I want to play a game
A spooky, wouldn’t-want-to-be-there-with-light-let-alone-at-night type of graveyard.
That said, the moon is all the way up. It’s a full one; eerily illuminating the tombstones of the fallen beneath.
The wind howls something fierce, or some other way Frank Miller might describe it.
A nearby owl releases the most ominous of hoots– possibly serving as an alarm system of sorts.
The owl seems to hoot.
“You aren’t welcome here. You aren’t wanted. GO AWAY.”
The owl hoots, and hoots, and hoots.
But to no avail.
I say that because the two gentlemen with shovels, standing outside the gate, hear the owl and jump over anyway.
One of the men is steadfast in his demeanor, whistling Nancy Sinatra‘s workmanlike tune as he begins to scour the cemetery. He also happens to be in a Spec Ops outfit, as to not draw any unwanted attention his way.
His glowing gold hair would say otherwise.
Jiles: I’m whistling.
The other man, more hesitant in nature, tip-toes about and whispers back as to not wake the dead.
Doozer: No lie… it’s creepy as fuck out here, Jiles. I think I just saw Kostoff hanging upside down from a tree. Crazy bastard looked like he had an infant hanging out of his mouth. Not some puppy dog shit either.
Or maybe one of Lee’s horcrux-extracted soul fragments.
Jiles: You don’t have to whisper. I’m fairly sure we are the only one’s out here… I think.
Doozer: You think? Coulda fooled me.
Jiles glares. He is not amused.
Doozer doesn’t seem to care.
Doozer: Wait, I thought we were doing the Memorial for Cardboard Dan on the show? We doing it now for some reason?
Jiles: No. We aren’t doing that anymore. We aren’t going to be doing stupid shit anymore. I have had enough.
***[::–::__) It fit on the last one. (__::–::]***
Doozer grins, his secret wish is about to come true.
Doozer: Really? We’re going straight? We are done fucking around and I can become Doozer Unchained! FINA–
Jiles: Not exactly.
Jiles: The way I figure it, THE MACHINE ain’t gonna let the Bandits unleash yolkfire and shellstone. Not the current one anyway.
Doozer: Huh? How much did you smoke before this?
Jiles: DOOD BRAH YOU HAVE NO IDEA, BRAH. It’s why I was able to think so clearly and come up with this grand idea.
Doozer: I see. Tell me more about this grand idea of yours that has us out here in the dead of dark, strolling among the High Octane cemetery, why don’t ya?
THE SUSPENSE BUILDS.
Jiles: We are out here because the brass wants us to jump. They want us to beg. They want us to prove our worth and earn our spot on what is being dubbed the last War Games.
Seems fair when you put it like that.
Doozer: Ahhhh, War Games. Why the fuck are we HERE, though?
Jiles: We are here because I say we do none of that. I say, we punch our own ticket. I say, we buck the system and become the third team to partake in War Games!
The Dooze grimaces while pumping an open hand up and down, signaling to his counterpart to keep the volume down.
Doozer: And how exactly do you plan on doin– oh shit.
It would seem, going by the astonished expression covering the Dooze’s face, that the two men have reached their final destination.
An acorn falls from a nearby tree.
Well that was a Dan Ryan sized letdown.
It bounces off a cow shaped headstone, and splits in half. The two pieces, now seemingly supercharged after coming into contact with the mooooostone, change direction in midair and pierce Jiles’ eyes straight through his shades.
Jiles’ eyeless corpse feathers to the ground. The impact, although seemingly light, causes the shovel in his grasp to violently slice Doozer’s jugular with Zion-like precision.
BLOOD SQUIRTS EVERYWHERE.
LIKE SCOTTY VOORHEES-MYERS-KRUGER EVERYWHERE.
Sadly, all poor Doozy can do is desperately grab at his throat with his one hand, squeezing on to whatever life he has left.
In his other hand… his cell phone.
……quick….. one last clear of the web browser………
Seconds later, it is all but over.
Doozer falls to his knees.
He draws his last breath, then plunges forward – headfirst into Jiles’ ass.
Turns out it is true that you shit yourself when you die.
Wonder if that’s a metaphor for something greater???
Not that shitting yourself bit, but the FULL MOON shining down at the dead of HOW from the start.
Cancer Jiles as himself
Doozer as himself
The Owl as himself, or itself (can’t assume… thanks, 2019)
Chris Kostoff not as himself
Center Align as Brian Hollywood
Max Kael as Nick as Max and Nick
THE DUDE AS THE DUDE?
Dude: Uh, yeah… is this in character, or out of character for me? I don’t want anyone getting offended is all.
NO ONE IS DEAD.
NO ONE IS BLEEDING.
Back at the grave site…
Jiles: Yes, old friend. Oh. Shit. This fucker right here is our way in. This is how we get into the match beyond. He owned HOW. Part of it anyway. I had Data Stevens check the records, just to be sure. He’s even actual blood.
97 RED, amirite guyz?!?
Doozer: You can’t be seriou-
Jiles: He has every right to be there, Dooze. And from the looks of it, he hasn’t been out networking for quite some time. He could use our help.
There’s that coy smile.
The two men continue to gaze down upon the grave underneath their feet. One man is confident. The other man is Doozer.
Doozer: No lie, I thought you were joking when you told me to wear digging shoes.
Jiles: I was not.
Doozer: I can tell. That said, this might be a little much… even for us. I mean, you realize he’s probably JUST a skeleton in a flamboyant shirt and tight pants.
So he’s already got more life to him than the LEE BEST WAR GAMES DANGER ALLIANCE TEAM?
Jiles: Gays mummify themselves upon death. I read it in a magazine once.
Skepticism from The Dooze ensues.
Doozer: Hmmm… and that magazine was?
Jiles: E-W zeen.
The Dooze’s skeptical expression turns into one of understanding.
Doozer: Yea, makes sense. By the way, is it zeen? I always thought it was zine.
Jiles: It’s spelled zine, but pronounced zeen.
Doozer: You sure about that?
The eyeroll from The Dooze says it all.
Doozer: Sure. In any event, I can’t believe I’m going to say this… but you’re right, about something. The only way we get in is if we force our way in. If that means digging up the ghosts of HOW’s past, so be it. I didn’t come back to sit on the sidelines. I’m ready to fight. I’m ready for War.
Doozer: You know, though… before we start digging, we could just turn around and focus our attention on smashing the shit out of Dane and Troy. I think beating the fuck out of them would send the message we’re trying to spread.
Intense, thoughtful pondering follows.
For a second.
Jiles: Nah, now start digging.
Dooze shrugs his shoulders. He knew the chances of that idea going over were about the same as either of them winning that battle royal.
Jiles: I pinged Duder. He’s bringing a golf cart to help us get our resurrected Captain out of here.
Doozer: How’s he going to get past the gate?
The COOL raises his hands like he’s being asked of too much.
Jiles: I dunno. Crash through it, I suppose? Maybe he can jump over it? Who gives a shit really? He’s coming with a golf cart so we don’t have to carry a corpse. Unless you want to carry the corpse? Do you? You sick, necrobutching, Bostonian fuck?
A defeated grunt.
Doozer: No, I don’t want to carry a corpse.
Jiles: Downwards to China then!
A moment of contemplation interrupts.
Doozer: Say, where’s Dude going to get a golf cart, anyway?
Cool throws his hands to the moon this time.
Jiles: JESUS WITH THE SPECIFICS! I never asked! I just told him to get a GAWT DAMNED golf cart.
Doozer: What could go wrong?
Jiles: Just dig. Mike Best isn’t going to meet us halfway you know.
The Egg Bandits are digging up Lee’s very much dead gay brother, Mike, in the hope that he can be their captain and THUS, THEIR WAY INTO WHAT SOME PUNDITS ARE SAYING COULD BE HIGH OCTANE WRESTLING’S FINAL MATCH EVER.
In Jiles’ mind, this all makes perfect sense. Lee’s a Best(father and owner). Mike’s a Best(son and right hand). If Jiles can bring another Best(gay dead brother/uncle) to the table, he can possibly swindle control of his own War Games team.
The sun is getting ready to rise.
Jiles is wrapping up yet another stirring rendition of the poem, “O’ Captain, My Captain.”
Just when Doozer is about ready to jump in the hole and embrace being buried alive…
Or whatever it sounds like when a shovel connects with a coffin.
Jiles: Pay dirt! Finally. I was starting to think they buried gay people deeper for some reason.
On cue, The Dude arrives in a golf cart.
……………………………AT HIS FINAL DESTINATION.
The cart explodes, knocking all three men into the freshly dug hole. A second explosion, because FATE DRIVEN golf carts explode twice, knocks all of the dirt on top of them.
THEY ARE BURIED ALIVE.
As for where The Dude got the golf cart? Turns out it’s from a match Jiles competed in way back in the day.
As for how he traversed the gate?
Use your imagination.
None of you have one.
He jumped it.
Doozer: Ah, yes. Of course. Just in time to not dig. Get down there and pop the top on all this craziness. If my hands are dirty, best believe yours are going to be too.
Dude: You want me to open the coffin? Like…
Someone is scared of a little grave robbing it would seem.
Jiles: Throw me the crowbar, I’ll do it. I want to get the fuck out of here. I think you were right, Dooze. I think I just saw Kostoff running around on all fours. He must be the protector of the grounds or something.
Doozer: If that’s the case he’s not doing such a good job then.
Jiles: What else is new?
Jiles: Hey, maybe he’s hoping we pick him if this gambit of ours pays off.
OBNOXIOUS AUDIBLE LAUGHTER
Doozer: And how would he even… forget it. Let’s just get this done.
Doozer clears out of the hole. The Dude nestles behind him for safety purposes. Jiles looks at them both, a gigantic smile stretched across his face. He winds up, and cracks open the casket of Mike Best.
Gay dead brother of Lee, and not his son.
Jiles: OH MY GOD HE’S ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!
The Dude passes out on the spot.
Doozer tries, but fails to catch him.
Doozer: Oh well.
Jiles: HEY! He is wrapped up like a mummy. I hope he’s not cursed…