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The Engineer · (11-29-2017)

The shot opens on a number of beakers of some mystery liquid before panning out on the rest of a laboratory. There's microscopes, and petri dishes and big diagrams and all kinds of sciency stuff that spell out that these people know their shit. Which, they will have to, considering that they have to answer to the president of the United States!

I hope you've got some news for me, doc. Your funding depends on it!

The “doc” in question is your typical STEM geek, white, middle aged, and with a rapidly balding crown. He's also wearing a white lab coat, which is helpful.

Barron Trump, 12 year old son of the president and affirmed mongoloid, is sitting on The Donald's lap. His body is as slack as his facial features, a thin stream of drool is pouring out of his mouth and settling on the floor in a puddle.

We do have news for you, sir...but...you may want to sit down....

I am sitting.

Yes, yes....

The doctor fishes around in one of the deep pockets of his lab coat and pulls out a Werther's Original.

Would you like a piece of candy, sir?

Stop stalling and tell me what is wrong with my son!

The Donald's sudden shouting has no effect on Barron's vacant expression whatsoever. The doc, hands jittering, replaces the candy.

I'm sorry sir, it's just that, the news is....difficult. I'm very, very bad at giving bad news....

Fine, then tell Engy and he can tell me! Engy, I need you!

The shot turns to Engy, who has, this entire time, been just outside the lens and playing a balancing act by stacking some glass beakers on top of each other. His hand slips in response to his president's entreaty, causing the whole tower of glass to come tumbling down to shatter in spectacular fashion.

Dammit!

Engy walks over looking a shade less than enthused.

This man has bad news for me, but is too much of a pussy to tell me himself. So I need you to hear what he has to say and then tell me in a non-bitch-like fashion.

No problemo.

The doctor leans in and starts whispering in Engy's ear. Engy expression changes and he can't help but reacting as poor Barron's fate is laid bare.

Uh huh.....uh huh.....what is....? Oh, ok. …..... Uh huh. Oh, really? Wow!........Yeah, WOW! Holy shit, that's worse than.....huh? That's even WORSE! …..Uh huh....uh huh. Ok, I think I got it.

The Donald has been watching intently the whole time, literally on the edge of his seat. He's forced to clutch young Barron even closer to his pillowy man boobs, which Barron is now staring at fondly and perhaps mistaking for Melania's supple breasts.

Give it to me straight, Engy, I'm not a bitch!

Barron's got a real bad case of the

, sir. The worst kind. It's GILMOUR'S SYNDROME.

The Donald's face is instantly awash with anguish. Barron's lips pucker up and he brings them closer to his father's pointed man nipple.

Oh Jesus, Oh God....oh Barron....WHY?

The Donald pulls Barron's face into his chest. Barron's lips land square on where his father's nipple would be, and he instinctively starts trying to nurse through his shirt.

I am afraid, sir, that it is quite incurable. And it is the most aggressive kind of

there is. Gilmour's Syndrome is a relatively recent discovery so the research so far is scanty at best. But we know that it cannot be corrected and it actively resists any attempts to logic or reason with it.

I heard it's like Down Syndrome on fuckin' STEROIDS!

Why couldn't this happen to a poor person's child? OR A BLACK PERSON?!

Barron's suckling begins to moisten his father's shirt, of which he is still oblivious.

Oddly enough, sir, in all cases it seems to afflict white males.

It's 2017! How are we STILL losing the war on

? Engy, help me! You used to be

, how did you stop being

]

Well, it depends who you ask. According to my psychiatrist it was just one big dissociative episode. According to some people on the XWF roster, I was just faking it.

[orange]So which is the truth?

Ehhhhh, I don't really want to get into it, it kinda adds to my mystique, ya know?

The Donald nods sagely, all the while looking like he doesn't understand what the hot blue chick from X-Men has to do with any of this.

But I will tell you this, sir. Next week I'm facing one of the most

people on the XWF roster in a very dangerous match, one that will spill a lot of blood. I'll bring back some of his blood samples and perhaps that can help these nerds with their research.

Thank you, Dexter. You're a good friend.

The Donald looks down and finally realizes that his son is suckling on him.

God damnit, Barron.

Later...

We now see The Engineer in a basement somewhere, maybe Madison's. In fact, if it is Madison's she sure as hell doesn't know what he's doing down there. Because Engy is watching Youtube videos on how to make home made C4. Before him is a workbench, covered in mechanical bits, bobs, and wiring. He turns to the camera, and then points at the laptop running the Youtube videos.

Know thy enemy....

He wraps his knuckles on the wood table, smirks and puts down the device he was working on.

It's my modus operandi. But, Stinky Pete, ya may be wondering why I'm studying the intricacies of C4 and not boning up on your old tapes. And, well, the reason is simple. In this match, the C4 is my enemy. Not you.

Let's back up a bit.

Engy reclines back in the old work seat, drawing a squeal from it's ungreased hinges.

You ever watch kids on a playground Pete? Now I'm not talkin' in a pervy way, but just to study how little humans work? It's really pretty interesting, I mean kids are basically just little unchecked Id's. They're what grown ups are deep down inside before society, the law, and the social compact work em over and make em bury all that deep dark neanderthal shit.

Anyhoo I've seen scenes like this play out time and time again. A play ground full a rugrats, and amongst them there's at least one or two little assholes. The kid who goes around pushing other kids in the dirt, knocking others off the slide, and stealing their ice cream. Bullies preying on the weak. But then, somebody brings a

. A kid with a helmet. A kid in a wheelchair. They probably have a drool bib or they're on a leash. And now, you would think the bullies, horrific little unchecked Id's that they are, would eat the

kid alive. They're an easy mark, right?

But they don't. They keep picking on the normies. And why?

Because deep down inside, people are programmed to feel sorry for

. And I'm talking REAL

, not fake

like me and Scully. Even complete assholes, when faced with a mind so vacant and unprotected, are often unwilling to cross that threshold. So what does this have to do with you Peter?

You're the

.

You see, when I first came to XWF you were an enigma to me. A fellow

, but one who (despite some occasional ribbing), people seemed to have a begrudging respect for. Or tolerance for, at any rate. No matter how much criminally stupid shit poured out of your mouth it was met with the equivalent of a gentle chuckle and an “Oh, that's our Peter!” In a place this mean, this competitive, how you have not been shamed and obliterated out of existence was truly hard to wrap my head around. But as I started to wise up, I got it. And I came to realize that you had a place here not because people truly liked or respected you, but because they PITIED you. Because, like a hot chick's fat friend, you made them look so much better by comparison.

Everyone here knows your stupid. Everybody here knows your deficient. But they keep you around like a pet because you've become part of the scenery.

Engy leans in towards the camera menacingly.

Well, I don't want you as part of MY scenery Peter. Ya know, I've said in the past that I don't take anyone for granted. Any man can have a good night and any man can have a bad night. And I never ever say conclusively that I'm going to win. That changes now.

I'm going to beat you, Peter.

I have never been more sure of an outcome in my life. And if you're about to get pouty again because you're being disrespected....GOOD! You big, fat dumb, diaper wearing Baby Huey MOTHEFUCKER!Always bitching abut how people don't give you the props you deserve, that people don't respect the legacy of Peter Gilmour. But, bitch, what is your legacy really? Let's break it down.

You like to throw it in people's faces that you're a former Universal champion. Peter, you held that belt for a cup of coffee. About 3 weeks right? The rest of your career is basically just you floating in and out of other mid card titles, with the reigns often times as unimpressive as your Uni title run. Your legacy is one of abject mediocrity. You like to throw in that you're on the Top 50 list a lot too. But I got news for you, your placement on that list is more a function of time than excellence. It's a participation trophy for a long served tenure. Your XWF's version of bland middle management, you haven't made a big sale in ages but boy you've sat your ass at that desk for a while so here's your cheap Timex watch and Applebees giftcard.

And you know what? I wouldn't be bringing it to you so hard if you at least had an iota of insight or intelligence about the whole thing. But your just so goddamn self serious and honestly think you're smart. But you are the wholesale dumbest mother fucker on the roster. You are pig shit stupid, son. You are so fucking stupid that my manager had to point out to you that The Kings were luring you into a trap by offering you a membership. You are so fucking stupid that you said a few days ago that you didn't fear getting blown up, but thankfully somebody in the interim has correctly informed you that FIRE BAD and you at least wised up on that. You are so fucking stupid that you somehow think C4 carries VOLTS I mean, JESUS, haven't you actually done this death match thing before Peter? I just can't even....**sigh**

Engy rubs his forehead.

But the thing that makes me utterly fucking DESPISE you is the total unearned sense of superiority you have. Your as much a God as Robert Main is a minimalist and John Madison is a hardworking employee. I believe it was James Raven who once said that Peter Gilmour was stuck on the tutorial level of a video game. And you're still so goddamn proud of that, aren't you Peter? Five years in the XWF and the best you can do anymore is squeak by on month long title reigns with championships you should have evolved beyond ages ago. And the most frustrating thing about it is your too stupid to understand what a complete and utter WASTREL you are. You will go on living with this smirking smugness, getting butthurt every time somebody doesn't tongue your balls for another mediocre promo or another “barely a footnote” middle card title reign, when the real reason you keep getting title shots in the first place is because anyone of any real worth already has gold.

I know your too stupid to be able to tell how much you suck, so I'm going to go ahead this Warfare and toss out the broke down old furniture that is YOU. You've been part of the scenery in the XWF too long. We're changing the decor, and anything with a complete unearned sense of entitlement and an IQ below 85 needs to go.

Fuck you, you monkey dumb, lard ass, piece of broke down tacky upholstery. I don't respect you. I don't like you. And I'm going to kill Peter Gilmour forever.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to continue studying my real opponent.

Engy turns back to the Youtube video as the shot cuts to....

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