He Who We Do Not Name

He Who We Do Not Name

Posted on April 15, 2022 at 10:24 am by Scottywood

Fucking eh someone get this guy a glass of water, cause he is thirsty as fuck! 

You know what I learned most importantly in the third grade of school?  It’s that girls don’t want to be your friend if you pull their hair or kick sand at them.  Now I’m not sure they had grade school down in the fucking sewers where your creep ass was raised.  So maybe, just maybe that would explain why you think being an utter creep would win you favor with people like Carey over someone who has been her friend for fifteen year.

I’ve seen that subtle hints aren’t your forte… shit just flies straight over your fucking head.  So I’m gonna be blunt with your man, so that even someone like yourself can understand this.  You will never be a better friend with Carey than I am.  You might HAVE been the better wrestler here in HOW.  Won more World Titles and held them for much longer than I did.  But you have absolutely no clue how to fucking read people.  What you can one hundred percent do is make the skin crawl of every fucking person you interact with.  You will never be able to top the years of friendship me and Carey have… especially in just a few months with your throw sand in her face and hope she likes you third grader tactics.

But Carey is not Tara in any fucking way.  She isn’t naive… or desperate enough to fall for your bullshit.  Though you certainly are naive enough to think that just because Mike Old Best picked you both to maybe be on his War Games team, that now you’ll magically be friends.  Do you really think she cares if you qualify for War Games?  Fuck no!  And that was definite before it was announced that me and you would have to battle it out for a spot.

I know you’re trying to meet up this week.  She showed me the texts.  Did you really think she wouldn’t tell me about this?  Do you think you can trust her?  That if she goes she isn’t going to come back and tell me EVERYTHING?  You are one naive fucker.  More and more I keep realizing that everything you achieved in HOW is not because of any brains in that head.  It was cause of you teamed with Tara… she was the real brains, wasn’t she?  Now you’re just trying to recreate that with Carey, trying so fucking hard so you can before people realize your just like The Wizard of Oz.  All smoke and mirrors, controlled by some fake behind a curtain.

Sure, I bet you’ll disagree with all that… why would a scammer ever fess up to their bullshit?  Plus all you need to say is that you are the one with the Hall of Fame ring now, not her.  Oh don’t get me started on that sympathy ring.  The one you got after your now fellow Hall of Famers… like me, snubbed you.  Because being well deserving of that ring based on your accomplishment resume… you’re as likable as Carey at a Gryffindor cosplay group.

Ya, you won’t get that reference either… you know why, cause you haven’t been friends with her for fifteen years.  I know, I’ve beaten that horse fucking deader than you were… your career was when Noble replaced your ass.  But you still haven’t seemed to get the point that a man with half a fucking brain has made forty fucking times.

But I know my words aren’t gonna get through to you… especially since they are from me.  So I can’t wait to beat the living shit out of you in that ring.  To prove in a way you will understand that I am better and Carey doesn’t need to cleanse the Scottywood from her… but that she need to finally cut the pity cord that you should be fucking lucky you have.  Instead of pretending to cut at it yourself to seem cool and edgy with “the boys”, all while begging like Keith Suete for her attention behind the scenes.

One could try and drown your ass in Lake Erie, but you’d fucking drink that shit dry and still be a thirsty fuck. Maybe some might think I’ve gone too far, that I am just being mean… but I’m just trying to be honest with you.  Honest that your creepy ass, backhanded antics aren’t winning anyone over… they are just driving them away.

Maybe me kicking your ass will be the wake up call you need man… cause honestly, I got nothing really against you man.  I don’t wanna bury you like the fucks Mike Best is shredding on Twitter.  No, I just want to go to that ring and we beat the living fuck out of each other like me and Kostoff did last week.  That was fucking fun… two long time rivals, but we have a mutual respect for each other.

Maybe one day we can get there… maybe… but you need to rid yourself of the… well everything that is Jace Parker Davidson… fuck, I said the name.  Gonna go get some salt, throw it over my shoulder, spin around three times and put on a necklace of garlic.  Someone please do that thing that religious people do for others.  Lie.  Yeah, that sounds about right.

See you in Atlanta… though since I’m traveling with Carey… you’ll probably see me first from whatever gutter you’re creeping from.

Nashville, TN
Dierks Bentley’s Whiskey Row

If one ever goes to Tennessee and they don’t make their way to Broadway in Nashville… have you really been to the state?  Geography people would say yes… but in reality… fuck no.  Making their way from Memphis to Atlanta, The Hardcore Artist didn’t have to twist The Queen B’s arm much to get her to stop in Nashville for a drink… or several.  Oh and of course for some Southern food… or at least something that is called Southern food.

It’s midday Thursday, so the bar isn’t totally crowded as the two have found a spot on the sixth floor rooftop bar with a great view looking over Nashville, especially the Bridgestone Arena where the Predators will be hosting the Oilers later in the night.  Yeah, of course he is going to try and get tickets, he has his Gretzky Oilers jersey packed in his bag.  Nosebleed seats I’m sure, but who cares.

So while Frankie probably is building LEGO in the hotel room, the two long time friends continue to mend the riff that was between them the best way long term friends can, over drinks and giving advice that the other one doesn’t want to really hear… but really needs to hear.

“I can’t tell you what to do Carey.  I mean honestly, I’d love ya to go meet him and see what that fuck is up to before our match… but it’s not worth you putting yourself through that hell.” Says Scotty as he raises his bottle of Tennessee Brew Works’ Hippies & Cowboys IPA to Carey and takes a big drink.

“I don’t know Scooter… we’re on the same team.  I mean Mike Oliver Best picked us both.” Retorts Carey as she raises her glass of Barefoot white Riesling back to The Hardcore Artist. She takes a sip and looks at the glass listening to her friend as he continues to make his point.

“It doesn’t matter that the slightly less shitty Mike Best picked you both for his team.  He isn’t gonna make it after I decimate his ass.  I mean the man couldn’t even hang in there for the tag team tournament named after the other shithead we don’t mention.  What makes you think that he is in any fucking shape to be a productive teammate at War Games?” Questions Scotty as Carey nods her head a bit to the solid point that he is making.

“True… but then when I beat Jatt Starr, that means we will be on opposing teams.  We’ll have to fight each other… for real this time…” Trails off Carey as her smile fades while looking down at the wine glass to avoid eye contact and sighs.

“You make that sound like we didn’t fight for real at March to Glory.  We just agreed not to take each other’s eye when the other tapped out… when you tapped out.” Reminds Scotty with a smirk on his face that drags Carey out of the short awkward moment.

“Details Scooter, plus we’re talking about War Game now.  A match where I’m the only one to have survived it to the end between the two of us.” Carey quickly quips back before taking another sip as her nostrils flared at her own comment, before clearing her throat and shooting a smile back at The Hardcore Artist.

“Ok, we don’t need to get into a dick measuring contest here…” Fires Scotty back with a twinge of annoyance behind the joke.

“Yeah, cause you know mine is bigger.” Laughs Carey, pushing her hair out of her face and with a matter of fact tone to her voice.

“Half as bigger… plus don’t turn this into a race thing, otherwise I’ll ask you if your fried chicken is better than the stuff they serve here.” Chuckles Scotty at what seems to be another inside joke between the two friends.

“You know I make three different kinds… and they are all way better than the shit they pass off here as Southern food.” She uses her fingers to air quote the last two words. 

“Plus prince’s hot chicken is way better than this unseasoned trash.” Carey adds as Scotty chuckles back at her.

“Touche… but back to… Wormtail, you need to stop engaging him.  He keeps treating you like shit and you continue to interact with his creep-fuck ass.  Why is the Bobbinette Carey that wanted to burn toxic males alive absent when it comes to him?” Questions Scotty as his tone goes from joking to fairly serious as he takes another drink while Carey takes a moment to think exactly why.

“Because maybe, just maybe if I show compassion and become a genuine friend that’s a female, he will stop objectifying others and stop being such a sleaze pot. Sometimes I want to give people the opportunity to change… or enough rope to hang themselves.” Theorizes Carey as she shrugs her shoulders and sips more of her wine.

“You really don’t know him as much just as much as he doesn’t know you.” Smirks Scotty as shakes his head, having way less faith that someone like him will ever change his ways.

“That’s true and you’re right. But it’s why I’m glad that I know you’ve got my back… and I’m grateful for you Scooter. It’s all the more reason I got to see what he’s up to. For your sake.”

“As hilarious as it would be to know what he is up to before our match… I don’t need it.  Don’t use me as an excuse to validate his shitty behavior.  Yes, I got your back… but the only thing he is going to understand is my boot to the side of his head and then a Game Misconduct to the fucking mat…” Explains Scotty as he is interrupted by…


His iPhone that is sitting on the bar top lights up as the loud and obnoxious buzzing can be heard as Scotty looks down at the screen.


“Fucking eh… I gotta take this Carey, I’ll be right back.” He tells Carey, quickly grabbing the phone and answering it.

“Another mysterious phone call?  You had one last week… and another at Refueled.  What’s up Scooter?  Secrets are no good between friends.” Questions Carey with a worried look on her face before raising her eyebrow with some genuine concern.

“You honestly don’t wanna know.  It’s something I’m taking care of and it should have no effect on anything here in HOW.” He says attempting to reassure her.

“Well I’m here if ya need me.” Offers Carey as Scotty nods his head and gets up from the bar and walks over to a corner of the room, placing the phone up to his head.

“You better have this taken care of now, it’s getting closer and I still see…” Scotty pauses as he looks around him again, making sure no one else, especially Carey is within earshot.

“I still see him on the card.” Finishes Scotty as there is silence for a moment, though we can see the annoyance start to grow on The Hardcore Artist’s face as one can assume he is not getting the answer that he was looking for.

“Fucking eh!  What the fuck are you good for then.  Fine, I guess this is going to happen.  At least we know who he is fighting.  He can’t stand a chance against him… and maybe that will give him a dose of reality when he fails.  Maybe another offer after that will open his eyes.  Just make sure he knows if he opens his fucking mouth… who he is going to have to deal with.” Warns Scotty as he hangs up the phone in the most dramatic way one can with a smartphone and shakes his head as he downs the rest of his beer and heads back over to Carey to get a refill.

“Oh that sounded like it went real well Scooter, sure you don’t need some help?” Again offers Carey as the bartender places another beer down in front of the returning Hardcore Artist.

“Maybe next week… let me see how shit pans out first.” Partially relents Scotty as he sighs while shaking his head before diving into his next bottle of beer.


Scottish Inns
Nashville, Tennessee

Just a short drive on the outskirts of Nashville, we see Frankie the Cameraman building a LEGO Ferrari set inside the cheap ninety-nine dollar motel that Scotty booked for the night for them before they head to Atlanta.  Clicking in some one by four piece to the model, he is interrupted by his own cell phone ringing.

It’s the theme to Star Wars… what else do you think it would be?

Looking at the screen, just one word gives him no information of who is calling.


Pausing the Star Wars clone wars episode he is watching, he hits the green button on screen to  answer the phone as he places it on speaker.

“Hey, this is Frankie!” Enthusiastically starts Frankie, excited that anyone is calling him, even if it is probably some scam spam caller.

“Tell Scotty we know his secret.” The voice on the other end says as Frankie cocks his head to the side a bit confused.

“Who is this?  You’re not looking for my new Medicare card are you?  Scotty says those are very bad scam people.  Plus I’m way too young for Medicare.  I only have a LEGO VIP card.  I have loads of points saved up for it that I am saving to buy the new Star Wars AT-AT Ultimate Collector Series set.” Rambles on Frankie, easily providing way too much useless information that whoever on the other line was obviously not looking for.

“Tell him… we know.” The voice reiterated to Frankie.

The line goes dead as the call disappears from Frankie’s screen without any further follow up.  Frankie tosses the phone back onto the floor and just shrugs as he un-pauses his show and goes back to building his LEGO set in ignorant bliss.