Walked through the desert on a Lonesome Loser with no name

Walked through the desert on a Lonesome Loser with no name

Posted on December 1, 2023 at 10:54 pm by Jace Parker Davidson

Starbucks Coffee Shop
Phoenix, Arizona
Wednesday, November 28th, 2023

A Starbucks shop in Phoenix, Arizona is much like a Starbucks anywhere else in this country, overpriced and busy as fuck. However, this is where I found myself seated inside, sipping on my mediocre coffee that cost way too much. I watched uptight people tweaking because they were hurrying to get their caffeinated gratification. It wasn’t long before the door to the shop opened with a ding of the little bell attached to the top.

The person who walked into the Starbucks was none other than my friend and XPRO wrestler Devin Skylar. He was dressed in a Phoenix Suns Kevin Durant jersey along with the appropriate clothing for the 70-degree weather here today. Devin spotted me seated near the window and then made his way over to the seat across from me.

“Dude, I am so pumped for this trip!” Skylar exclaimed as he sat down across from me. “Denver is cool and all, but you can’t wear shorts in November there. However, the weather here in Phoenix is just right.”

I raised my coffee cup and took a sip from it.

“I didn’t call you out here to Phoenix to enjoy some fun in the sun.” My voice was flat but serious.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you got a match coming up on Monday and all on Chaos.” Devin waved his hand dismissively. “But today is Wednesday and that gives us plenty of time to kick back and enjoy ourselves.”

I shook my head before finishing the last of my coffee.

“What part of this makes you think this is some kind of vacation?” I asked before rising from my seat. I discarded the empty cup into the trash can as Devin followed me.

“I never said it was a vacation, man.” Devin countered. “It’s just that this is the life of a wrestler, is it not? You get to travel to all kinds of places around the world. Sure, you gotta train and work but you also have to take time to just enjoy your surroundings.”

I pushed the door open to exit the shop as Devin did the same.

“I don’t think what I have planned falls into the category of enjoying your surroundings,” I said with a half chuckle before opening the driver’s side door of the rental car I was using this week.

“It’s Phoenix!” Devin shouted as he opened the passenger’s side door. “There is literally nowhere here that you could take me that I won’t enjoy.”

Skylar slammed the door behind him as I shook my head again. I started the car and then pulled off. It wasn’t long before we reached our destination. I placed the car in park and exited the vehicle. Devin got out looking very confused as we stood there looking up at the sign above us.

Statewide Salvage and Recovery Inc. LLC

“What the hell?” Devin groaned. “I thought we were going to check out a Phoenix Suns game or something.” There was clear disappointment in his voice.

“Just because you decided to wear a jersey here to Phoenix, doesn’t mean that I’m just here to see a basketball game.” I reminded him as I walked into the Salvage yard.

“It doesn’t NOT mean that either!” Skylar protested as he once again followed me. “Why did you decide to come to this landfill here in Phoenix of all places?!”

“Preparation for the handicapped match I have Monday night on Chaos against Scott Stevens and Darin Zion,” I answered as I made my way toward the main office of the Salvage yard.

“Dude, how the fuck is finding a broken-down ass car preparation for a wrestling match?” Devin complained before grabbing the front of his jersey and using it to cover his nose. “Smells like something shit the bed before it died in this place.”

“Perfect preparation for a match against Scott Stevens,” I responded with a smirk but Devin didn’t share in my amusement.

I reached up and knocked on the door before entering the office. Devin and I were greeted by the owner who was seated behind a desk. After a few pleasantries, I handed the owner a small stack of money that caused Skylar’s eyes to widen. The owner looked over the money and then happily shook my hand.

“Let’s go, we’ve got work to do,” I said as I turned my head to Devin. “I hope you brought a pair of gloves with you.”

I turned around and exited the office back into the Salvage yard as Devin chased behind me.

“Why the fuck would I have a pair of gloves on me?!” Skylar questioned.

“For the same reason you just assumed I called you to Phoenix just to see a fucking basketball game!” I growled before making my way over to a row of broken-down cars.

I looked along the wreckage of old discarded metal and wheels before picking the one that looked picked over the most. I slipped on my gloves as Devin looked around with judgment written all over his face.

“If you were this strapped for cash, I could have loaned you the money to get a new car, bro!” Devin said in a cocky manner while folding his arms over his chest.

“You saw the money I just handed the owner, right?” I inquired before yanking the door to the broken-door vehicle open.

I slid into the seat and began to look through the glove compartment.

“Yeah,” Skylar replied but the dots weren’t connecting.

“So, do you really think I would pay cash for a vehicle in this kind of condition?”

“Do you think I know how that twisted mind of yours works anymore?” Devin answered my question with a smart-ass remark.

“Fucks sake!” I muttered as I exited the vehicle. “I have a handicapped match on Chaos and there is no DQ in the match. That means I paid money to come here looking for shit that I can beat Stevens, Zion, and hopefully Lee Best to death with.”

Skylar reached up and scratched his head.

“Don’t you already have a barbed wire-wrapped baseball bat?”

“Yes, I do. What is your point?” I moved past Devin and made my way to the trunk.

“That was my point!” Devin threw his arms into the air.

“So, one bat and two opponents…” I said out loud as I looked inside the trunk. “What do you suggest I do if say… one of them knocks that bat from my hand?”

“Well…” Devin pondered for a moment. “Don’t let that happen!”

I scoffed before reaching into the truck and pulling out a tire iron.

“Yeah, I’ll work on that.” I fired back sarcastically before moving along the salvage yard. “I’ll have my bat, I’ll have this tire iron…” I paused to pull out an old stop sign from a pile of junk. “I’ll even have this stop sign. Do you get the idea now?” I tossed the stop sign at Skylar.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Skylar grumbles. “We collect all the junk you can find but then what?”

I fished out a crowbar from another pile of junk and smiled at Devin.

“You’ll see…”


Scott Stevens…

The Scorpion.


The badass from Texas.

The fucking pain in my ass that just doesn’t know when to go away. How many years has it been, Scott? Gotta be close to a decade at this point, if not more. Yet, here we are at the tail end of 2023 and you’re still standing there with your chest puffed out and chirping like there is something of significance rolling around between your ears.

What was it that you said Monday night?

Something about how I’m doing what I’m doing because I want attention from Lee Best. About how I want recognition for all I’ve done here in HOW, but I’ve been put into the Hall of Fame and that should be enough.

Then… you decided to try and slap your microscopic little Texas pecker on the table and try to say that I couldn’t win the Tag Team titles with STRONK, but YOU were the X factor in my last tag title reign?


First off, motherfucker.

You have ZERO room to talk about anyone wanting attention from Lee Best. You strut around backstage like you’re top shit and try to convince people that you didn’t accept that knockoff Final Alliance Jacket. That you’re not ‘affiliated’ with the Final Alliance.

Man, shut your ignorant ass up.

Even though you wear the jacket or you don’t wear the jacket isn’t fucking relevant. What is relevant is the fact that all Lee has to do is snap his fingers and you come running like a wounded dog to a bowl of table scraps.

And THAT is both hilarious and depressingly sad for a grown-ass man almost pushing fifty.

Be honest with yourself, Scott.

You’re the most ridiculed person ever to join HOW. Lee Best has treated you like you’re less than utter shit. Time and time again, but here you are, still coming back for seconds, thirds, fourths, and so on.

Then again… that is what makes you the Lonesome Loser.

Do you think all of this is about wanting attention from Lee? That I’m going through what I am at the moment just for a fucking pat on the back? That is YOUR goal in life, not mine. You see, Scott, I wouldn’t let a man order someone to shove a bloody tampon down my throat. I wouldn’t let someone just get away with shoving a sausage up my ass on a live PPV. I won’t be walked on, damn near crippled, and fired on top of that without repercussions.

But yet still… Here you are, Scott.

Where is the limit, Stevens? Where is the line?

Does one even exist?

For fucks sake, this family took part in taking your child and you did fuck all about it. You allowed your flesh and blood to be raised by other men and forced to call them Father. However, there you are, holding your head high while talking about how a jacket doesn’t mean you’re under Lee’s thumb. You stand there and act like you have any leg to stand on talking down to someone like me.

You trotted around carrying around ‘The Book of Best’ and what happened?

Oh, right… that shit blew up in your face just like everything else you try to do. Scott, you haven’t been good past the first few months here in HOW way back when. That’s the last time anyone has ever taken you seriously.

Since then, you’ve had the absolute worst record in HOW this side of Xander Azula.

Clinging onto a World Championship reign because I got tired of being in HOW facing the same fucking scrubs just like you. Harping on the fact that you once beat Mike Best for a World Championship belt when you know, just like everyone else does, you’ll never be a man talented enough to keep Mike’s interest.

Fighting you over a World Championship belt is like fighting an infant to the death. Even if you win, you don’t feel good about it and wish you hadn’t bothered.

You’ve gone from being against Lee to being for Lee, to being spurned by Lee. You got fired by Lee because of some cunt that Lee doesn’t even like. Only to come right back and claim that ‘God needed you.’

You leech onto any morsel of success and then parade around like you actually accomplished something. From claiming victories in War Games matches you’ve never won. To thinking that you are somehow the one to thank for the HOW World Tag Team Championship reign we had.

Everyone knows I carried you to those belts.

That’s it, that’s what happened. End of discussion.

No amount of bullshit you spew is going to change that fact.

Try to use STRONK’s name to rub in my face again and I’ll make sure that you’ll be shitting and eating from the same fucking tube.

You think that just because you’ve sat there and taken everything on the chin, that it’s some kind of flex. All it truly is, Scott… is the unrelenting truth of the fact you’re desperate. HOW is the only place where you can stand front and center while spouting the nonsense that you do weekly. Not because you’re a great wrestler, no, it’s because you’re an excellent punching bag.

You’re the thing that Lee Best beats up on weekly to make himself feel better.

And even after that undeniable fact, you stand tall like you’re Homelander in this bitch. Your cape might as well be a dish rag, Scott, because you’re the Captain Underpants of HOW.

You think that’s a reason to peacock around proudly. You’ll run your mouth and try to push people around like you got some kind of VIP upgrade because Lee acknowledged your existence.

You’ll walk into that Final Alliance locker room and argue with all the other goons about which one of your assholes is ‘Lee’s right hand.’

I’ll solve the mystery for you, Scott.

You’re neither of Lee’s hands… you’re what he uses to wipe his ass with when his personal bathroom has run out of any other material worth flushing.

You’re the submissive little bitch that gets kicked in the face for speaking out of turn and says ‘Thank you, can I have another?’

So, go ahead… spend the entire weekly bickering with Zion over which one of you turds is the turdi-est. About who is going to step up and be the one to pin me on Monday night. Talk your shit about me like you’re even fit to lace my boots.

I can’t just forgive and forget like you.

I can’t just pretend the shit Lee has done to me didn’t happen and live my life in a fantasyland where I am the one wearing a cape.

Lee can stab you in the eye, he can let his son take your child away from you. He can fire you, turn on you, shove random objects up your ass on a fucking whim and you’ll still show up for work.

That’s not admirable, Scott. That’s dependency.

There isn’t a special gift waiting for you at the end of your career for that. There is no special wing in the Hall of Fame for eating the most shit and then licking the plate clean.

Unlike you, I’m not in the business of selling my fucking nutsack and spine for A SHOT at a World Championship belt.

If you dig Lee Best wiping his ass with your dignity then that’s all you, it’s not me.

I’m not going to stand there, like you, and spout delusions. I’m going to fucking do something about it.

My records, titles, accomplishments, and my Hall of Fame spot are nice. They don’t, however, give Lee Best the right to do the things he’s done. That is not an equivalent exchange. Payment is coming due.

And you think YOU can stop that from happening?

I’d laugh myself to death over the fact that you’re 100% serious in that insane thought process if it wasn’t your default mode 24/7.

You answer to a man that thinks he’s God… I set fuckers on fire for trying to protect Lee Best from me.

We are not the same.

So, If you think I’m worried about winning a handicapped match then you’re sadly mistaken.

If you think getting Lee’s attention will fix this then you’re not paying attention.

There is no amount of ‘I’m sorry’s’ or ‘a dollar amount’ that is going to make us square. There is no backhanded deal or offer at a title shot and main event spot that is going to make this go away.

All you’ve done by taking that jacket is make yourself a Lamb to be sacrificed.

You know this deep down, but your stubborn ass is still going to come down to the ring and think you’re the one that will be able to do what no other member of the Final Alliance has been able to do.

You’re already in enough shit as it is, but taking that jacket just made it worse.

Do you think I’ve forgotten, Scott?

5 years of my career are gone because of you.

You’re the reason that I fell off the top of that steel structure and broke my neck seven years ago.

But in typical Stevens fashion… you didn’t finish the job.

So, please don’t come out here this week spouting nonsense about how when Lee needs results that he calls upon you.

You had your shot to end me and you failed.

Just like any time you’ve gotten one over me. You’ve had to come up from behind me just to be brave enough to take your best shot.

And every single time, I get back up. I dust myself off and come back stronger than ever. You, however, can never truly cash in even while I am down. You’re not a man that is capable of getting results. You’re a fucking glorified bookkeeper who that thinks because he got a ring on his finger and a pair of World title reigns that means fuck all, that it somehow makes you a bad motherfucker.

Whether it was off the top of a steel cage or tossing me over the top rope during a battle royal that I had already won.

You never get the payoff. You’ll never finish the story. There is no happy ending for you, Scott Stevens.

Luck for you, I will gladly end your suffering, Monday night, just to whet my appetite for Lee Best.

I’ll make sure that you’ll be buried in that Final Alliance jacket while in your best pose.

Your head shoved utterly and completely up your own ass where it’s been a majority of your HOW career.

The Scorpion?


More like a fucking Bumble Bee.


Sonoran Desert
Phoenix, Arizona
Wednesday, November 28th, 2023

My rental vehicle came to a stop deep in the Sonoran Desert. One of the most unique places here in Arizona. I got out and headed toward the back of the vehicle as Devin did the same thing. He took one look around the surroundings and tilted his head in confusion.

“Why did you take me to pick up literal trash today…” Skylar gestured toward the expansive desert. “Then made me help you get supplies and food just to come here of all places?”

“Isn’t it obvious by now?” I questioned before grabbing one of the large backpacks and tossing it to Devin. “This is where we’re going to be until Monday night.”

“Define WE.” Skylar cocked one of his eyebrows.

“The fuck do you mean ‘define we?’” I barked before tossing more equipment toward Devin. “Your sole purpose for meeting me here in Phoenix is to stay here and help me train for my match on Monday night.”

“The hell I am!” Devin argued as he dropped the equipment on the ground. “I have a life too, you know! Just what am I supposed to do out here with you?! What are we going to eat?! How are we going to watch TV or get on the internet? Where am I supposed to go when I have to… go?! Who am I going to have se–”

I cut off before he could finish.

“Don’t even say it!” I growled while shoving him backward. “We will eat what we catch, we will have no time for TV or the internet most of the day. And as far as I’m concerned? You can go rub your balls up and down a cactus to your heart’s content as long as it doesn’t interfere with my training.”

“Bro, this is a bit extreme for just a handicapped match against Scott Stevens and Darin Zion,” Devin whined. “You’re a shitty friend for thinking you can lure me here with teasing fun and a good time to just leave me to die with you in a fucking desert!”

“You don’t fucking get it!” I picked the stuff off of the ground and began chucking it at him like it was target practice. “I have three shows left to get my hands on Lee Best. I know Zion and Stevens aren’t worth this kind of effort but this isn’t about them. This isn’t about a win or a title shot. This is about getting Lee Best face-to-face and making him pay for what he’s done!”

I continued to throw items at Skylar as hard as I possibly could. Felt like my training had started early due to him pissing me off.

“I do not care what you think about how shitty of a friend I am.” I snarled. “The fact is that you have benefited from more than you’ve given in return. You’re here in Phoenix and we are training here in Sonoran. You can either accept it or you can walk the fuck back to Denver.”

“Calm your tits, Jesus!” Devin exclaimed as he tried to protect himself from the equipment being thrown at him. “If you can’t get your hands on the bald fucker this year, then just do it next year!”

“Shut the fuck up!” I marched over and got in Devin’s face. “I’m not doing any of this shit in 2024. What in your right fucking mind makes you think that I would willingly sign a contract to give Lee Best control over me for another 365 days?! Slavery ended a long fucking time ago, Devin.”

“But you’re white…” Devin said under his breath.

“I said SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Being in the middle of a desert gives you the luxury of not worrying about making a scene in public. “In the ring, it’s me vs. Stevens and Zion. Everywhere else here in Arizona? It could be me against the entire fucking population of this place. There are no do-overs. I can’t just dust myself off and go ‘Maybe next time.’ None of that fucking shit. I have one shot and time is running out. We’re going to train and that’s the end of it. Now pick up all that equipment and get a fire started before it gets dark.”

I shoved past Devin and walked around taking in my surroundings of what would be home for the rest of the week. Devin kicked his leg in frustration while talking to himself.

“Start a fire?!” Devin huffed in frustration. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?! Do they even have trees in the desert?!”

Devin hangs his head and walks off in search of a tree as the scene fades to black.