Putting the Fun in Funeral

Following John Lennon’s “Imagine” playing over the church’s sound system, a somber Julius Fairweather approaches the altar. With the presiding reverend standing a few feet to Julius’ left, he adjusts the microphone and then looks out over the small crowd that has gathered for the unfortunate occasion. He takes a moment to look at each of their faces; Bambi and Candy Swallows, Indy Darling and Crystal Ward, his fiery tag team partner Pyro, his saintly mother and until recently estranged father, and finally the ex Mrs. Fielding and her current boyfriend Joey Fatone, formerly of N’Sync. Few had bothered to show up in order to pay their respects to his friend in person, but that did not prevent Julius from speaking directly from the heart.

“Winston Winfield was a dumb motherfucker.”

He pauses, as those in attendance look at him in various stages of shock.

“Don’t get me wrong, when it came to trivia night at Chili’s, the motherfucker knew all the answers. When we would show up in a new country, he knew exactly how to lead us to our hotel or the arena. If he needed to use big words to introduce me to an audience, there was nobody better. But when it came time for him to keep his ass on the couch and let me handle the motherfucker with the gun, he was just plain stupid.”

The priest, unaccustomed to hearing such language in his house of worship, is forced to look away from the funeral attendees out of embarrassment. Julius, on the other hand, continues to pour out his heart and all of the colorful words that he’s kept locked inside.

“Fuck. I’m just his boss, right? Other than the motherfucking Secret Service, who in the fuck takes a bullet for their boss? I’d take a bullet for my Momma…”

Julius glances at his mother, who smiles and gives him a nod of support.

“...I’d take a bullet for my friend…”

He then looks at Indy Darling, who slowly raises his hand to give Julius a thumbs up.

“...I might take a bullet for my tag team partner if it got us closer to the titles…”

He then turns his gaze toward Pyro, who slowly responds with a sinister grin.

“...I’d even take a bullet for the great Mr. Samuel L. Jackson…”

He then looks at his previously estranged father, gives him a disgusted glare, and then continues his eulogy.

“...but if Rock Johnson thinks I’d take a bullet for his ass, he’s even dumber than Winston was.”

Julius then glances toward the back of the church, where Project: Honor cameras have been set up and are currently rolling.

“Now then, before I get into my actual speech and talk about how I pulled a drunk and homeless man named Wayne Fielding out of the gutter, cleaned him up, renamed him Winston Winfield, and turned him into the world’s most suave ring announcer, I’ve got some business to take care of. Thanks to my boy, Indy Darling, this funeral is being recorded so that all the Motherfucking Friends of Fairweather can say goodbye to Winston in their own way. It’s also being recorded so that I can say a few things about Collision Course, The Project: Honor Tag Team Titles, and all the motherfuckers Pyro and I are gonna beat to win them.”

The priest turns his attention back to Julius, a mix of shock and horror etched on his face.

“Now seeing as how this tournament has been opened up to any tag team that thinks they’ve got what it takes to be the champions of Project: Honor, I don’t personally know all of the motherfuckers involved, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t done my research. Between kicking ass all over the globe for Fallout and entertaining you motherfuckers with The F Word, I’ve had my eyes set on the Collision Course competition.”

“Let’s start with the two teams that Pyro and I may have to face first; Antithesis and The Heritage. With Sanders and Sykes, you’ve got a couple of hungry motherfuckers who want to show the whole world how bad they can be. They want to get in that ring and punish everyone else on their way to winning those titles. That’s gonna be their first and last mistake, because no one has punished me and Pyro more than we’ve punished each other. Anything you boys bring to the table is gonna look like a motherfucking Happy Meal compared to the Super Sized beatings that Fire and Ice have put each other through. As for Ryan Young and Rebecca Brookes, they’ve got the whole sibling thing working in their favor, or at least that’s what it might look like at first glance. Although I can’t help but wonder how quick Ryan will give up when Pyro is threatening to set his sister’s face on fire, or how fast Rebecca will drop the ball after I bash her brother’s face in with a few Royales With Cheese.”

“The Antithesis and The Heritage, two of you motherfuckers might be first, but you sure as hell won’t be the last. After Ryan and Rebecca are sent back home to mommy and daddy or Sanders and Sykes find out what a real pair of sick motherfuckers can do in that ring, Pyro and I will be looking toward The Massacre or Steele and Venom. Now these are two teams that I’ve had the chance to see up close and personal, cause it’s easy to see those motherfuckers on Fallout’s undercard when I’m looking down at them from the top. Ranger and Kagome? We’ve already had our dance, and it didn’t end well for you motherfuckers. Don’t expect anything different if you manage to make it past The Massacre.”

“Speaking of Lazarus and Charon, you two motherfuckers had better believe that Pyro and I have had our eyes on you. You’ve caused your share of chaos around Fallout and even on Proving Ground. On some level, I can respect that shit. Of course my tag team partner just wants to prove that he’s even more dangerous and deranged than you are. That’s why we’re The Fire and The Ice. It ain’t just a catchy nickname. He’s got a burning rage inside of him the likes of which ain’t been seen since Hiroshima. As for me? I’m as cool as the day is long. I keep that motherfucker focused, and he brings out my inner monster. Stick around the tournament long enough, and we’ll be happy to show you how that shit works firsthand. Something tells me you motherfuckers might just be our key to the tournament finals, and this is one Gatekeeper who plans on burning your asses to the ground and ripping those keys out of your smoldering hands on our way to tag team gold.”

“Now there’s still a whole mess of trouble on the other side of that bracket, starting with the boys in Jägermeister and The Rulers of the Underground. Caito and Thorberg are in the same boat as Kagome and Ranger, ‘cause they know what’s coming their way if they make it far enough to face us. If that happens, it’s gonna be the same outcome as last time, with the Messiah of Fire and the Bad Motherfucker getting their hands raised. As for Swindle and Crowley, that’s a different monster altogether. Just because I’ve taken a liking to referring to them as a frat boy’s favorite beverage doesn’t mean I’m overlooking them. They’ve been making waves on Proving Ground just like The Massacre has been doing on Fallout. Now a few waves don’t mean shit to me when I can hang ten and surf right over them like Fonzie jumping the motherfucking sharks. There ain’t no Kraken that can pull me under the waves, and if you boys think there’s a sea serpent that can extinguish Pyro’s fire, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Lingering down at the bottom of the card with Antithesis and The Heritage are The Brothers of Balance and The Phantom Troupe, a couple of teams that haven’t been properly introduced to Project: Honor’s Bad Motherfucker and Messiah of Fire. By all appearances, it might look like these two teams have a slim chance of meeting up with Fire and Ice during the tournament, but I’ve prepared for them nonetheless. There isn’t much to go on when talking about Kyle Valentine and DJ Hunter, but they’ve seen some success back on their home turf. Unfortunately for you boys, that home turf is gonna seem like it’s light years away if you step in the ring with Fire and Ice. It’s as simple as me breaking you down and Pyro turning the heaping pile that’s left into his own personal bonfire.”

“That’s something those Raab boys should pay attention to. They may consider themselves The Brothers of Balance, but there ain’t no team in this tournament capable of evening each other out like Fire and Ice. I said it before and I’ll say it again, Pyro lets our monsters lose and I keep our heads in the game. I don’t give a hot damn if you’re brothers, sisters, or kissing cousins, we ain’t about to let you take the titles that we’ve had our eyes on since we stopped trying to kill each other in order to kill everyone else instead.”

“Last but not least is the number one seeded team in this motherfucker, Shinigami No Tensei. Well Julius No Speak Japanese, so whatever the fuck that name means, I admit that it’s gone over my head. Maybe it means “stuck up Asian racist and his psycho pal” back in Tokyo. Hell, it might mean “anime watching virgins” for all I know. The thing is, it could legitimately stand for “Project: Honor’s next tag team champions” and it still wouldn’t matter one damn bit to me. Talk about fate, talk about destiny, talk about taking your Cobra Kai wannabe asses to Disneyland. The bottom line is that you motherfuckers are still a minute late and a dollar short when compared to Fire and Ice. That’s because we don’t give a single goddamn fuck whether you’re Shinigami No Tensei, The Massacre, Jägermeister, or The Big Drip gods themselves. Collision Course was made for a pair of motherfuckers like me and Pyro, and before we burn that shit to the ground, we’re gonna own it like the pair of bad motherfuckers we are.”

Julius pauses to look around the church, realizing that some of the funeral’s attendees have become a bit uncomfortable with his rant and confused as to why he chose this exact moment to make it.

“Now then, I’m sure Winston would have loved it if I’d dedicate this tournament to him, or if I raise that tag title over my head and say, “This one’s for you, motherfucker”, but that ain’t what I’m gonna do. I ain’t preparing myself to go through nine of the world’s toughest tag teams on behalf of an old man who was good with a microphone. I ain’t even doing this for my boy, Indy, or his plus one to today’s service, that sexy-ass momma, Crystal Ward. I ain’t doing this for the Swallows Twins to ease their grief and give them a reason to smile again. I sure as hell ain’t doing this for Winston’s ex or her boy band boyfriend…”

Seemingly taking offense at Julius’ words, Joey Fatone begins to stand up to protest, but he is immediately shut down by The Bad Motherfucker.

“Sit the fuck down, Fatone! You could bring the rest of N’Sync, Boys II Men, and The Backstreet Boys to have your back, and me and Pyro would still have you singing “Bye, Bye, Bye!”

Without argument, Joey sits back down and looks sheepishly at Winston’s ex-wife.

“As I was saying, I ain’t even doing this for my momma and that absentee motherfucker who’s got the balls to sit beside her. Pyro...my brother in hatred...I ain’t even doing this for you. Don’t get me wrong, when we win those belts, I’ll gladly fight by your side as we defend them and become the greatest tag team in history, but I’m doing this one for myself.”

Pyro continues to give a sly smile as he nods with understanding.

“I’m on the motherfucking edge of making Project: Honor history with an unprecedented winning streak, an opportunity to put my name in the motherfucking record books. If going through three rounds in this tournament is what it takes to make that happen, you can bet your ass that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. And if you’re wondering how I could be so confident in getting that done, I’ll let you all in on a little secret. The streak I’m on didn’t start until Pyro and I stopped beating each other’s asses in one of this company’s best feuds of the year. We’re talking about a man who handed me more losses and draws than I like to admit, but now that motherfucker’s got my back. That’s bad news for the rest of you and a goddamn good reason why Fire and Ice will be the next tag team champions of Project: Honor.”

With a confident smile, Julius looks out at the funeral guests before finally turning his attention to the priest. As subtle as possible, the man of the cloth runs his index finger across his throat, indicating that Julius should probably bring his promo to a close so that the proceedings may continue. Understanding the message clearly, Julius clears his throat and straightens his tie.

“Now then...let us pray, motherfuckers…”






Once the cameras have stopped rolling and the service has reached its conclusion, Julius finds himself sitting alone in the church on a pew in the first row. He’s loosened his tie and removed his jacket, leaving it hanging over one of his legs as he rests his elbows upon them. Before him, beyond the altar he spoke from earlier, is the open casket containing the mortal remains of his friend and former employee.

“All you had to do was keep your ass on that couch…”

With a heavy sigh, Julius rises and makes his way toward the casket, each of his steps heavy with hesitation. He finally reaches Winston’s side, slowly reaching his hands out to rest them on the edge of the open casket. Shaking his head with his last remaining feelings of disbelief, his eyes wander down to Winston’s face, and he takes note of how at peace he looks.

“Goddamnit, old man. You were supposed to be my assistant. No more, no less. You were supposed to introduce me to the audience, make our travel arrangements, maybe even shine my shoes once in a while. That’s all you had to fucking do. Being friends wasn't a part of the deal.”

Julius is unsure if it’s his imagination, but he can’t help but feel like Winston is smiling as he pours his heart out to his lifeless corpse.

“All that time we spent together traveling the world, I was dead set on believing that Samuel L. Jackson was my daddy. I patterned my whole life after that motherfucker. Now we know that wasn’t nothing but a fantasy, but back when I pulled you out of that gutter and cleaned you up, I was still desperately searching for that father figure. All my talk about Sam Jackson, and my real father figure was by my side the entire time.”

The tear that forms in the corner of his eye and begins to slowly roll down his cheek is as alien to Julius as a fire extinguisher is to his tag team partner, but he does his best to pay it no mind.

“I gave you so much shit, and you took it all in stride. You always said I was the one who saved your life when I found you in that alley, and now you’ve saved my life in turn. I just wish I’d told you how much I appreciated you when you could still hear it. I only hope you were by my side long enough to see through all my badass talk and heartless jive. When shit went bad between me and Indy, you were still there. Before there was Fire and Ice, you were my real tag team partner. When I couldn’t get a win to save my life, you were still announcing my name like I was the greatest thing since edible panties.”

Julius takes one hand off the casket to reach into his pants pocket, retrieving a pair of gold coins. With as much gentleness as he can muster, he lays one coin over Winston’s left eye, and then the other over his right.

“Godspeed, motherfucker. I’m gonna miss you more than you or anyone else could ever realize.”

Having said everything he needed, Julius turns back toward the empty rows of pews. He picks up his jacket and slings it over his shoulder, finally ready to take his leave. That's when he first notices Indy Darling leaning against the door frame of the church's exit.

"That was beautiful, Julie. I really mean it."

He shoots Indy a glare as he continues to make his approach.

"It was also private, motherfucker. And I thought I told you never to call me Julie."

The Proving Ground GM shoots Julius a playful grin in response.

"You know your secrets are safe with me. Besides, it's nice having something to hold over your head for a change. In all seriousness though, I'm really sorry about Winston. He seemed like a good dude."

With his head hanging forward and his shoulders slumped, Julius proceeds to exit the church with Indy by his side.

"You think every motherfucker is a good dude; you're so damned optimistic. Still, as recovering alcoholic roommates go, I guess he wasn't so bad."

With his hands dug into his pockets, Indy decides to press further.

"So is this morose mood a normal funeral thing, or is there something else weighing on the mind of the Bad Motherfucker?"

Julius shrugs his shoulders and refuses to look at Indy as he answers.

"It's just the timing of everything. I've got a future shot at the Prime Title, me and Pyro got a fair shot at the tag belts, and I'm on one hell of a roll. It sounds selfish as hell, but I'm afraid this may have been the first shot that brings it all tumbling down."

Indy nods, understanding his friends' concern all too well.

"Not only that, but I never even bothered to get your blessing before signing up with Pyro as Fire and Ice…"

"Screw that, man. No blessing needed. PH's doctors won't clear me until I have surgery anyway, and as much work as it is, I'm actually enjoying my time as GM. I'm happy moonlighting overseas for the time being too."

Julius gives his head a disbelieving shake.

"Territorial Champion. You motherfucker…"

"The point is, I'll be rooting for you at Collision Course, even if I have to do it quietly since I'm an unbiased member of management. The real question in my mind is whether or not you can trust that pyromaniac as your partner…"

Julius cannot help but laugh before Indy is even finished talking.

"Shiiiiit. Me and that motherfucker went to war against each other for months. We drew each other's blood with more hatred than any man should have in his heart. The thing is, when you fight someone for that long and with that kind of intensity, you start to respect each other. Pyro wants to be the only man to end my career and vice versa. So hell no we can't trust each other, at least not fully. Neither of us are very good at that kind of thing. But we do know how good we are when we channel all our hatred and violent tendencies toward a common goal. That shit I said about balancing each other out wasn't just for the cameras. Hell, we might even end up being pals when it's all said and done."

This time it’s Indy who shrugs.

"You are very likeable, even when you're an asshole."

"Goddamn right I am."

The two men continue walking as a silence falls between them and they draw closer to their vehicles. Finally, Indy senses that it’s time for farewells.

“Look, I know when something like this happens, it can feel like everything is spiraling out of control. Just don’t give in to that shit, man. I know it’s one thing for me to say it and another for you to take the advice, but just trust me on this one. Keep your head up, stay true to yourself, and don't stop moving forward. If you do that, there will be nine other tag teams who never forget the name Julius Fairweather. Win or lose, just remember that I’m in your corner and I’m proud of you. I think Winston would be proud too.”

Julius looks up at his old tag team partner and gives him a reluctant half-smile, but he still refuses to admit that Indy is right.

“Fire and Ice...we ain’t nice. I might have to hurt a few of those boys on your roster. I hope we'll still be cool if that happens. I can't afford to lose another friend when I can only count them on one hand...”

Indy smiles and nods as he opens the door to his car where Crystal Ward is waiting patiently.

“Hell yes we'll be cool. Chocolate Thunder and White Lightning may be a thing of the past, but something tells me that Fire and Ice will have a better shot than we ever did. Just don’t tell DeMarco that we still hang out like this. He’ll have you in dark matches with Rapture faster than you can say ‘Proving Ground is the A Show.”

While he appreciates the sentiment, Julius cannot help but scoff.

“A Show my ass. Julius motherfucking Fairweather only works for the A Show, so you’d better believe that means Fallout is getting all the glory next week.”

“Eh, agree to disagree. Catch you around, Julius.”

“Yeah. Be cool and be gone, motherfucker.”

With that, Julius continues on his own way, silently wondering how a white-bread geek like Indy Darling could score a date with Crystal Ward. After putting some distance between himself and the rental car of his former partner, he spots his golden Cadillac nearby. Leaning against it, randomly lighting matches and watching them burn out, is his current tag team partner.

“Motherfucker, I told you not to lean on my motherfucking car like that! You’re gonna leave scorch marks all over it!”

Pyro grins as Julius approaches him, the match between his fingers burning down to his exposed skin.

“Fuck you, Julius.”

“Fuck me? Fuck you, motherfucker!”

“Whatever. At least I've never cut a promo during a funeral...yet.”

"Are you fucking with me? Winston would have loved that shit! I put the fun in funeral, motherfucker!"

"If you say so. Now give me the keys; I'm driving."

“Like hell you are! I let Winston drive this motherfucker once, and ever since then nobody gets behind the wheel of my baby but me! Now go ride shotgun and I’ll tell you all about it on our way to the motherfucking hotel!”

Pyro shakes his head, already annoyed by his partner’s demanding ways. Still, he chooses not to argue under the circumstances and both men take their seats, a Collision Course awaiting them on the horizon...