We open with fullscreen shot of glistening flesh.  Someone is moaning pretty loudly between sloppy, slurping sounds.  The camera pans back, still sweaty flesh…A bit more, and the same.  Once the camera backs out as far as it can go, we finally see him.

P.T. “Fatback” Filmour.  He’s in his dirty, torn boxers kissing a life-size cutout of Robert Goulet.

Fatback glances toward the camera, and feigns shock.

Fatback:  OH SNAP, DOG!  I totes didn’t even see you there!  I was too damn busy makin’ sexy time with my girl, Rosetta.  Say “Hi,” Rosetta.

Fatback wipes slop from his chin then turns the Goulet cutout toward the camera.  He shakes it up and down as it “talks” and doesn’t bother to hide his mouth as he plays ventriloquist.  He does raise his voice a few octaves, so there is that.

“Rosetta”:  WHAT IT DO!?  Yo, boss…My name’s Fat…ROSETTA AND I AM NOT A MAN!  I love P.T. Filmour and he’s the best goddamn man in this whole place!  Peter Gilmour gone RUE THE DAY he done fucked up and left my man in a damn sewer.  GO ON AND RUE, MOTHER FUCKER!

The voice was clearly slipping back down to Fatback’s regular octave toward the end right there.  Fatback grins at “Rosetta” and licks his lips.

Fatback:  Shit, girl.  You is speakin’ my damn LANGUAGE!  I ain’t worried ‘bout no damn camera man in MY apartment just walkin’ up in here!  WE GONE HAVE SEXY TIME!  SEXY TIME!  SEXY TIME!  YOU GET IT!?  YOU CATCHIN’ THIS, CAMERA MAN?  I’M COOL AS FUCK ‘CAUSE I’M HAVIN’ SEXY TIME!  SEXY TIME!  SEXY TIME!  SEXY SEXY SEXY TIME!  SUCK MY SHIT!

Fatback shoves the picture of Robert Goulet back against the wall and begins sort of thrusting on it.  His skin is so sweaty that it’s sticking to the picture in spots.  The camera man can be heard gagging.

Camera man:  Jesus.  I didn’t surprise you.  You called and said you had something to say.  Fuck my life.

P.T. just continues thrusting and kissing(?) the picture.  Suddenly, there’s a knock at his door.  Fatback holds his Goulet-girlfriend up to the door. 

“Rosetta”:  THE FUCK IS IT!?

The door cracks open.  It’s Steve Sayors.

Steve:  You called and said you wanted an interview.

He walked in and quickly cut his eyes away from the disgusting Filmour.  Filmour glared at him with hate in his eyes.  No…Not hate…A goddamn eyelash from rubbing his face all over a flat, glossy surface.  He managed to blow it out by jutting his bottom lip out and puffing until he almost passed out.  Stamina is not this guy’s strong-suit.

Fatback:  MOTHERFUCKER!  Can’t you see I’m in the middle of SEXY TIME with my CLEARLY FEMALE GIRLFRIEND, ROSETTA!?

Steve had been around the XWF long enough to know when shit was about to get really weird and was about to leave.  P.T. threw a pizza box at his head, just missing him.

Fatback:  You sit your bitchass right down, bitchass! 

He held “Rosetta” up toward him. 

“Rosetta”:  Yeah, bitchass!  You stop SEXY SEXY SEXY COOLASS SEXY TIME you at LEAST gone do your damn job, SON!

Steve rolled his eyes and looked for a place to sit.  There was an almost broken recliner with stains and part of the stuffing falling out, and a couch that appeared to be made of empty McDonald’s bags and Mountain Dew bottles.  He took his chances with the recliner, since he could actually spot the stains there.  No telling what’s under those boxes.  P.T. sat with “Rosetta”, folding the bottom half to make it sit on his lap.  He grinned and kissed it on the cheek.  The camera man groaned.

Several moments of awkward silence came between the two, until finally…

Steve:  So, what do you want me to ask you about?

Fatback:  Bitch, you the journalist! 

Steve:  Might as well start with something that I’ve honestly been wondering about.  What do the initials stand for?  “P.T.”

Fatback:  Oh, well…You see, I wasn’t born like most people was.  I was cut out of somebody and left in a sewer to mutate and shit, so I just had to name myself if I wanted a name.  And I did, ya’ heard me?  So I was sittin’ there one day givin’ out HJs for DDs, that’s Dunkin Donuts, kid, and I was like, “What do I wanna’ be known as?  What says, ‘ME’?” ya’ know what I mean?  So then I was like, “Well, what have I done seen the most of in my life?”  The obvious answers there was parmesan and testicles.  When I was part of ol’ ungrateful-assed Peter Gilmour, that mug was ALWAYS spillin’ parmesan all over me and rubbin’ Rose’s damn ballsack all over.  It was the straight up AWFULLEST!  But I was like, “Gotta’ keep focused.  Gotta’ keep yourself grounded so you can give him his fat back and you can be one again,” then BAM!  GODDAMMIT, SON!  “Fat back”.  “FAT MOTHERFUCKIN’ BACK, SHORTSTACK!”  Then, of course, “Filmour”.

Steve:  An obvious parody of Peter Gilmour’s own name, yes.

“Rosetta”:  SHUT THE FUCK UP!  SUCK MY CLIT!

Fatback:  “Parody”?  The fuck!  Haha, goddamn NERD!  I don’t even know what that shit MEANS, son.  Naw, “Filmour” is what he used to call me when I was danglin’ all over Rose’s dick and shit.  He’d be all like, “Damn, Rose!  It’s a good thing I got all this fat right here, ‘cause I can feel more of you when I be havin’ SEXY TIME!  Ha!  ‘Feel more’…Gonna’ name my fat ‘FILMOUR’!  GET IT!?  GET IT!?  GODDAMN, I AM CLEVER AND A GOD AMONGST MEN!  SUCK MY DICK!  SUCK MY DICK!”  I mean, you know how he is and shit. 

Steve rolls his eyes.  He seems to be getting a little more comfortable.

Steve:  I do, sad to say.

Fatback:  Watch ya’ damn mouth, Steve.

There goes the comfort.

Steve:  What would you say to people that think you’re just a ripoff of both PAYBACK and Gilmour?  That you’re nothing but a number in a long line of competitors simply trying to make a name off of the Xtreme Champion?

Fatback gets a serious look on his face, almost grimacing as if he’s in pain.  He turns “Rosetta” toward him.

Fatback:  Baby, you mind steppin’ outside?  Shit’s about to get really real up in here.

“Rosetta”:  Dog, you know I ain’t afraid of that shit.  I’ll slap the taste outta’ this mother fucker’s mouth for sayin’ that shit! 

P.T. kisses the cutout of Robert Goulet again, then looks back at Steve.  The camera pans up slightly at this point as you could see just the tip of Fatback’s penis poking out of his boxers.

Fatback:  What would I say to those people?  “SUCK MY SHIT” is what I’d say, STEVE!  You a dumbfuck.  OF COURSE I’m a ripoff of Peter Gilmour!  HE RIPPED ME OFF AND THREW ME IN A SEWER!  That’s what started this whole big fuckin’ thing, dog.  Secondizzle, I ain’t tryin’ to make no kinda’ name off him, and I ain’t no ripoff of no PAYBACK.  PAYBACK is cool as shit, but he got them muscles the old-fashion way, best I can tell.  I was never danglin’ offa’ him, ya’ heard?  Naw.  I’m just a big fat fucker tryin’ ta’ make life better for my homie, Petey.  If I wanted to make a name for myself, the stipulations for this match would be different.  Thing is, Steve, win or lose, I won’t be seen again.  See, I don’t know where he’s gettin’ this is for that damn title he lugs around.  I don’t want that shit.  If I win, I get up in him and we whole again, know what I’m sayin’?  I lose, I get turned into whatever.  Next time I’m seen is when I’m bein’ processed by DIAL or some shit.  Who knows?  Either way, ain’t about makin’ no damn name.  As for the ‘long line of competitors making a name off Petey’ only other one I can really think of is damn Logic who better RECOGNIZE!  We all know Petey done made a fuckin’ career off defying him.  He spits in Logic’s face on a goddamn daily basis, spare-rib.

Steve:  So this is it, then?  This will certainly be the last we see of P.T. Filmour?

Fatback:  I JUST FUCKIN’ TOLD YOU, KID!  Yeah.  Unless Pete happens to beat me and decides to make me into a regular XWF wrestler or some shit.  That happens, who knows, dog?  Maybe I can chokeslam Madison’s dick off a damn X-Tron or somethin’.  Just like old times.  I don’t think that’s how this shit’s gone go, though.  I’m tellin’ ya’.  I’m gonna’ get up in him and he’s gonna’ get his Fatback.   Ya’ heard me?

Steve sits in the chair and just begins to look around the room, anxiously.  He’s clearly ready to leave.

Fatback:  I ain’t stupid, son.  Get the fuck up outta’ here.  I ain’t got nothin’ left to tell you.  CAMERA MAN!  YOU FUCKIN’ STAY PUT!  SEXY TIME IS GOIN’ ONLINE!

P.T. wobbles back and forth, trying get his boxers off with one hand while half-way groping the Robert Goulet coutout with the other hand.  Steve jumps up and runs out of the apartment followed by the camera man.  Fatback can be heard gasping and screaming down the hall.

Fatback:  SUUUUUUUCKKKKKK MYYYYYYYYY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!