Assiest Cottts Part 3
When I said I got all dolled up to greet royalty, I wasn’t lying.
Tuxedo. Bow tie. Cummerbund. Check!
TWO DAY RENTAL.
I also wasn’t lying when shortly after announcing such I brazenly said that a certain someone is fucked.
Me being a man of my word…
Up on the big screen is the still shot of the full moon. Inside of it, like the bat signal, is the LSD championship.
Time to finish it.
In GRAND fashion.
For the first time EVER, I have company to help keep my couch warm and fuzzy. Well, more like someone’s sitting on a steel folding chair next to me, and I’m plopped on top of my 97red throne with only a single, measly, little, potted fern between us.
AND STILL BE STREAKING.
The soon to be defeated.
AND THE SEEMINGLY UNDEFEATED.
Cue Mister Fucking Finish Line!
Mr. Finish Li–
Annnnnd snap cut.
Jiles: Hello. Thank you for tuning in once again to the COOLEST show on HOTv.
Jiles: Please join me in welcoming our distinguished guest, former High Octane Wrestling LSD Champion, Cecilworf… Fatherington? FateGGton? Fahthiringtin? Furtheringtontin. FORGETYOURNAME. Faggamendom? I’m sorry. As I understand it you’re from Europe, and I don’t want to mispronounce your last name. How do you say it?
HOPE YOU WERE SITTING.
Aloof, I look around like I still don’t understand how to say it.
Jiles: Farrrrrthi… eh, close enough. Thanks for being here today. I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to come on.
Yeah, I might be fibbing a touch about that. I had to bribe Cecil by telling him he could pick the stipulation in our match if he came on the show. You know what the smug son of a bitch said? Non-title. Then he laughed it off, and said something along the lines of anything to help out a mid-carder.
Farthington: Wouldn’t miss it.
Jiles: It’s been awhile since we’ve had the chance to catch up. I hope you don’t think that means I’m going to take it easy on you.
Farthington: Love the new hair color by the way.
I aggressively nod my head as if that were the only acceptable answer. I’m still not happy with it, though.
Jiles: So, Cecilwolfbitten… actually, do you mind if I just call you Cecil so I don’t have to keep bumbling over your silly name? Or would you prefer I call you Joe Europe for the rest of the interview?
Farthington: Your show. I’m just the European waiting to jump out of the box and leave it.
My eyes roll.
I used it better.
Jiles: GOOD. Welcome to MY show, Cecil. Can I say? I thought you were better in OCW.
Already disinterested, Cecil shuffles about his chair.
Farthington: That’s nice.
Jiles: Yeah, I definitely didn’t confuse you for a lazy lackey when you were there.
Farthington: Thanks, but I don’t remember you even being on the roster.
Humorlessly, I wildly slap at my knee, and almost fall from my throne. I will myself erect, tears now running down my T-Shades as if I just squirted some Visine on the lenses when I was buckled over.
Jiles: Hahahahahaha! HA! OH. BOY. Good one. AS. IF. But, good one. Man, you keep that up and I might win a bet I just made with myself that you are funnier than you look.
I have the other side.
Farthington: Sounds like a winner to me.
Jiles: I’m glad you agree. Say, speaking of winners, did you know you’re sitting with the host of HOTv’s number one show?
Intrigued, the undefeated behemoth cocks his head.
Farthington: Number one show you say?
Jiles: Yep. Just happened this week. Me being me, I got a sneak peek at the ratings before they are officially released Monday morning. We finally overtook Unsolved Mysteries.
Better known after Saturday Night as, Solved Mysteries.
Jiles: Far from. That show is a chaotic, short winded, jazz lounge compared to the ABSOLUTE EVISCERATION ROCK N’ REFUELED CONCERT this show is. Between you, me, and ferny– and I usually don’t like to brag, but not only is this show much better, I was also voted most likely to succeed by 97Red Magazine.
I smile proudly.
Jiles: It was really only a matter of time, but thank you.
Farthington: I’m thinking it’s almost time for something else.
Jiles: You aren’t kidding, pal. You must get the official Wolfscornwalker newsletter! How else would you know I have to hurry this thing along because a SUPERIOR star is on after you?
Farthington: And just who might that be?
Jiles: John Sektor’s heroin needle.
Nose in the air, the LSD Champion mockingly laughs at the probability of that happening. The act rubs me the wrong way, causing a shift in the somewhat thus far cordial interview.
Jiles: Say, whatever happened to the ascot? Is there any chance of bringing it back and dusting off that personality? I only ask because as it stands right now you barely have one, and everybody loved the scarf version of you so much more than the loyal, sacrificial lamb chop shtick.
I can’t help but to chuckle at the slightly perturbed look beginning to crawl across Cecil’s face.
Jiles: If Mike Best likes to bite dicks, and your father maybe passed down to you his joy of getting his face painted, what is Dan Ryan’s weird penis to face fetish? Does he like getting pecker slapped across his? Cause, I didn’t get that vibe when I was doing it to him during our match a while back.
Farthington: Next question.
Jiles: While we’re on the topic of your father, do you regret not keeping his ashes?
Farthington: Eric Dane’s back, right? At least that means the smell is still there.
He’s got a point. ONE. To my infinity.
Jiles: Did you ever think cheating Bobby Dean would come back to haunt you this badly?
Farthington: How bad are we talking? Like, this show, bad?
HA! The nerve of this guy. Trying to get another point.
Jiles: Worse. Mystery show bad.
No point for you!
Farthington: Doubtful. And who is this Bobby Dean you speak of?
My face pops with wonder.
Jiles: You don’t know who Bobby Dean is?
Farthington: I only know what his boots look like from the view of the announce table.
Farthington: How is Beautiful Blue Boots, by the way? I heard he might have had some trouble at the hospital?
I scrunch my eyes at Cecil’s backhanded gesture.
Jiles: Bob’s fine. Don’t you worry about, Bob.
Fucking Zeb. Plan Z my ass.
Farthington: I bet he is, and trust me, I never have.
Jiles: Cute. Tell me, what emotions were running through your mind after you lost to Scott Stevens and Darin Zion in the same calendar year?
Farthington: Next question.
Jiles: How would you classify Doozer egging you? Humiliating? Slightly humiliating? Grossly humiliating? All of the above?
Farthington: Let’s go with whichever you’d choose after this Saturday night.
Jiles: That’s not one of the available options.
Farthington: Sure it is.
I shudder at the sheer masculinity.
Jiles: You would.
Farthington: I would what?
Jiles: I don’t know. I just always wanted to use the phrase and now seemed like the time. You know, like where in Rome.
Farthington: It’s when.
Jiles: What is?
Farthington: The saying is when in Rome, not where in Rome.
Jiles: What type of idiot are you? How does that even make any sense? When in Rome. Sure thing, CHAMP. Let me guess, you probably have some sort of electrical engineering degree to fall back on WHEN Mystery Saxophone Theater doesn’t work out.
Farthington: Is this over yet? I can think of so many more places I would rather be.
Jiles: That’s funny. I can think of only one other place I would rather be. Oddly enough, you’re also there.
Farthington: And where might that be?
Jiles: I’m the tuxedo wearing, T-Shaded, platinum gray hair having, host of this show. I’ll be the one asking the questions! But, being the gentleman and showman I am, I’d at least like to answer your question with one of my own, if that is okay?
I don’t bother waiting for an answer.
Of course it is.
Jiles: Will you find comfort in the fact that you’ll be losing to a superior human being this Saturday night? Does it make the whole snapping of your impressive win streak not sting as bad?
Farthington: Sure. Why not.
Jiles: I’m sorry. I made a mistake with the last question. I never meant to say impressive. I was spacing out about climbing a ladder when I was talking and– ya know what? Never mind.
Jiles: I know I am, but further along the lines of this Saturday night. Do you think having a near sold out audience ALL rooting against you puts you at an almost insurmountable disadvantage, especially when considering the opponent?
Farthington: I didn’t even know we had fans, so I guess… no?
I quickly jump at the chance to correct the Champion.
Jiles: You don’t. I do. Sorry for the confusion. You were probably too busy beating up Benny to notice. In any event, do you have anything to say to all of those Octabandits out there who will be cheering against you?
Farthington: Nothing they don’t already know.
Jiles: One last question, and then I’ll cut you loose so you can go back to laying around in your pajamas.
Jiles: Will you blame the Bruvs after you lose?
Farthington: Have a good one.
Jiles: Class. Dignity. Honor. Sacrifice. Loyalty… all words you could use to describe me, your gracious host, Cancer Jiles. Up next after the commercial break, our featured guest! A man of many names, but most notably, he’s not Woolworth? Farmageddon?? I think that’s it. Yes?
My grin is so wide the shit dribbling down my chin is starting to pile in front of me.
Farthington: I’m going to break your fucking arm.
WILD WEST NOISE.
Gently, I begin to run my hand over the red velvet covering my throne. Then, I slide forward on the couch, adjusting my weight to the possibility of having to deal with a shark problem. Lastly, I wipe clean the remaining shit dribble from under my mouth.
Jiles: Took ya long enough. Fuck. I figured the wolf would scare you away so I kept it blond until you felt safe… really had me going there, huh pal? I thought maybe I was wrong and I was going to have to really howl to bring it out of you.
Unimpressed, the Breaker of Arms makes a jerking off motion to display how he feels.
Jiles: Seems like most things these days, I was right. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see if you are.
It’s for Unsolved Mysteries.