEND TO YOU.”

YKW smiles, a single tear forming on his cheek.

”I DON’T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED, STEVE. I DON’T KNOW WHEN I CHANGED… BUT I BET IT FEELS LIKE YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME ANYMORE.”

…

Sayors *actually* still has no idea who this man is.

”BUT! I PROMISE! I’M FIXING IT RIGHT NOW!”

…

”And no more pranks?”

…YKW beams mischievously.

”DEFINITELY NOT THROUGH THE TRIAL AT LEAST!”

…Sayors sighs.

”...Okay.”

YKW smiles, pulling Sayors by the cuffs into a hug! ”HAHA! YOU WON’T REGRET IT, STEVE!”

That moment, the doors to the courtroom open.

…

Sayors and YKW step forward side-by-side.

”STEVE!"

”...Y-y-eah?”

"QUICK QUESTION.”

”WHAT'S THAT TERM THAT'S THE OPPOSITE OF ‘GUILTY’?”

”...Not guilty?”

”WOW. YOU MUST'VE TAKEN AN OVERNIGHT-BAR-PASSAGE-COURSE TOO!”

...

Sayors mews helplessly.

---

And now, some trash-talk from YKW.

With real-time fact-checking by Steve Sayors

HAHA! WILLY WHISKEY!

Still not Bobby Bourbon’s name!

OF COURSE YOU’D DEMAND A REMATCH AFTER OUR LEGENDARY CAKEWALK! THE ONE THAT SET THE WRESTLING WORLD TO 450 DEGREES AT TWENTY MINUTES!

...Fifth-most-popular match on the card that night.

BUT TO CHALLENGE ME TO A ‘SINGLES’ MATCH! WHAT CREATIVITY! WHAT GENIUS, WILLY!

...Is that sarcasm?

A MATCH FOR SINGLES ONLY! CLEARLY RIBBING ME FOR GETTING DUMPED BY MY ONE BILLION GIRLFRIENDS!

...Wait, does he think ‘singles match’ means both competitors are romantically unattached?

I SAY THIS TO THE XWF UNIVERSE!

Y’ALREADY KNOW I DOMINATE MATCHES BASED ON ROMANTIC STATUS!

...We do NOT know that.

I BEAT THE MORMON MARAUDER IN A POLYGAMOUS PINFALL MATCH!

...What?!?

I KNOCKED NEWTON S. BALLS IN A SWINGERS SUBMISSION MATCH!

...There’s no WAY that match was televised.

AND WHILE I MAY BE NEWLY-SINGLE… I’LL BE PUNCHING MY DATE WITH DESTINY AFTER I BEAT FORMER RIO DE JANEIRO CHAMPION, WILLY WHISKEY!

WHILE THE ONLY THING YOU’LL BE KISSING…

IS THE WRESTLING MAT!