All I want for Christmas…
…is for Mike Best to explain the science of wrestling economics.
You brought a Stevens to a title fight.
Not to cut your legs out from underneath you, but I didn’t tell Zeb to attack Doozer at the Memorial show. The young upstart acted on his own accord. That is what made it so special, and so lovely.
You got bad information there.
I won’t hold it against you like the rest of everything you said.
I never left the Bandits, Mike.
They left me.
You know, kind of like how Cecil left you.
Actually, it was eggsactly like that.
2019 ICON Battle Royal? Hmm. I’ve lost a lot of matches, so it might take me a bit. Here, grasp these straws while I try to remember. Was that when–
What’s that you say?
You’re already holding some?
I bet you are, Snort.
Easy there, killer. Don’t be trying to cancel me. We’re competitors in the same locker room! All I said is you are a murderous cocksucker. I never said you were a gay one. I don’t even think gay people can commit murder.
I get it’s 2020. I know you support Eric Dane. Whatever you and Dan’s diaper dick do behind closed doors is your guys’ business. Frankly, I’m glad the big old Hammer’s nail is finally happy.
Don’t play stupid.
It’s too good of a look on you.
You know why my first name is taboo.
Stay above the belt, or I’ll stuff my massive penis down your throat.
Not in a gay way.
I didn’t know they made microwaves that small.
Let me guess, Conan.
Death Star was taken.
This is a big one.
Also one that I’m shocked you ate up.
Spoiler, it’s not a penis.
While it’s true Max Shell was a beloved member of the eGG Bandits and he deserved to be honored as such, I figured you’d know if I said something like, “I love the fact his distinguished portrait hangs proudly in my War Room. It makes it feel like he was there back in the day when Doozer and I formed the eGG Bandits. I like it so much it’s going to be on my Christmas card this year. Me. Alive. WELL. High Octane World Champion, and all of the other dead Bandits proudly admiring their righteous champion before them.”
…it’s not because I’m ready to die on a Yolkulele hill.
I thought you were smarter than this.
I say it because it’s your Achilles heel, Mike. For fuck sakes you said it yourself. Twice. Once in the ring and then again in your most recent information dump.
And I quote:
“Blah blah I have a tiny repeater penis so I had to kill my brother/best friend to compensate. Blah blah blah Hollywood is my protege and we drive corvettes together. Blah blah blah, I’m a nine time world champion. Blah blah blah a bunch of posers honoring my brother’s death like they knew him makes me sad. Blah blah and I don’t mean the Gregarious and Alexia 97.0 morphs. Blah blah blah I mean the wrestlers on the roster.” — Mike Best (repeatedly)
Yeah, sorry if some of the articulation was lost in the translation.
That end part.
The bolded bit.
That’s why I act like Max is the godfather to all ten of my imaginary children. I know it makes you sad. I know it bothers you. I know it distracts you. I know you’d kill me over it but I’m lucky this week is different because the HOAX is gone so you conveniently won’t.
You were exposed during the Memorial Show, Mike. It was trying times out there, I get it. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen though. As such, you gave away your tell, and I just so happened to be watching with the rest of the midcard when it happened. Now, usually a person doesn’t divulge these types of things, but since you already sunk your battleship I might as well have a little fun of my own.
There you were…
Standing in the middle of the ring, breaking down before a murderous audience, unable to cope with the totality of what you’ve done. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t think. Your impenetrable guard was down.
This is when you gasp, Mike.
You were mortal.
And I saw it.
And that’s not even the worst part for you. It’s what happened next… when the answers got too close to home, or too loud to ignore. You, with your guard down, tail tucked, and eyes closed, lashed out and threw a predictable tantrum like the adult toddler you proclaim to be. For a guy like me, Mike, and you know I’m a button pressing, bastard of a man. A cheat, and a scoundrel. A corner cutting, lazy, midcarding, uncommitted, steps inside the ring desperate non star…
Well, that’s the type of information I win matches with.
So go on ahead and chin lock me to death. Let’s see if the killer who has threatened my life once already for tugging on his heart strings can keep it together long enough to wrestle me into a friendly submission.
I’m not going to make it easy.
My guess is I’m able to pull that blinded, rage driven, shallow, nervous, stuttering, murderous cocksucker out of you. That guy, Mike, while he’s a very dangerous man no doubt, is more prone to make mistakes than the level headed, all world wrestling machine I undoubtedly stand no chance against. He will take his eyes off the ball to wipe the tears from them. He will try to put an exclamation point on his victory. He also might second guess his actions because of the toll the last match took on him. He might flashback to a time and place that’s not ideal while defending the World Championship.
Who knows what happens after that?
Mike shakes down the roster to find out what everyone’s Christmas bonus was.
You’re fucked, pal.
Lindsay Troy’s House of Horrors (AKA Troy Manor)
LATE. (Street light late)
How C?NC?R got his groove back
Once upon a time I sat atop a 97red velvet throne. I eviscerated Mongoloids from all walks of life while sitting on this throne. I loved it there. Very much so. I also had a beautiful green fern that stood next to my throne. I loved that as well.
And then, I didn’t.
Then, RICK started speaking French, Bobby snuck away to eat at the concessions, Doozer got even older, and poor, glorious, upstart Zeb got lost in the shuffle.
But that’s a story for another time.
This story is about how I got my groove back, and it started with Dooze spiking an egg at my feet, and ends with my couch and my fern.
Which brings us to Troy Manor, aka the home of the Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy.
I’ll explain. While I was on the lamb taking ass kickings in an attempt to deal with my misery, Lindsay Troy happened to be one those ass kickings. Before she did, Zeb and her confiscated my couch and fern. At the time, I didn’t even know that they did. It’s only until recently when I went to do some work that I realized that neither my fern nor my couch were where I left them. At first I thought Dooze was just being a jerk off, or maybe that Bobby had eaten them while tossing the cushions for crumbs.
I wasn’t playing nicely.
So Mom took them from me.
And now it’s time for me to humbly get them back.
What could go wrong?
I’m a humble guy.
Lady Troy has one of those fancy Ring doorbells. Rich people. I wonder how much money she makes? Going off the garden… I wouldn’t have an idea.
Over the intercom I simply hear in her classic disinterested tone of voice, “What do you want, Tool?”
A beat, then…
“And how did you find out where I live?”
I’m not about to divulge my secrets so, sheepish, I playfully respond, “Trick or Treat! Couch and fern please.”
There’s a long silence; I can tell she’s annoyed but, to my surprise, she finally responds with a chuckle. “Mmmkay. In the alley.”
I bolt back down the steps and book it through the front gate, turning left and then, turning wo more. Suddenly, a garage door not far down the alleyway – seemingly housing my precious heirlooms – begins to open. Grin agape, I start to walk over towards a job well done.
The door stops.
“Uh. Lindsay?” I’m not even sure if she can hear me, but maybe she can? “I think it might be jammed or something.” I flop down to the ground, lay my belly on the gravel and peek under. “I can see them. Wait. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE COUCH!!!!!!!????”
A door opens and shuts from somewhere up above me and boots thump down stairs. “Oh. Yeah. About that.” The voice gets closer. “I painted some nick nacks around the house and needed a place to do it.” My blood boils. She casually continues, “And the door’s not jammed. I stopped it on purpose.”
Lady Troy stops in front of me and holds a garage door opener in her hand. “You were a bag of dicks, Jiles. Start explaining, and maybe the door goes up some.”
I roll my eyes. “THOSE BETTER BE SOME GOD DAMN GOOD NICK NACKS!”
The door begins to close causing me to quickly spring to my feet. “Wait! WAIT! Fine. I understand. I deserved it. Fair play. Lindsay. Just tell me… is the fern okay?”
The garage door begins to rise yet again, and I get my hopes up, yet again. “Come to da–” Sadly, it once again stops only after a few inches.
From a few feet away, Lady Troy beckons. “What else, Tool?”
Another sigh. My head sinks, and defeatedly I drop to the pavement. “Fine. Truth is, I was cooked. Burnt. Whatever you want to call it. So were the rest, and instead of leaving like the rest… I stayed. As you know us Bandits have a remarkable history of doing the former, and I for one thought we had worked too damn hard to get where we were to simply walk away. In my ignorance, I paid for it. Dearly. Dan got his pound of flesh. Hughie got his title. Steve got his shot. Zeb… after beating me, the young, gentlemen upstart went out and attacked Doozer. And you, you got the couch and fern. To most, that might be considered the short end of the stick. To me, you lucked out.”
The Queen rolls her eyes and snipes back, “I lucked out?”
Rigid, I respond, “No. Not in our match. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant lucky to get the fern and couch.”
“You’re a fucking idiot. But please, tell me more about how lucky I got that you’re eating gravel in my alley at eleven o’clock at night, not to mention hiding in the shrubbery like a shitty Knight who says Ni since ten?”
Under my breath I mutter, “there’s gonna be some joust by eggings up in this neighborhood if I don’t get my stuff back.”
“Don’t be saying shit under your breath. I’ll water that fern with bleach.”
“Okay, okay.” I answer her apologetically. “Jeez. What, is everyone a killer now? As you can see, and thank you for not noticing very much, my idealistic hair has just come back from the dead. I wasn’t sure how to go about doing this without jeopardizing that. So, I waited in the shrubbery and planned a strategy. Then, unable to find a way to safely and discreetly break into your residence and take back my goods I decided to swallow my pride and do it the old fashioned way.”
“At least you’re being honest.”
The garage door closes completely. I know because I can hear it thud shut, as if it picked up my steam on its way down. Another sigh. Besieged, I continue to pay the Queen’s tariff. “Look, I’m not happy about how things shook out. With everybody. You. Dooze. Bobby. Zeb especially. But, what’s done is done. All I can do now is look forward. Build again. Do better. In order to do that, I need my things. I need my weapons. People are dying, Lindsay. Dying. I’m facing a killer this week for the only thing he has left. I need them. Please.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” The Queen of the Ring says through her signature smirk. Then, she tosses me the garage door opener and says, “Grab your shit and get out. You’re interrupting Cooking with Kael.”
Reruns, of course.
Maybe I lied about that story for another time.
Or maybe they were two in the same.
I do know Mike killed his brother.
You should have listened
No need to retread two week old paintings.
Buuuuut, there’s Max Shell.
Still playing the Yolkulele.
“Hello again, Michael. For this installment I’d like to talk about our match some. More specifically, how it came to be. It seems there might be some shroud of mystery hovering over it, and I’d like to offer my take.”
I promise there’s plenty of math so stay with me.
“I didn’t ask for the title match. I was just as surprised as the next guy when it got announced. I mean, I’ve never had one and I’m on thin ice to begin with. It was the last thing I expected. Not to mention, when the card first got released and I saw it was me and you I figured this was Daddy’s way of giving me a spoonful of booger sugar for the non-murderous crimes I committed against the shield. In your last match you had killed your brother, maybe you would go out and do the same to me if I didn’t play my part. Teach the Maestro a swan song he won’t forget, so to speak. Makes sense, being you’re the executioner of HOW.”
But maybe things weren’t as they seemed…
“So, there I sat. My hair was back and glowing, my vigor and commitment were renewed. Albeit, there was a somewhat ominous air to them, but renewed nonetheless. The only question left was how long would I be around to enjoy it?” Suspenseful pause. “You are a killer after all.”
“Then the hammer dropped and our match got changed to a title match. I thought, man, Uncle Lee is really going out of his way to make sure his ONLY son left alive has every chance to stick it to me. I must have struck a chord with the old man (Lee and not Doozer) getting half the roster over during my freefall.”
“Not only is he deploying his murderous, cold hearted, big bad, God of War death machine on me, a lowly midcarder, but now he’s gotta take it over the top and incentivize him by putting the title on the line. We all know what you would rather do before losing the title to me. A walk away DQ in a non-title match is one thing…”
Let the sweating begin.
“So, I did what any normal person would do in my situation. I started looking into burial plots and various fern arrangements. I even picked a wonderful eggshell colored casket for my final resting place. Then, right as I was about to pay for the whole thing… it hit me.”
“Lee Best isn’t mad at me. He’s mad at you. He’s not marching me out to be executed by his favorite son. No. He’s marching you out to be eggsecuted by the only person left who can. It was you, not me who murdered his one eyed rapscallion; the only son he ever loved and talked about in private with close and personal friends. Fuck, me sleeping on a few matches pales in comparison to that.”
“Relieved, I obviously canceled the order.”
“Not that I couldn’t afford it.”
One last story.
One that has legs, intrigue, suspense, a reason, and draws in all those murderous fans. More importantly, a story that doesn’t end with Mike and Dan jerking each other off to close the biggest show of the year.
Doozer vs COOL Jiles
ICON TITLE CIRCLE JERK
Brother Killer vs Diaper Dan