• 
  

“What happened, did the clock strike midnight for you Cinderfella? Corey Black turned back into a pumpkin, Lucy Wilde scampered off like a dormouse, and Duke left your glass slipper in a box in his attic because he caught another itch he wanted to scratch. Pardon the metaphor, Seb, but if the shoe fits…”

“So, welcome to the real XWF. It isn't about being the newest toy, nah. Sure, out of the box, that pedigree, that experience, that name that just blinded people with how bright it shone was good for a time. I'm sure you had to deal with your fair share of gatekeepers. Ned seemed defensive of you taking some spot he never even held, Charlie will chase clout like it’s a shot of rail vodka, even my best frenemy Mark stepped up to the plate to derail you. With the exception of claims to some so-called tag team greatness in the guise of Pantheon, I was more than happy to watch you succeed. I laud any athlete that comes here, puts in the work, and proves themselves. That's why I'm not the gatekeeper, Seb.”

“I'm the end of the line. I'm what you see when you're in too deep to just walk back out and pretend you never came. You've left a mark among the locker room, among the XWF fans, and turned heads throughout the wrestling world for doing just so. Now comes the promised end. Not to your career, not to your legacy, but your mythos. You're a trend setter; how many people out there look at you as a blueprint? How many look at you as someone to emulate? I have seen it, the Bastardly Father knows I've heard it, that the path to greatness is to be like Seb? The crazy thing of it is your biggest fans don't even come close to touching on what it is that makes you special, and instead are contented to be like you, or at least in your sphere.”

“This is why I'm going to beat the shit out of you Seb, because you let the sycophants pretend they're doing what you do without having the dignity to tell them what they're missing the mark on. Flat the fuck out, if people think you’re an example, wait til they see the example I make out of you.”

Bobby rolls his eyes.

“And boy oh boy, do they miss the mark on you, Seb. How many struggling wrestlers see you and think ‘gosh, I better be posh’? A nice new suit, a fancy car, and a pocketful of cash (in your case courtesy daddy's checkbook) are surefire hits to some, that is until I turn them upside down and inside out. Granted, it's more unique than the cavalcade of circus freak edgelords who were too chickenshit to hang out with the goth kids when they were coming up, but twice as bland and pointless. By all means, to thine own self be true, but too many out there think that being rich is the path to success. Maybe if you're Batman, or Richie Rich, but in this here real life if you put Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk in the ring with the likes of us they'd be wheelchair bound in seconds.”

Bobby smiles and nods emphatically at the thought.

“There's some who think it's all in the relationships, Seb. Rubbing elbows with the likes of Duke (and hey, nepo babies gonna nepo baby, birds of a feather and such), or surrounding yourself with every other woman you can find in the sport as a way to flaunt some clout must be the secret to some jilted fools out there. These poor saps don't get that you're the one these people want to surround themselves with, an asshole with a full array of dingleberries clinging on. I mean, be true to yourself and all, but nobody gives a shit about J. T. Popular with his boss friend Old Money Jones having lunch with Tits McGee, I. M. Achick, and M. T. Personality, so that can't be what makes you and I tick. Even the goth kids think this has some credence, and they do most of that while thinking patchouli oil is a suitable substitute for deodorant.”

Bobby exaggeratedly pinches his nose, waving his other hand in front of his face to waft away the imagined odor.

“There are others out there who think it's all in the technique. Running knees and the core strength to suplex a bus, a couple of submission holds, and some idiots think that sets them up to go out and hold the Universal Championship, or maybe win WrestleStock, but instead they continue to miss the mark, time and again. I mean, I don't do a lot of that kind of stuff in the ring, why use precision when you can bring blunt force trauma and throwing people like they're ragdolls, but you’re being true to yourself with your style nonetheless. The thing of it is, as different as our styles are, as opposed to the people who watch you and think there's only one way to wrestle, unlike us, they don't know why to do it nor when, just thinking if it looks crisp, do it.”

Bobby shrugs, knowing of all the doomed souls who will never comprehend nuance.

“Here's the thing, Seb, and you know it too, is that deep down, we have that same instinct, that same nature, that same passion that drives us. That, Seb, is to be as most efficient in violence as possible. We live for it, no matter what your fan club is mistaken on. We thrive on it, no matter what country club you flash your smile and credit card around. We are nurtured by it, and rewarded by it, because our souls themselves are deep down one thing, and one thing only; monstrous. However, while you parade a charade, flaunt yourself as a stud when all you want is blood, until it pools up around you like some epic red flood, where you want the perception and the narrative to be you're a billionaire victim of your own existence while you think of new ways to slaughter, I have no qualms about being out in the open. Fuck being a wolf in sheeps clothing, and why the fuck would I waste my time with that when I can huff, I can puff, and I can just wreck a motherfucker for nothing based on the knowledge I literally can just wreck a motherfucker for nothing? See, it's called being true to yourself, and I am true to me.”

Bobby snorts, the swift exhalation from his nostrils enhanced by the heft of his massive chest pushing air back into the wild.

“All those who you had to deal with, from the angry talents who thought you were getting opportunities based on the fact you and Duke are Eskimo brothers, or because you were a successful name elsewhere, or because you never had to drive an economy car, or whatever rationale they cooked up in their own head, Seb, they were gatekeepers. They didn't want you to be successful here, they thought stifling you, diminishing you, was the only way they could be special. They didn't get it Seb, that you were some other kind of creature in your own right. You're not a hero, a beacon of triumphant splendor to cast out shadows, nah, you're a man who wants to be violent despite all the gifts you've been bestowed, and you see the destruction of your opponents as the only virtue that gives you value. Just like me. The difference, though, is while you ride the red carpet and make appearances to keep up appearances, that while I see a dozen new faces hoping to be the next you any given month, I don't attract that kind of attention.”

“I am what goes bump in the night. When the people in locker rooms across the goddamned cosmos want to scare each other, they tell stories about Bobby Motherfucking Bourbon, the last outlaw, the high holy hypocrite, the inquisition of the Bastardly Father, one half of the most legendary tag team ever, the conquistador sent from the XWF office to put down anyone at any time, and I guarantee that I am the big bad big bad of big bads. You're well past the gates, Seb, you’ve wandered the XWF and have seen the highest peaks that this company, no, this business has to offer. No, it wasn't handed to you, you earned every bit of it with every step you took. Now, your greatest reward, Seb, is me. The end of the line. A promised end. After I get finished with you, and make no mistake about it, I don't think it'll be a cake walk, but after I pin you, you get to go out and prove yourself to your fans all over again.”

“The hitch of it is you'll have to do it with a spine that's been thrown so far our of whack instead of going C1 down to L5 it'll read like a fucking bingo card. I will make all those who lean on you, who ride your coattails so pissed that I can't wait to hear about what an awful man I am for what I did to you, and as I show my friends the bitch sessions I receive because of it we'll have a good laugh. I will show you force, I will show you pain, and then I will show you the sky above as thousands of roaring fans in Coreytopia, and billions watching around the world, feel the catharsis of watching you get Bobbybombed. From there Seb, it's as easy as 1, 2, 3, as counted by someone in a striped shirt, letting me know I'm done beating the ever-loving shit out of you.”

Bobby smiles, almost serenely, as his cold gaze locks onto the camera.

“Then, Seb, you'll be all those things your people think you are. They'll hate me for giving them the version of you they wanted all along, and your self-actualization will be sweeter than honey as you realize, compared to me, you're no monster at all. Your validation in the XWF becomes complete at May Day 3, the boys will welcome you more readily as you become just like them; another name who lost to me.”

The camera zooms out wide enough to show Bobby is seated beside Jimmy at a desk. Jimmy is agog with shock and awe at the handiwork of the Sultan of Smacktalk.

“Wow, uh, Bobby, that was really impressive but I didn't think we were here for you to cut a promo.”

“You're not here to think Jimmy, you count your lucky stars I don't make you take a lap.”

“But you’re right.”

“Well, um, this is an unorthodox way of…”

The camera zooms out, and we see it is actually a set, much like American Idol, with a huge sign that says “Who Wants Sex?”

“Look, Jimmy competition television is huge. I would know, I bring ratings like they're for a potluck, and dating shows have been around forever. Well, we're just doing the most honest dating show ever, who wants to fuck, and they're competing to fuck one of the greatest sex symbols of a generation. “

Jimmy rolls his eyes.

“What, TK?”

Bobby’s expression goes completely blank.

“Is that how you feel about him?”

A bead of sweat forms on Jimmy's forehead.

“No! NO! Hah, why would you ask that?”

“…Well, is it you?”

“No, Jimmy, it's not me.”

Bobby stands and puts on a pair of aviator sunglasses, suddenly altering his whole vibe. Off screen we hear gasps.

“It's me.”

“Woah, Danny Sex!”

“That's right, Jimmy, I'm here for the sex, but unlike so many others in the XWF, I don't find relationships nor copulation to be anywhere near as melodramatic. The birds do it, the bees do it, and I, Danny Sex, do it best.”

“You perform a basic biological function better than others?”

“That's right, Jimmy. Some people eat hot dogs better than others, some people grow nicer facial hair, I happen to have sex better than anyone on the planet. Also, mind your tongue and don't cross me, because while Bobby might make you take laps, I will make you take laps in the pool so you get moist.”

“I can't swim.”

“Then don't mess this up, Jimmy.”

A lively jingle starts to play through the sound stage.

🎶Maybe you're lonesome and maybe it's a flex🎶
🎶Maybe you want to do something that will piss off your ex🎶
🎶Maybe you just want to what it's like to ride a tyrannosaurus rex🎶
🎶Well lube yourself up because it's time, Who Wants Sex!🎶

Jimmy looks at Bobby Danny.

“Did you write that jingle?”

“Olympic sized pool, Jimmy.”

Jimmy shudders as Bourbon Sex addresses the audience.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, but preferably ladies, to Who Wants Sex, starring me, Danny Sex! We've accepted applications from entrants around the globe, all competing for a shot to have sex with me, Danny Sex, the most sexsational sex symbol who has ever had sex!”

“Only on BastardNet!”

Bobby Danny purses his lips.

“Get in the pool, Jimmy.”

“But I…”

“Put on some damn floaties and start dog paddling.”

Jimmy looks sullen as he stands up and walks away from the desk. Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, takes his place.

“Hey bro.”

“And welcome my cohost, the man with the metal maw, Cyberjaw!”

“Yep.”

“So, let's meet our first contestant!”

A lively tune plays as a venerable woman hobbles out onto the stage with the assistance of a walker. Cyberjaw looks confusedly at her as Bobby’s Danny's smile falters.

“Hello, welcome to Who Wants Sex!”

“Uh, Danny, are you sure about this one?”

Bobby Danny raises his right hand, shaking it brusquely. He leans towards Cyberjaw and whispers.

“Just, uh, look, they all can't be winners.”

Bobby Danny addresses the elderly woman.

“What is your name, dear?”

The old lady is still catching her breath.

“My name is Mona. I'm 87 years young. I once gave President Johnson a handy on Air Force One, and even took a London Bridge from Milton Berle and Frank Sinatra.”

“Wow, Mona, that is impressive. What have you been doing lately?”

“Well, I've been keeping active by polishing carrots in the home I live at while knitting for my grandkids.”

“While?”

“Yep, I can darn sock while servicing my roommates, and I am ready to rock your socks, Danny!”

Cyberjaw facepalms. Bobby cocks an eyebrow.

“False teeth?”

Mona slides a set of dentures out of her mouth, then puts them back.

“I will give you the sloppiest gummie in history, sucking you like ribbon candy!”

“Well Mona, I'm going to have to pass.”

“Dag nabbit.”

Mona starts to hobble her way off the stage as we hear a voiceover play.

“Contestants on Who Wants Sex who do not sleep with Danny Sex will go home with the Dickie Watson inflatable love doll; consent doesn’t matter with inanimate objects. A fraction of the weight with all the personality of Dickie!”

The next contestant enters. She's far younger than the last, is wearing a bikini, is covered in tattoos, her short black hair barely moving as she walks forward. Bobby Danny begins with the questions.

“Hi, what's your name?”

“I am Serendipity Syn.”

“Wait are you related to Matthias Syn?”

“No, who’s that?”

Cyberjaw shakes his head in disbelief.

“So, what's your deal?”

“I am a content creator, I have over three-thousand followers on Instagram.”

“Neat, I heard you have a special talent, can you show us?”

Serendipity nods. She crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out.

“Are you okay?”

Serendipity points at her face. Jimmy, fully clothed and sopping wet, walks back beside Bobby Danny and Cyberjaw.

“If you keep doing that your face will get stuck that way.”

“Did you learn that from experience?”

“No, it's, uh, she's doing ahegao.”

Serendipity nods.

“Yeah, this is my sexy face.”

“No it's not. You look ridiculous, where did you learn that?”

“It’s from manga.”

“Oh. So your special talent is anime fake orgasm face?”

“It’s not, it's ahegao.”

“Yeah, anime fake orgasm face, that's precisely what ahegao means.”

“No it doesn't...”

“Yes, yes it does. It's literally what I just described. You're also way too young for me, get off my stage.”

“I think you’re pretty, can I get you coffee?”

“Jimmy, have some decorum. She's getting an inflatable lower mid-carder, and why are your clothes all wet?”

“I didn't have a swim suit.”

“Back in the pool, Jimmy.”

Jimmy slumps off as Serendipity walks off the stage. As she does, the next contestant walks out. She's fair skinned, blonde, and thin. She's wearing a cocktail dress.

“Hiya.”

“Hello, my name is Genevieve Moon-St. Claire.”

“Welcome to Who Wants Sex.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell me more about yourself.”

“Well, I am a successful defense attorney working for a large multinational firm. I enjoy vacations in the Mediterranean, brunch, and wine tastings.”

“I see. What do you know about wrestling?”

“Oh, I dated Thaddeus Duke for…”

“Hard pass.”

Bobby and Cyberjaw nod.

“Um, why?”

“Look, you're like obviously Duke's type, almost what a gay man would consider to be an attractive woman, and you are quite alluring I guess, but I'm not delving into that territory. Herpes is tragic but avoidable.”

“Wait, Thad has Herpes?”

Cyberjaw nods.

“Not his only social disease.”

Genevieve saunters off. As she does, Mark Flynn and Schism walk onstage.

“Wait, are you guys going to fusion together and form an amazing woman?”

“We are a fusion of humanity yet with void and need to create, maternally and paternally.”

“NO. Poor phrasing. Look, Bobby…”

“Ahem, it's Danny, thank you.”

Bobby Danny points to his aviator sunglasses.

“This is getting dumb, you can't just put on a disguise and pretend to be someone else.”

“Why not? Superman does, it's the whole reason Spirit Halloween is a business, hell, that's what disguise is all about!”

“Disguise is the biggest fib.”

“Uh, yeah, kinda, what he said. Besides, I had it approved by my attorney.”

Bobby Danny folds his arms across his chest. Flynn shakes his head in disbelief. He pivots, pulling a false mustache from his pocket. The mustache applied, he pivots, revealing himself to be Christopher K. Clinton, esquire.

“Yeah it checks out.”

Clinton removes the fake whiskers and Flynn rolls his eyes.

“I hate you so bad sometimes.”

“Plenty of men are jealous of the sexual prowess and average, unimpressive penis of Danny Sex.”

“That's not what I meant Cyberjockey shorts.”

“Please, Daniel Sex, we do not come here to critique your need for companionship but to discuss the companionship your alter ego shares with us.”

“What he said, Dan, Dan, the sexual man. We need Bobbo, the Revolution will be at May Day 3.”

Bobby Danny removes his sunglasses and rubs his forehead.

“You're facing the American Storm, big whoop. I got Seb, former Universal Champ. I'd say I am doing the lord's work for the Revolution here.”

“The American Storm, storming the proletariat one match at a time, pose a threat.”

“Not the level that Seb does. The American Storm are sluts, now if you don't mind I'm trying to slut myself out here.”

Bobby slides the Danny Sex glasses back on.

“Why are guys still standing there?”

Schism and Flynn look at each other, then back at Bobby.

“We're behind you.”

Flynn and Schism walk towards the desk and stand behing Bobby Danny. Jimmy returns, now shivering.

“I can't swim anymore and I am freezing.”

Thunder Knuckles walks onto the stage.

“Jimmy! What the hell are you doing here?”

“He’s been swimming.”

TK looks at Flynn, then at Schism, then back to Flynn.

“Bobby, what the fuck are they doing here?”

“Your friend seems unaware of our partnership, is is your partner unaware of your friendships?”

Flynn’s nostrils flare as rage takes his face.

“I am NOT his friend!”

Bobby Danny removes his sunglasses.

“We get it, Danny Sex makes you feel insecure. But Mark, it's me!”

TK looks bored at the whole interaction.

“Whatever they're doing here, they can't shower in the green room, I'm making candles in there. C'mon, Jimmy, get your ass in gear.”

Jimmy wanders off with TK to make candles in the green room of the BastardNet studio.

“Candles?”

“Yeah, he makes a lot of money with them.”

“...”

“He doesn't know you're in the Revolution?”

“Nah, I don't think so. Anyway…”

Bobby puts the sunglasses back on. As he does, Mona shuffles her way back onto the stage.

“Hi, I'm here for the USO auditions.”

Flynn and Schism look perplexed as Cyberjaw massages his own temples.

“Christ, she has dementia or something, would someone please get her an Uber and send her back home?”

Mona puts her hand over her chest and starts singing ‘I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy’.

“Wait, what even is this show?”

“Look…”

Bobby Danny doffs the shades, setting them down..

“I don't really date a ton, my relationships are brief, and to be honest, I'm cranky, dirty minded, and travel a ton. I have gotten so good at being a monster I eventually achieved every monster's fate. I'm alone. Sometimes I just have this swell inside that makes me want someone soft, warm, and welcoming in my life. Someone who misses me as much as I miss them. An anchor point.”

“So you decided on the reality contest route to meet someone? That is the most insane thing I have EVER heard of.”

“Yeah. You're right, but it was kinda fun.”

Schism plants his hand on Bobby’s massive shoulder.

“Mon ami, do not worry. We all know you're on the psychopathy scale, we don't rely on you for your calculation, but because you are strong, and your instincts and ability to think on the fly are beyond comparison. You are not alone, because we are the Revolution.”

“Yeah, bro, we got you.”

Schism turns and looks at Flynn. Cyberjaw turns to Flynn. Flynn looks absolutely exacerbated.

“What?”

Schism glances down at Bobby, then back at Flynn, silently letting Flynn know this was a time to comfort Bobby. Mark rolls his eyes, then puts his band on Bobby’s other shoulder.

“Look, I hate that you're my friend, but we run together, and millions out there seem to like you for some weird reason I can't understand.”

Bobby finally cracks half a smile.

“Thanks y'all. You know, I'm not alone, I have my friends, I have millions of fans, I'm just sjngle, and you know what? That's better than being in a toxic, confounding on-again-off-again fling. You guys are true friends. Let's go get dinner after this.”

Mona finishes singing and wanders off the stage. As she does, we hear the clacking footsteps of high heels headed onstage.

“Look, the show is cancelled, this thing was a bad idea…”

A tall woman walks out, she's a classic and world class beauty. She smiles at Bobby.

“Bouncy?”

“Hey hon.”

Bobby’s smile broadens as his gaze is completely set on Bouncy Brickhouse, international super-thief and someone he hadn't seen in quite a while.

“How have you been?”

“Pretty good, we just stole the Little Mermaid statue from Copenhagen and ransomed it for immunity throughout Europe.”

“Fucking rad!”

“Who are those two?”

Bouncy points at Mark Flynn and Schism. Bobby swiftly brushes their hands off of his shoulders.

“They're just some dudes I work with. Why are you here?”

“Look, I know we share a toxic, confounding on-again-off-again fling, but I wanted to see you.”

“Oh, well then.”

Bobby stands, and turns to Schism and Mark.

“Rain check on dinner.”

Bobby turns and walks towards Bouncy. He puts his arm around her shoulders and they both walk off. Cyberjaw puts the sunglasses on.

“Yo, send the Instagram chick back out.”