The Treaty of Reeseailles (Part 1)

The Treaty of Reeseailles (Part 1)

Posted on September 9, 2021 at 6:43 pm by QT Reese

When the High Octane faithful had last seen the likes of the insufferable QT Reese, he was on the receiving end of Terminal Cancer. Unfortunately for everyone engaged within the wrestling community, it wasn’t the actual disease. Thanks for nothing, Jiles. Although the irony of a superkick being what lost him the match after claiming that it was “the most uninspired finish of all time” was at least a little bit entertaining.

Still, the man who’d legally added Christmas to his name simply brushed his teeth of the taste of boot rubber and went back to doing what he did best: shamelessly whoring out his entrepreneurial goals. Amidst all of the shilling, Reese had managed to put some additional credit to his deathmatch claim by winning the Murderhaus Anarchist Championship!

Which he promptly lost the very next card.

To further squeeze ghost pepper juice into that gaping wound, the person who had defeated him had also managed to take up residence in the very first Reesemart brick-and-mortar location outside of Memphis. The physical store had not even had so much as a grand opening before the filthy folk hero known as Jacob Kuntz had snuck in and filled it to the brim with his army of miscreants.

Now, I know what you’re saying here. “This is obviously criminal trespass on private property. On what universe would Reese simply not be able to alert the local authorities and have someone with the last name ‘Kuntz’ immediately removed from it?”

Well, that was QT’s first thought, too. However, Tabithamund Montgomery, the esteemed legal counsel for Reese, had a better idea.

Let’s take you back, shall we?


August 5th, 2021
New York, NY
The Law Offices of Tabithamund Montgomery, Esq.

“We have a problem, Mr. Reese.”

It had taken every bit of self-control up to this point to prevent the mustachioed waif from having a nervous breakdown. As he sat across from the large mahogany desk within the office, he desperately tried to cling to all remaining strands of composure. As we all know, though, his middle name typically mirrored his reaction to any bad news. The Toddler was seconds away from throwing a tantrum.

QT took a deep breath and dug his nine remaining fingers into the cushy leather armrest of the guest chair. On Saturday, he’d punched a hole through wood paneling when he’d accidentally dripped more pee out after pulling up his sweatpants.  The turmoil surrounding Jacob Kuntz had only grown worse since then.  Not only had the ultraviolent mainstay refused to leave the premises of the brand new brick-and-mortar Reesemart, but he’d added another dent to his fragile ego by capturing the Anarchist Championship.

Also, his nether regions still hurt a lot thanks to the vice-like incisors of the Church Lady. She had chomped down so hard that his wee-wee resembled Wile E. Coyote after being smashed by a boulder. This had resulted in several more bathroom accidents, as Doctor Pig had made it a point to wrap a thick plaster cast with only a pin-sized hole to allow for the release of urine. 

But he remained determined to keep his cool in the presence of his lawyer. He certainly knew of several people who were just as sneaky and sinister as her, but Tabitha was the only one who was still in his good graces. He was desperate, and simply did not want to risk being fired as her client.

For the matriarch of the Montgomery family, though? Everything was going according to plan. Step by step, she had devised a trail of breadcrumbs that would eventually lead Reese directly to the funny farm. However, she needed to be careful that he didn’t stray off the path and find a shortcut. There was still work to be done, so it was important that she delivered her news with the same finesse that she used in front of a jury.

“While we in fact have taken the necessary measures to file and secure the proper licensure for the Reesemart location in Memphis, it appears there was a bit of a clerical error when filed with the Shelby County Registrar of Deeds. Apparently, when you had legally changed your name to include ‘Christmas’ in your home province, it has still not yet been corroborated within the United States,” she declared as she leaned forward in her chair. “Therein, the real estate transaction is presently in postponement until this matter can be rectified.”

QT simply stared back at her, confusion plastered across his face.

“So you’re telling me that I don’t actually OWN the property right now?”

Tabithamund waved her hands to diffuse the wick that was about to reach the end of the mortar.

“No, no, no, no. You are the rightful owner. Unfortunately, without the ability to obtain the finalized deed, there is just no way to provide the necessary proof to force the cease and desist that I’d issued to Mr. Kuntz. I did call to report a nuisance violation this morning to attempt to give the authorities some incentive to remove him, but it seems as though the police force were inherently bribed with…your inventory.”

Reese’s face grew a light shade of pink. He again gripped the sides of his chair at the revelation that not only was Jacob Kuntz trespassing, but also providing free samples of his products without discretion.

“That DIRT BALL,” he yelled, huffing between words, “is LOOTING my LIGHT TUBES! He’s PILFERING my PEPPER SPRAYS! He’s THIEVING my THUMBTACKS! And you’re telling me that there’s NOTHING we can do about it?”

“I have a plan that I am most assuredly confident will make the travesty you have suffered worthwhile.  But you must trust me.”

The Hermès-clad attorney placed a soft left hand on QT’s shoulder. Since it’s rare for a woman to want to touch him in any sort of affectionate way, it was enough to catch him off guard and slowly reduce his internal thermometer back down to a normal level.

“I give you my word that months from now, you will look back upon this precise moment and tell me that it was the best thing to ever happen to your entrepreneurial venture,” she soothed.

Reese glanced up at her and furrowed an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“We will allow him to have his fun at your expense until he has no legal recourse but to be removed from your property. We will allow him to continue to attempt to put your business in the red, while in the interim you go back to the practice of what got you that building in the first place: a good old-fashioned grassroots sales campaign! And when we finally have the necessary paperwork in order? We will expose the charade that is Jacob Kuntz by filing suit to take everything he owns.”

“Oh, come on, Tabitha,” Reese objected. “We’re gonna sue him for some old cum socks and a few boxes of Sudafed? Why do you think he’s squatting in my store? He doesn’t have a cent to his name!”

“I wasn’t finished, Christmas. We will also name Edward Murder and Murderhaus as parties to that very suit,” she continued. “As I see it, the actions of the Church Lady, who is NOT a sanctioned competitor in the organization, are grounds for a premises liability claim. While your employer may have had a covenant in your contract waiving his exposure in the event of being injured by a fellow employee, nowhere does it state that it extends to managers nor valets whom are not under the same contract! So, Mr. Murder and his attorneys will have a choice to make. Place full blame upon his Anarchist Champion, who will then be indebted to you from every pay stub he collects for his life and thus will likely terminate his relationship with Murderhaus. Or, make a generous offer to settle, lest I rip his legal team to shreds and that lugubrious compound is then renamed…Reesehaus.”


Pretty good plan, right?

Well, it was until Murderhaus unexpectedly closed its doors.

And that leads us to the here and now. With the legal name change still pending and the deed to the Reesemart property in limbo, there was only one thing that QT could do.

“Hey! HEY! Let me in! This ends NOW, you LOITERERS! Get your asses out here right now and let’s settle this once and for all!”

Things had finally reached a boiling point for QT Reese. While the initial plan of the lawsuit had effectively blown up, the only other hope for him to rid the annexation of his store would be through the county Registrar finally executing the deed.  However, the latest news from his attorney was fairly grim. She’d received an update, but the news was that it would take up to six months for the issue with his name change to be resolved. 

Since then, QT had reverted back to the beginnings of the Reesemart empire. Pursuing Facebook Marketplace and thrift stores for various household items that could be “branded” (read: spray painted or cheaply modified) for wrestling weaponry, then resold at a premium. The scoundrel had suckered a former tag partner into signing an “employment contract” (read: $3 a day, 5-minute lunch breaks), which effectively put him back into a steady flow of business.  As a matter of fact, the giant-hearted Ethan Giles was the best thing that could have happened to Reesemart. QT had put him in charge of both his social media marketing and the vast majority of the labor efforts, and Ethan had produced almost three times the output of his boss.

This was a big problem, though. All of the production was being handled inside of QT’s shitty apartment, which could not accommodate the surging demand. While simply renting or buying a new space would have been an option, that brought up yet another issue. Despite the fact that he had landed an exclusive supplier contract with Slab City Outlaw Wrestling, all orders to the organization would be cash on delivery, with his initial request of upfront payment being denied. Reese’s emotional outbursts on Twitter had recently painted a very clear picture of his present financial situation. He was broke, and quickly racking up the maximum limits on all six of his credit cards.

“Listen, Kuntz. I know you can hear me,” QT cried out, looking directly into the lens of a theft-prevention camera and toning his rage down to a minimal level. “I know my voice is loud and clear. Despite the fact that it FAILED to prevent you from breaking in, that security system is state-of-the-art. Come out here, please. Whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish by doing this, you win. Can we please talk this through? Mano-e-mano? Chum-to-chum? Buddy to pal?”

He needed his storefront back. Civility, at this point, seemed like the only option. The wiry little entrepreneur dressed in a yellow Reesemart polo and black slacks had come to try and broker a deal. The only question that remained was whether or not it would be entertained.


September 7, 2021
Hernando, MS
Reesemart Temporary Headquarters

Popcorn ceilings, empty Glade plug-ins, and a shag carpet floor covered in steel chairs, shovels, brass knuckles, prison-style shanks and other various garbage that had been painted or “modified” for an on-brand appeal. This apartment was awful.

Positioned in front of sliding glass doors that led to a balcony was the only thing of value in the apartment. A walnut-crafted executive desk. And let’s be very clear here: we are not talking about the wood type. It was a desk made by someone who had glued thousands of walnuts together and dubbed it as “pioneer chic.” 

There was a built-in pen holder on it, also made of walnuts. 

Seated behind the desk is Reese himself, grinning from ear to ear. It was an appropriate disguise to hide his complete state of desperation. But, according to something he had seen in a movie about a fictitious business owner, it was important to keep up appearances in the face of adversity. Not surprisingly, overcompensation came naturally to QT.

“I bet you never thought you’d see me again, huh?” Reese snickers, folding his undersized hands (left one sans a pinky) on the rough exterior of his stupid-looking desk. “Luckily for all of you, I just so happened to have my schedule freed up due to the mysterious disappearance of Edward Murder and his Murderhaus. Which, in hindsight, a guy who chose to change his last name to ‘Murder’ isn’t someone you should really expect to be around for too long. Anyway, I hope he’s having a fun time in whatever lake his body’s anchored to the bottom of! Thanks for almost ruining my FUCKING LIFE and almost costing me my business, you vanishing piece of shit.”

“To be honest, when Mr. Best BEGGED and PLEADED with me to pack my bags and head permanently to Chicago after my brilliant performance in the HOFC, I probably should have listened the first time,” QT lies, shrugging his shoulders. “But I knew inside of my large heart and even larger pelvic appendage that High Octane just wasn’t ready to climb that stairway to Heaven’s Reesemart location and cement its place as the God-tier choice of television entertainment.”

Reese raises a brow, pulling an actual feather out of his walnut-crafted pen holder and waving it in the air.  “And guess what? I still don’t think HOW is quite ready. But as I got to thinking about Mr. Best’s original proposal a couple of weeks ago, I was reminded of all of the great business owners-slash-philanthropists out there who really took the time out to help out the little people.  Men like Charlie and Dave Koch. Sammy Walton. And let’s not forget my close personal friend Bernard Madoff, may he rest in peace as sweet princes do. It was then that I came to the conclusion that I, Christmas Quarterman T. Reese, would join the roster as an act of charitable giving. And in return, I asked for nothing!”

“Except for the exclusive sponsorship rights to Rumble at the Rock, which I did receive. Speaking of which, I’m not sure who is in charge now that Mr. Best’s brain has all of the functionality of a rutabaga, but I better see that FUCKING promotional video edited to include MY GOD DAMN REESEMART LOGO on it lickety split! And while we’re at it, can the media team maybe think about changing up the song? I realize that the M.O. here is that time stopped around the year 1998, but why not a tune that’s a little softer around the edges? Maybe some Huey Lewis or some Whitney Houston?”

QT Bateman, uh, I mean Reese, begins to hum a few bars of “Stuck With You” as he closes his eyes and envisions the promo package for a brief moment.

“Yeah, that’s the ticket. I’ll expect that to be revised before Refueled, this way there are two things that the fans have to look forward to. But a fair word of warning to all of my Reese’s Pieces out there, since I am a deathmatch icon and plain old vanilla wrestling is literally the easiest thing ever for me, you all need to understand that I’m an entrepreneur. As much as a lot of these boring ol’ tooters love to brag and boast about putting on ‘clinics’ in the squared circle, I have proven everything I need to when it comes to submission holds and death-defying acrobatics,” he proclaims, shaking his head.

“As a small-that-will-become-monstrous retail mogul, I certainly don’t have any desire to beat up on a man who I will be partnering with to make Rumble at the Rock the event that catapults HOW to brand new heights. Now, if we were on the golf field or the tennis course, that’d be a different story,” Reese chuckles as he pulls out the desk drawer to further emphasize his inflated reputation of a legitimate businessman, retrieving a large cigar. 

Naturally, it isn’t an actual cigar. Just a bunch of walnuts glued together in the shape of one. He doesn’t even go through the trouble of fake lighting it, instead putting it in his mouth and taking a phony inhale.

“For too long, the shareholders of HOW have had their own separate agendas, which is what’s been keeping this place stuck in the mixture of mud, pee, pus, cum, and ostrich shit and unable to realize its fullest potential! The Reesemart sponsorship is simply the beginning of the ascent to the skies, folks. I, single handedly and without any help whatsoever, will be the one who brings together this motley bunch and sets them on the course of proper management! And all that starts with a gesture of goodwill to Mr. Woodson!”

“Mr. Woodson,” the ass-kissing little waif states, “to show that I’m a team player, I will NOT stretch that big fat tongue of yours out of your mouth and use it as a boot wash. And I will NOT leave a permanent dent in your nose from a second-rope collision with my sphincter. Instead, I am going to lie down and let you pin me with ease!”

“Sure, I know I gave this same deal to those two bumbling benign bozos from the eGG Bandits, but you’re a man of honor! A man who respects someone willing to lie down on his back and get laid on by another man! After all, that ‘A’ with a circle around it on your chest obviously stands for ‘appreciative!’  Good ol’ Appreciative Scotty, that’s what they all say about you,” QT says, taking another puff of his nutty stogie.

“Let’s get in that ring and get the fuck out on Saturday, so that we can start talking about the decor for the island, shall we?  I’ve got some big plans for about 79 Reesemart billboards that we can get thrown up by then.”