I never wanted to feud with the Bandits, if I’m being honest.
They’re played out.
They’re cool…but like, they were cool five years ago.
I never really cared about them, not one way or the other. They’ve just never really been on my radar. The occasional match here and there, and that’s it.
We need an opponent for Bobby Dean, you available?
Here ya’ go, Cancer Jiles in a one off match.
We can’t find Doozer. Where’s Doozer?
Bing. Bang. Boom.
And then they’re gone. Off to bluer pastures and then back again. They’re like the Raiders moving from Oakland to LA and back again. It happened, but did anyone ever really notice?
But its settled for now. They’re back, and they’ve been a total fucking pain in my ass since they got here. From a best of five tag team championship series that was ultimately squandered by shitty opinions and egg yolk in my eyes. To an upcoming match with the most dastardly Bandit of them all, COOL Cancer Jiles.
The one Bandit that can say he’s actually done something with his life and hasn’t been held back and manipulated by a sunglass-wearing, tow-headed, has to have his own face on his tights narcissist.
The one Bandit that has won the ultimate prize in this business…the HOW World Championship.
But that was back when he was good and this is now and he’s the…PRIME World Champion.
LIke anybody gives a flying fuck. That belt means dick in HOW and it damn sure means dick when you’re inside the Best Arena and standing toe-to-toe with one of the best to ever lace up his fuckin’ boots.
But they’re bad guys now!
Ya’ don’t say? Suddenly they’re rough and tough.
You can’t become a man overnight. That shit just doesn’t happen. Going off to different companies with weaker competition and winning [air quotes] World Championships [air quotes] will give you a net gain of zero fuckin’ cool points in HOW.
But you know that. Like I said…you’re a former HOW World Champ.
Tomorrow night I get a chance to end this bullshit feud once and for all. To get the eGG Bandits out of my fucking life for at least two weeks…but we all know what will happen. Two weeks from now I’ll be booked against Bobby Dean for another Gentlemen’s Agreement or some other bullshit, stipulation riddled, match.
That shits not gonna happen.
I’m cashing in my New Years Resolution early.
After I beat Cancer Jiles…
I get the Bandits out of my life…for good.
Solex sits on a dark blue, suede couch in the middle of his one time neighbor’s living room. Frank was never Solex’s favorite neighbor, in fact he was probably Solex’s least favorite. But , Solex had no place else to go and he knew that Frank, the gullible asshole that he is, would let him stay for a few days. It’s apparent that Solex hasn’t seen the inside of the shower in a few days. He’s dressed in dirty jeans, boots and a greasy white t-shirt. He hasn’t shaved in days, and his hair is unkempt. His mustache though, is as beautiful as always. A freshly lit cigarette balances on his bottom lip as he stares at the television on the opposite side of the room.
Frank stomps into the room, trying to hang on to whatever adrenaline he has left over after his wife the motivational speech his wife gave him just a few minutes ago. She wants Solex out, and she wants him out now. He marches over to the TV and clicks it off. Solex looks up at the curly headed fuck.
“What?” Solex asks as he leans back and takes in a deep drag of his cigarette.
“Ste….Steve, I ha…hate to ask you this, but…Sheryl…she…we need you to leave,” Frank says, stuttering like whatever he says next, might be the last thing he ever says again
Solex takes another drag from his cigarette and tosses it down to the hardwood floor. He stomps the cigarette out with his boot and gives a confused look to Frank, who’s staring down at the freshly extinguished cigarette.
“We’ve got a good thing goin’ here, bud. What’s the problem? Do you want me out, or does your wife?” Steve weakly tries to manipulate Frank.
“Well, Steve. You have that match with that Bandit feller this weekend, and Sheryl thinks…we think…you shouldn’t come back from that trip. At least, not back here,” Frank says, actually maintaining a bit of composure this time around.
“Bandit feller…you’re talking about the PRIME World Champion, Frank,” Solex shouts out sarcastically.
“You’re talking about PERFECTION, Frank!” Solex shouts out again, throwing his arms up in the process.
“I think…uh…it’s Cancer Jiles, Steve. Least, that’s…uh…that’s what that letter over there says anyway,” Franks says, pointing at a torn up piece of paper on the glass end table next to the couch.
“I gotta tell ya’, Frank. These fuckers piss me off like no one in this business has ever done before. With their childish antics, constant absenteeism and underwhelming comedy routine…they’ve got to be the least popular thing to ever appear on High Octane Television and get invited back. I just don’t fuckin’ get it…I don’t understand the appeal,” Steve says.
Frank begins to squirm as Steve rants on.
“I don’t fuckin’ like ‘em, Frank. I can’t stand those fuckin’ Bandits, but most of all, I can’t fucking stand that aviator wearing, stupid fuck Cancer Jiles. I should just get it over with smash his bitch ass over the head and end this never ending saga of The Highwaymen vs The eGG Bandits,” Solex says pounding his right fist into his left hand.
“You can’t just cheat, Steve,” Frank says, trying to calm down the one time HOTv Tag Team Champion.
“And why the fuck not? Fuck Cancer Jiles, and fuck the rest of ‘em!” Solex roars.
“You just…can’t. It’s the…rules,” Frank wimpers, knowing that his answer is highly combustible.
Solex seethes and stomps across the room, getting right in Frank’s face.
He doesn’t speak. He seethes.
“That little yellow haired bitch spit fuckin’ egg yolk in my eyes, Frank. He’ll be lucky if I don’t bring a fucking gun to the ring,” Solex rages, pointing a finger in Frank’s face.
Franks pushes his glasses up with his finger, and takes a big gulp.
“Let’s…let’s just calm down, Ste…Steve.”
Frank struggles to get past his shaky bottom lip, and stutters a plea to Steve. A droplet of sweat runs down the hefty ginger’s cheek as Steve continues to point a finger in his face.
“I’ll be calm when I’m back on that couch with a fresh brew in my hand,” Solex sneers as he points back to the couch he once occupied.
Solex slowly lowers his finger. He smiles with closed lips as he slowly walks backward to the couch. The room stays silent as Solex slowly sits down on the couch, leans back and props his dirty boots up on Frank’s finely polished oakwood coffee table.
“What are ya’ waiting for, Frank? Where’s my beer?” Solex asks, pretending to be confused.
Frank is clearly nervous as he fiddles with his fingers in front of his chest. He makes a wrong turn and then corrects himself before starting toward the kitchen.
“Hey Frank!” Solex shouts, stopping Frank dead in his tracks.
“Turn the TV back on, would ya’…..pal?” Solex condescendingly asks as he pulls a cigarette from the Marlboro box in his shirt pocket.
He fires up the smoke as Frank shuffles over to the TV and clicks it on. He leans back into the couch and the #1 Dad finds his peace once again as the theme for the Golden Girls is heard playing from the TV.