Welcome back to The Big Rock Candy Mountain Coffee Co-op!

And welcome back to… The Revolution.

Part 3: The Price Of Action

When we last saw our heroes in action, Mark Flynn, Bobby Bourbon and Schism opened a union-brewed coffee shop, naming it after an allegorical treasure map destination on Schism’s napkin.

The place looks like a warzone, and somehow still smelled of freshly ground coffee beans and ambition. A comforting aroma.

The slogan UNION-BREWED is proudly displayed in every corner, a reminder of their struggle against the system.

The mural on the wall, painted by Schism in a manic, peyote-induced frenzy, depicts a giant cup of coffee being poured into a sea of fists raised in unity.

But despite the vibes, it wasn’t quite the revolution the three had envisioned. The once free-spirited collective now felt more like a corporate battleground.

Fuck’s sake!

Flynn grabs some lysol and wipes at a spot on the counter…

Flynns pacing behind the counter, wiping down the same spot for the fifth time. His eyes bloodshot, his face tight with angst. The oppressive weight of reality had begun to set in. That keeping a worker-owned coffee shop alive in today’s market was an impossible dream.

The rents have been climbing every month, bills piling up, and the enthusiasm is starting to evaporate.

Visitor Schism asserts, while not breaking his attention from NKWB (North Korean War Baby). Flynn’s son. The miraculous (possibly cloned) child version of North Korean War Criminal. Schism helps the young boy from the countertop and hoists him under his arm.

Not looking Is it one of those ‘good guy’ investors again? Flynn mutters, glaring at the stacks of bills that threaten to swallow the entire coffeehouse.

Schism slowly pulls down his aviators, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on the door.

Worse- - -

There, standing up the “Big Rock Candy Mountain Coffee Co-op” sign was the last person they needed…



Senator Chuck Schumer.

- - -zombies.

Your typical milquetoast liberal who believes in the “value” of progressive rhetoric while pulling on the pockets of out and out fascists behind closed doors.

WELL! Good googly boomer Schumer… I should’ve known.

Schism pulls an empty cup of coffee up to his lips, and takes a long sip.

Let’s have a word with him, shall we?

Schism looked at NKWB, then into his empty cup, then back at the senator as if he were a pawn in some larger cosmic game. The time for words is over. Actions are the true measure of any revolution

“Mark!” Schumer’s voice rings out, false enthusiasm in every syllable. “Just wanted to check in! Heard things weren’t going so well! Maybe I could throw some weight behind the cause, help you get the - - -uh…” Schumer observes Schism standing in the corner of the shop now, clutching NKWB and safeguarding the co-op workers who are inattentive and strewn about the dining area as if it were a flophouse “...the uh, co-op community some recognition. A little social chattel for all your hard work, huh?”

Flynn looks up at Schumer, his hands shaking in frustration. He’s heard this turn before, the hollow promises liberal ideals wrapped in corporate cash. But there’s a glimmer of something in him, a small spark of desperation.

You offering money? In exchange for what? Hollow slogans? Lip service? How is this any different than the system we’ve been fighting against?

Schumer chuckles, brushing off Flynn’s questions.

“Well, Mark, it’s not about perfect solutions. It’s about progress. You know how it goes. The people need something tangible, something real. Not scribbled up napkin doodles hanging in a frame. We need to grow this operation, make it viable for the community.

Flynn clenches his fists. But the harsh reality of mounting debt weighs on him like a millstone.

Me and the boys didn’t start this to sell out, Chucky. I started this to show people they could work together, own something, change their lives. But now? Now it’s all about making it palatable for the powers that be. I’m not going to sell out… he looks toward the empty cash register and sighs, ...but dammit, I might have to.

Meanwhile, Schism has ushered the employees back into the back room. He stands before the workers, his wild dilated eyes gleaming with fervor. 

What do we really believe, comrades?

NKWB coos, then begins giggling and clapping at Schizz, as his cryptic logic begins swirling through the room like a heavy fog.

Do we believe in the system? This burlesque simulation where our dandelions mean less than their tulips? 

Schism does less talking, and more motioning with his hands, as if he were reenacting Brect’s ‘Arturo Ui’ with finger puppets. The works watched in awe as Schism would blurt out a random assortments of lines from the antifascist play:

But if the little man gets paid even less than he is now, How will he ever afford our vegetables?

THIS WAS THE THING THAT NEARLY MASTERED US!

And the bitch that bore him is in heat again, comrades!

The employees somehow decipher that they need to care about whatever in the hell Schism is saying. They don’t want to be bought out!

They storm to the front of the store where Schumer is handing Flynn a fat check in exchange for neo-liberal slogan signage being hung up around the store

“LOVE
TRUMPS
HATE”

So on, ect.

The young co-op workers demand that Flynn not allow The Big Rock Candy Mountain Co-op to be bought out

Schumer insists that he can calm the kids down. Pragmatism can be awesome!

He tries to do an “ollie flip”

And falls horribly, shattering his hip.

Wow, Schumey. I’m glad this ended before it ever had a chance to get started

[br]

”Razor Blade is what happens when pure unfiltered capitalism tries to force a wrestler down the people’s throats.”

“Razor is everything wrong with money’s role in our industry.”

“He has more catchphrases than unique ideas.”

“He spends more time changing outfits to justify action figure variants than he does actually fucking wrestling.”

“Razor Blade is the epitome of white noise.”

“His go-to phrase is…”

“...”

“So.”

“Razor…”

“Latoya…”

“...Whaddya want to talk about?”

…

“Is less than nothing.”

“It’s 45 seconds of mugging to the camera… before delivering a line so completely blase.”

“So BEREFT of edge.”

“That I’ve genuinely seen fans fall asleep when he says it.”

…

“Razor Blade’s introductory call…”

“Wrestling has more than one royal family.”

“Is a clear statement, brimming with nepotism.”

“Razor is only in wrestling because of his daddy John.”

“Who ALSO failed his way upwards in every promotion he’s ever had a spot in.”

“Usually, at least a second-generation superstar has the decency to be the bastard son of someone actually fucking talented.”

…

“But Razor is a second-generation NOTHING.”

“Descended from an entire family tree that doesn’t have a fucking OUNCE of talent down to the fucking roots.”

“Failure has more than one royal family.”

“Razor Blade is the Crown Prince of un-achievement.”

“Some wrestlers inevitably, accidentally, will stumble across a victory.”

“Will fail upwards toward a transitional title change.”

“The tapestry of this company is sewn with 24-hour X-Treme title reigns in its stitches…”

“Mastermind, for two consecutive months, was the highest-rated ELO superstar in the entire company!”

“Tommy Wish is a gen-yoo-ine TRIPLE-CROWN CHAMPION!”

“Point being… WIth minimal talent, you can be in the right place, at the right time and stumble your way into accomplishments.”

…

“But Razor Blade… Is genuinely accolade-proof.”

“He demands title shots that he will never ever win.”

“It is statistically IMPOSSIBLE to conceive of a world where Razor Blade wears a title belt that he didn’t buy from a merch table.”

…

“Genuinely.”

“I’ve explored the multiverse.”

“I’ve battled enough alternate versions of Jay Omega to ponder the infinite possibilities of reality.”

“You could bend time and space inward to create a parallel universe where people have coffee for blood, buttons for teeth, where everything is the same except the english language has swapped the meanings of the words ‘penis’ and ‘lampshade’.”

“...But the UNIVERSE. IN ALL OF ITS FANTASTICAL IMPOSSIBILITY.”

“With its LITERALLY INFINITELY INFINITESIMAL CHANCES SUDDENLY BECOME NOT ONLY POSSIBLE BUT CERTAIN TO BE REFLECTED IN THE ENDLESS SCOPE OF THE MULTIVERSE!”

…

“There’s not only NO CHANCE of Razor Blade obtaining a belt.”

“There’s NO CONCEIVABLE REALITY.”

“Where Razor Blade is capable of growth.”

“He’s a single-cell organism.”

“He’s a constant as certain as gravity.”

“Management has tried every trick in the book.”

“Every kind of opponent.”

“From the mundane to the fantastical.”

“From the bottom oft the card to the top.”

“Green-as-gooseshit rookies, twenty-year veterans…”

“Everything in between.”

“And to each and every one of them, Razor can only say…”

“Whaddya wanna talk about?”

“His promos are genuinely mad-libs.”

“You can swap out the star’s names from one promo into another and not miss a single thing.”

“Razor doesn’t seem to research his opponent’s style, accomplishments, successes, failures… There are times he doesn’t seem to know the gender of a person ALLEGEDLY STANDING IN FRONT OF HIM.”

“A single dead brain cell is capable of more cogent, complex thought than Razor Blade.”

“He’s genuinely dumber than a box of rocks.”

“I sincerely once administered the practice SAT to a literal box of rocks… And it scored a 400. Because that’s the score you would get if you never touched your pencil and simply waited for your examination period to end. It’s the reward you get for, at the very least, not wasting an examiner’s time with your blatantly incorrect babble.”

“Why do I bring this up? Because Razor’s promos are genuinely worse than if he stared straight ahead into the camera for five consecutive minutes and waited for them to turn the camera off.”

…

”So. To sum up.”

”No.”

”I don’t care for Razor Blade.”

”And Latoya?”

“For God’s sake. I don’t how someone that strong can be that big of a fuck-up.”

“She’s lost matches where she had a one-hundred-pound weight advantage…”

“She’d find a way to get pinned under a helium balloon.”

“She could share the ring with an eight-year-old girl and a paraplegic… And I still know somehow she’s getting pinned!”

“To compare, Razor is just genuinely brain-dead.”

“Latoya has… something going on in her head… It’s just 100% inferiority complex.”

“She spends all this time in the gym, lifting weights, pumping iron, trying to make her body defeat-proof…”

“But, her mind! HER MIND!”

“She talks a big game on the mic, but the second the bell rings, she makes dumb mistake after dumb mistake…”

“She desperately tries what works, until it stops working… And she rapidly abandons her plans.”

“She has NO mental game.”

“Meanwhile, Razor has nothing MENTAL going on between his ears.”

“They’re genuinely the worst possible thing for each other… And they’re absolutely inseparably awful.”

“But Latoya fucked her one and only chance to team with another person. She deadweighted with Jake Borden and Dom Strife… She almost choked their whole match getting pinned by the fucking BING BONGZ…”

“And now, no one wants to work with her!”

…

“So.”

“Nope.”

“Don’t care for Latoya either.”

And moreover, Schism agrees with everything the bossman said.