No Laughing Matter

JULIUS FAIRWEATHER: Momma! Have you seen my promo suit?!

Julius had always been careful not to raise his voice around his saintly mother, but enough was enough. Since all of the madness with The Purple Reign and The Illuminati had ended, he had endured a constant stream of guilt from the woman who had raised him. She wasn’t about to let Julius forget how rude and disrespectful his Foulweather persona had been, nor how kind and gentle his Fineweather persona was.

JULIUS FAIRWEATHER: Where is my motherfucking promo suit?!

He had fired Joey Fatone after the entire ordeal, refusing to have a secret society agent serving as his personal butler. As a result, his suburban Detroit home was now in shambles, particularly, the laundry room. Of course, his foul language still earned Julius a smack upside the head from Momma Fairweather.

*SMACK*

MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Don’t you use that tone with me, boy! I didn’t fire that sweet, little man and I ain’t about to start washing your dirty drawers!

There was no time to argue with the Project: Honor cameraman waiting downstairs and debating with his mother had always been a hopeless pursuit anyway. With a heavy sigh, Julius resigned himself to the fact that all of his fans and detractors were about to see the suavest man in professional wrestling without his trademark suit. Wearing a Detroit Pistons tee shirt from 1993 and a pair of orange track shorts, he would finally give the patient cameraman the signal to begin recording.




“What’s up, motherfuckers? It’s been a while since I did this promo thing, so you might have to bear with me. Now, you might be asking yourself, ‘self, what’s important enough to make my favorite motherfucker cut a promo?’ Well, it’s your lucky day, because I’m gonna give you the answer to that question for free. At Disputed Territory, Slade Castle and I begin our journey back to the World Tag Team Championships of Project: Honor. Currently those belts are being held hostage by The Big Fucking Goonie Division of Mike Bishop and Lizzy Karlson. As you may have noticed, there’s already a problem brewing between those motherfuckers and The Motor City Psychos.”

“If you’re Mikey or Liz, you might be wondering what you’ve done to deserve an ass-kicking from the former champs. That’s an easy question to answer as well; someone out there thinks you’re in their way, and they paid us handsomely to send a message. That little wake-up call at Public Execution was just about business, the kind of business that can be very profitable for a pair of bad motherfuckers like me and Castle. So don’t make that shit personal BFG, cause if you do, we’ll really try to hurt you next time.”

“Threats aside, I liked watching you put a beating down on Kyle and DJ. Those motherfuckers had it coming. They took the belts off us during a very crazy time and everybody knows it was a motherfucking fluke. All Mikey and LIz did was save Phantom Troupe from losing those belts back to the Motor City Psychos. That doesn't mean too much though, cause me and Slade are still fixin’ to smack them around twelve ways from Sunday at Disputed Territory. DJ…Kyle…you boys have no idea what kind of fire you’ve started…”


Aside from being the lying, cheating, gold-digging ex-girlfriend of Julius Fairweather, Shaniqua also had plenty of street smarts. Her crazy plan to poison an old man in order to get Julius in the professional wrestling business without anyone learning of his true motivations eventually backfired spectacularly. Somewhere along the way, Julius grew a conscience, and that led to Shaniqua’s eventual downfall and arrest.

But she was still smart. Despite her recorded confession, the entire plot was so absurd and hard to confirm that a good lawyer was all she needed. It took longer than she would have liked, but eventually, she walked.

Apparently, she walked right out of the courthouse and into traffic where she was struck down and killed by an unknown motorist who didn’t wait around to be identified.

It was no laughing matter. Seriously.



While looking somewhat out of character without his three-piece suit, Julius still seems incredibly relaxed in front of the camera. Having already addressed The BFG Division and The Phantom Troupe, the Bad Motherfucker allowed himself a mischievous grin as he considered The Motor City Psycho’s other potential opponents.

“DJ and Kyle aren’t the only unfinished business that Slade and I are gonna have at Disputed Territory. It seems there’s another pair of sorry motherfuckers who need to have their egos thoroughly put in check. We might have received a nice payday to put down Mike and Liz, but the shit we’re gonna put Giovanni and Johnny Levy through is all off the books. Laying some hurt on you motherfuckers is gonna be free of charge.”

“Let’s get something out of the way right up front, Johnny Levy sucks. That motherfucker couldn’t win a race against three paraplegics and their pet goldfish. He’s been put on his back more times than Savannah Andrews. He’s lost so many goddamn times that people are starting to see John Blade as a legitimate contender. Finally, the most important part is that I’m twice as much Jewish as that agnostic motherfucker! The only god he worships is the one that’s printed on cheap paper and stuffed in his wallet.”

“So, he wants to blame my boy, Indy Darling, for all his failures? Well, I say fuck you, Jobu! Me and Castle are fixing to give you the only excuse you’ll ever need, and that’s a severe case of Shutthefuckupitis! I’m gonna shove my size 13 shoe so far down your throat that you’ll gain fifty pounds from all the shit you can’t spout off! Not even Benny Buttwater is gonna be able to fix your creative constipation by the time we’re done!”

“As for Giovanni…well…he’s kind of a pussy but other than that, he’s cool I guess.”



Ras al Ling, Thaddeus Hieronymus Craft, and Nigel Half-Weather were once collectively known as The Fairweather Revenge Society. Before that, they each took turns as one of Julius’ sidekicks until he fired them all in a fit of motherfucking rage. Together they formed a diabolical plan to murder Julius on the set of his old television program, The F Word. Thankfully, the plan was foiled by Julius’ old friend and butler, Winston Winfield. On the other hand, Winston lost his life in the process.

They were undeniably guilty of Winston’s murder and would eventually find themselves locked away to serve out a trio of life sentences. That didn’t stop them from meeting up in the prison cafeteria every day during lunch, where they would try to come up with a way to escape and end Julius once and for all.

Sadly, a bad batch of chocolate pudding brought an end to their schemes as well as their lives. All three men died of acute poisoning, although officials had a difficult time discerning how they were the only three to fall victim to the deadly, gelatinous substance.

It was no laughing matter. Really, I mean it.



With a lit cigarette in one hand and a glass of Hennessy on the rock in the other, Julius gave the camera another smile before addressing more of the teams that would be participating in Disputed Territory’s Tag Team Turmoil Match.

“It’s no secret that I love the ladies. From that sweet, little schizophrenic, Alice Knight, to that gloriously big-bootied Billy Bennett, I have a taste for the fairer sex. On the other hand, I’m not about to let that get in my way once the bell rings. Betsy Gallagher and Lexi Gold need to understand that before we go any further. I know they’re gonna be feeling all kinds of fine when my hands are laid upon them, but they’re just gonna have to push those tingling sensations aside until our business is concluded. I promise to put them down as gently as possible, even if my tag team partner may not have the same inclinations.”

“He’s more likely to give Betsy a pair of black eyes before he chokes Lexi out with the dead body of one of her prized reptilian pets. That’s just the way he is and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Pyro was the same way when I was in Fire and Ice. Sometimes a little ‘good cop, bad cop’ is the best way to get things done. He’d set their asses on fire and then I’d smother them with a blanket to put them out and get the pinfall at the same time. Betsy and Lexi might find that it’s not so different in regards to me and Castle. He’s gonna hurt you ladies, there’s no doubt about it. Then sweet daddy Julius will put an end to all that pain with The Foot Fuckin’ Master or The Bonnie Situaion. Once that happens, you can both feel free to have sweet dreams of your walking, talking, chocolate Easter Bunny.”

“Diana, on the other hand, may not have it so good. She’s already found herself stuck between Mikey Hero and Andrei Sokolov, and quite frankly, four’s a crowd as far as I’m concerned. You two are probably the underdog team in this match, but I’m not about to be fooled by that shit. I saw you get a win last week, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen again at my expense. It’s looking more like Diana’s gonna get buried deeper than her pet rabbit, and if Mikey can stop going through puberty long enough, we might just make a man outta him, and not in a good way.”

“The way I see it, all four of you need to prepare for the bitter taste of defeat at Disputed Territory. Maybe you’ll find a little success here or there against the Johnny Levy’s or Phantom Troupes of the world, but if you look across the ring at the Motor City Psychos, it’s already as good as finished.”



The Secret Society Leader formerly known as Prince was there to represent his Purple Reign organization, while the lizard alien known to humans as Ted Cruz, who had regenerated after being shot in the head, was proudly representing The Illuminati. Both thought that the other had arranged the meeting, but in reality, both groups had been set up. When the dirty bomb went off and obliterated everyone inside the abandoned warehouse, none of the fire fighters expected to find dozens upon dozens of bodies in the aftermath. Some were identified as celebrities who had already been presumed dead for years, while others were high-ranking politicians and business moguls with strange, reptile DNA.

The entire ordeal would be covered up and no member of the general population would ever hear about this odd mystery. While both groups still had agents in various locations, it was a blow that would set the Purple Reign and The Illuminati back for years to come.

It was no laughing matter. I mean it this time.



Julius snuffs out his cigarette as he swallows down the last drink from his glass. After setting it down with an audible ‘ahhhh’, he gives the camera a nod of his head and a sly wink.

“That just leaves Cadillac Jackson and TJ Thompson, probably the two motherfuckers in this match that are least deserving of a Motor City Psycho beatdown. I actually like Caddy; maybe because he’s named after the best motherfucking automobile the world has ever seen. Even without the name, that boy’s got style. He’s a suave motherfucker in his own right. Maybe not as suave as me, but he’s still got more mojo than most of the motherfuckers I find myself in the ring against.”

“As for TJ, well, shit. He just happens to be one of Lil’ Petey’s best friends, and everyone knows that Lil’ Petey is my main motherfucker. I sincerely hate to put a hurt on either of you boys, but I guess it is, what it is. Me and Castle want our tag team titles back, and as good as you two have been lately, you’re still not in our league. That’s just plain facts. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re more than a match for The Phantom Troupe or those motherfuckers who named themselves after a Roald Dahl children’s book, but they’re not in our league either. Neither are Betsy, Lexi, Diana, Mikey, Johnny, or Gio…oh my.”

“When it comes to tag teams in Project: Honor, the discussion begins and ends with one motherfucking name. Julius Fairweather. I defined the entire motherfucking division alongside Pyro, Petey, Indy, and Castle, but I wasn’t done when those belts were taken away. The Motor City Psychos have a lot more of their story to tell, whether it’s on Proving Ground, Fallout, Sideshow, or Project: Go Fuck Yourselves. Our story is just getting started, and there ain’t a combination of motherfuckers on this planet that can put an end to it until we say so.”

“Everyone knows I like to have a good time. If Julius Fairweather shows up, you can bet your ass that the party isn’t far behind. If there’s anything left of you motherfuckers after the show, maybe we can get together over drinks and have a few laughs. But this match? This Tag Team Turmoil at Disputed Territory? It’s about our legacy and our gold, and that’s no laughing matter.”



Marissa Covington thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t go into the building alongside Prince and the others, but her relief was short-lived. Moments after she rushed out of her car toward the burning building, a shot rang out in the distance, not providing enough of a warning for her to find adequate cover. The first bullet pierced her left shoulder and sent her tumbling to the pavement below. The second one grazed her ankle as she desperately crawled for cover.

At that moment, she knew that she should have heeded the warnings. The deaths of Shaniqua and The Fairweather Revenge Squad had not been a coincidence. They had been murdered, just like the high-ranking members of The Purple Reign. Marissa knew that would be her fate as well, when the shrouded figure emerged with a gun pointed in her direction. The individual, cloaked by the shadows of the night, only had one thing to say as he lowered the gun toward her.

“It’s no laughing matter.”

She closed her eyes tight as the end drew near, but upon doing so, she surprised herself by not thinking of her family and friends. Instead she thought about him. About his smile. About his voice. She thought about Julius.

The seconds passed by with Marissa’s thoughts thus occupied, until she finally opened her eyes. As the sirens of emergency vehicles blared in the distance, Marissa found herself alone, the inferno that was meant to house the secret meeting between the rival societies illuminating nothing more than an empty parking lot.

She had been spared, for now at least. Still, she could not help but think about the man that each victim had in common. They had all fucked with the wrong person, and like the final lost commandment had read, ‘Thou shalt not fuck with Julius Fairweather’.