April 26th, 2023
Solex lounges on his black leather couch, lost in a daydream as he gazes at his Final Alliance letterman’s jacket draped over the armrest. The sound of heavy footsteps entering the living room catches Solex’s attention. Solex chuckles as he watches his old man hobble across the living room floor, almost like he has a stick up his rear.
“Still?” Solex asks grinning ear to ear.
Dick stops in the middle of the room and just stares at Solex.
“Motherfucker,” the old man starts. “I’m 65 years old and you gave me a fuckin’ wedgie. I’m not gonna be able to walk right for a year.”
Solex can’t help but burst out into gut busting laughter.
“What the fuck are you up to today?” Dick asks as he continues his hobble across the room, once again drawing a small chuckle out of Solex.
“I gotta go to the gym,” Solex says as he gets up and follows his dad to the kitchen.
“Oh, yeah? Why not use the hundred-thousand-dollar setup you have downstairs?” Dick asks as he digs through a cabinet full of snacks before pulling out a box of Club crackers.
“It’s different. I have a new training buddy, and our first session is more about mentality than throwing some weights around, if you catch my drift,” Solex says.
Solex reaches into the fridge and grabs out a bottle of Aquafina.
“So, you have a new lifting buddy…and you two are going to go down to the gym and shove a bunch of guys in lockers aren’t you?”
Solex turns the top off of the bottle of water and takes a swig, all the while a smile is stretched across his face.
“Something like that,” Solex says through a laugh as the scene fades to black.
April 26th, 2023
The Franklin Weight Room
As sun beams through the entranceway of this Franklin, Tennessee gym, the silhouette of Steve Solex can be seen standing in the doorframe. The sight of Solex literally stops the gym-goers in their tracks as his intimidating and muscular stature cuts an impressive frame that drops the jaw of every woman in the gym. The sun glistens off the expensive wool and reflects dimly off of the exquisite leather of his hand crafted Final Alliance letter jacket. His bare chest is pressed against the lapels of his coat, exposing his chiseled physique to everyone in the gym, like a Greek god carved from stone. He takes a step through the doorway and pulls his black, wraparound Oakley’s down to the tip of his nose and gives a big wink to everyone that’s stopped and is staring.
“Carry on,” he says as he pulls his shades back up over his eyes.
Solex struts through the gym, radiating the confidence of an entire platoon of Soldiers ready for war. His stride is as smooth as can be as he makes his way over to the first bench press, closest to the door. Solex stands over the bench, staring down at a twerpy, twenty-something “man.”
“Let’s fuckin’ go!” Solex shouts at the top of his lungs, rattling the twenty-five pound weights loaded on either side of the olympic bar the young man struggles to push up.
“It’s only 95 pounds you noodle-armed NERD! LET’S FUCKIN’ GO!” Solex shouts out once again, but this time he moves into a spotter position and places his pinkies under the bar, pulling up on the weight.
Solex surprisingly bursts out some words of encouragement as the young man pushes up with all of his might, “I’M JUST PINKIES BRO! ALL YOU! ALL YOU!” The young man’s arms shake wildly as he passes the ninety-degree mark.
“YOU TWERP!! YOU FREAKIN’ NEEEERRRRRRRDDDDDD!!!!”
Solex screams out as the bar falls down on the man’s boney chest, pushing the air right out of his lungs as he stares up at Solex, his eyes bulging out of his head. Solex just stares down at him, shaking his head and smiling a wide, toothy grin.
“Fuckin’ NERD,” Solex snarls as he turns his back and walks away, leaving the twig armed man on his own, trapped under the weight struggling.
A couple of men rush over to the young man’s aid as Solex saunters across the gym and finds himself in front of a man executing some kind of shoulder press with the leg curls machine.
“What the fuck…” Solex mutters to himself as he pulls the mid-thirties, bearded fellow off the machine.
The man springs up to his feet and begins, “Hey, what’s your fuckin pro…” The man quits as he realizes his is standing eyes to nipples with the #1 Wrestler in the World. He takes a big gulp and then looks up at Solex.
“Shit,” the man says as he hangs his head low.
With his hands on his hips, Solex glares down at the man with a look of disgust on his face.
“Are you being for real right now? Are you shoulder pressing a leg curl bar?!” Solex shouts, as he jabs a finger in the man’s forehead with enough force to push the man back a step.
“A leg curl bar?” The man murmurs in a soft tone, trying not to rile up the MERCDAD in any kind of way.
“Yeah, dipshit! You know your way around a gym about as good as Conor Fuse. Get out of my gym now and go play some goddamn video games,” Solex demands, jabbing his finger into the man’s forehead with every syllable.
The man begins to shake nervously, but doesn’t move.
“Now! You fuckin’ POG!” Solex shouts as he points toward the exit.
The man shuffles around, still a bit lost. Finally, he sees the exit sign over the door and makes a b-line for it. Solex watches as the skinny-fat, pale-faced, Conor Fuse look-alike stumbles his way out of the gym and into the parking lot outside.
“Jesus H…” Solex mutters to himself as he bends his neck and rubs his forehead in disbelief.
“Mr. Solex!” A male voice shouts out from across the gym.
Solex looks up and sees a shaggy haired, love-handled, red mustached man wearing a Nike headband on the other side of the gym frantically waving Solex over. Solex hesitates but quickly relents and makes his way over to the man, who’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Solex asks himself as he approaches the man.
“Hey buddy! I just recognized you from the TV, and I said to myself, I said Self, I gotta get Solex to spot me on these cable flys,” the man says.
Solex winces at the man’s skin crawling, NERD tone as he eyebrows narrow.
Solex fakes a smile – more of a smirk, really – and asks, “A spot for…cable flys? Are you…are you fuckin’ serious?”
The man shrugs his shoulders and awkwardly points to the machine he intends on using. He continues to stare at Solex with a confused look as he approaches the fly machine and grabs either handle and begins his exercise
“HOOOOOOOOAHHHHHH!!!! HOOOOOOOOAHHHHHH!!!! HOOOOOOOOAHHHHHH!!!!”
With every rep, the man lets out a grunt that echoes throughout the gym, earning himself quite a few awkward looks. Solex, who’s not even in a spotter’s position, cringes and rolls his eyes so far back he nearly loses his balance and tips over.
“AND…15!” The man declares as he does one last rep, and lets the cables back.
The red-haired, middle aged man walks up to Solex and places his hand on his shoulder. Solex snarls and looks down at the man’s hand and then stares right into his eyes. Solex eyebrows narrow as he clenches his jaw and grits his teeth.
“HOW DO YOU LIKE THOSE APPLES!?” The man exclaims holding his arms out to his sides, almost challenging Solex.
Solex gets right in the man’s face.
The man gets a little nervous, holds his hands out in a defensive but dismissive posture and says, “Hey man, just kiddin’ around!”
Solex lets out a laugh so forced, it’s painfully obvious that it’s a fake laugh. Solex slaps the man on the shoulder, and gives it a squeeze that’s hard enough to make the headband-wearing man wince, which causes a small smirk to tug at the corner of Solex’s mouth.
“Come here, buddy!” Solex says as he pulls the man in close to him.
The man looks nervously at Solex as he really admires the true size of the #1 Wrestler in the World.
“You like apples, do ya?” Solex asks, his eyebrows raised.
“Well, uh….” The man quivers.
“Well, that sucks. I don’t have any apples, but I do have…”
Solex reaches into his pocket, but then suddenly throws the man into a headlock.
“I HAVE KNUCKLE SANDWICHES!”
Solex doubles the man over and grinds his knuckle into the man’s head as he laughs hysterically.
“NERD!!!!!” Solex shouts at the top of his lungs.
The man cries out for help, but suddenly the gym goes silent. The entrance door swings open and reveals the silhouette of a dog.
Solex relents on the nougie and the man looks up at the doorway and asks, “Is that a dog?”
Solex cracks a smile, shoves the man to the floor and declares, “That’s not a dog. That’s a motherfuckin’ DOG.”
A loud grunt is heard from outside the door, along with the sound of thunderous footsteps approaching the entrance.
“What’s that? No, who’s that?!” The man asks as a man steps up next to the dog, cutting the silhouette of an absolute adonis of a muscular man.
“That’s my new lifting buddy,” Solex says.
S T R O n k
I am a fucking warrior.
I am bound by honor and forged from strength.
I am fueled by my desire to close the distance with and kill the enemy in armed or unarmed combat.
I am unbreakable and unstoppable.
I know that the path to victory is paved with blood, sweat and tears and I am motivated, willing and determined to do the hard work that it requires to get there.
I am willing to fight for what I believe in and I’m ready to give my life in combat in defense of those beliefs.
Whether it’s on the field of combat or in a wrestling ring, the mere mention of my name strikes fear in the heart of my opponents.
My name is synonymous with power.
I am a force to be reckoned with.
I am a true warrior in every sense of the word.
I am a member of The Final Alliance.
I am everything that Scott Stevens isn’t, but wishes he could be.
Everything’s bigger in Texas, especially the bed that Scott Steven’s has been shitting in since 2012. I’ve said everything I can about you Stevens; I’ve even tried to prop you up when you needed it. I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt when everyone and their mom told me not to. I, at one time, had a strong belief that one day you’d get out of this rut you’ve been in for a decade…but the hard truth is, you’re an incorrigible fuckin’ NERD! And there’s literally no path to success for you at this point.
I mean, be for real.
How many times am I going to have to beat the shit out of this fuckin’ guy?
I’ve been whooping your ass for 10 or 15 fuckin’ years and for some reason you’re still around! You’re an insufferable prick; a literally piece of human garbage and I’m pretty much fuckin’ sick of it at this point.
Why can’t you fuck off to PRIME with the rest of the fuckin’ NERDS? At least over there you’d have a shot at being a contender.
I don’t guarantee a lot of things in this life, Stevens…but I can abso-fuckin-lutley guarantee that you will never, ever…not even in your wildest fuckin’ dreams, pin me.
You see this jacket?
This beautifully crafted piece of fuckin’ art.
This means that I’m better than you, Scott.
And to top it off, it was gifted to me by the man that you so desperately need and constantly seek approval from, Lee Best.
That makes you jealous, doesn’t it?
It pisses you off, doesn’t it?
I’ll bet your dick shaped pillow is soaked with your tears from your nightly sob-fests as you cry out his name.
The writing is on the wall, Scott.
And it’s in plain English.
FUCKING READ IT.
You won’t though, let’s be real. Instead you’ll keep shooting for the stars and going after the World Champion. Bro, you need a fuckin’ reality check; you’re not even in the top 10. You’re barely in the top 20.
Why didn’t The 4th Wahl just murder you?
And Conor Fuse, I feel bad for you man.
Really, I do.
Not because of the partner you’ve just so happen to have been assigned this week. No, that’s not it at all. I feel bad for you, because of the life you lead. The kind of person you are. The kind of a BETA male you are.
You fuckin NERD.
I don’t feel nearly as bad for you as I do for that couple of girls you’ve been with over the last 20 years. To only know what it’s like to have been in bed with a video game playing, vitamin D deficient, pasty skinned, straight up fuckin’ NERD.
I say NERD a lot, I know.
What do you expect?
It’s fun. And you’re a fuckin’ nerd too, if you think otherwise.
Conor, I know you’re thinking this is a set up. You think that Lee Best has once again stacked the deck against you. I mean, with STRONK and the MERCDAD against you and Stevens, you’d definitely have to wonder.
I mean the betting odds have to be through the fucking roof for this one right?
Shit, Conor…it’s got to be hunder-ta-one odds.
Maybe make the bet yourself?
Nah, you’re right. I wouldn’t do it either.
*POG: Personnel Other than Grunt