The Five Ways of the Gimmick, Lesson #2: Instinct

Dressed in his black suit and tie, with his afro styled immaculately, Julius Fairweather stands in front of the camera flashing the wide smile that viewers have grown accustomed to. With a wink of his eye and a nod of his head, the one and only Bad Motherfucker begins to address his faithful Motherfucking Friends of Fairweather.


“Sometimes a motherfucker just never knows what to expect. One day you might think you’ve got your shit together, that you know which way the motherfucking wind is blowing. Then a new day dawns and everything you thought you knew is wrong. Up is down, left is right, and black and white look a lot more like shades of gray.”


“You might be sayin’, “what’s this got to do with wrestling, motherfucker?”, to which I have one simple answer. Wired Consequences. I’m going into my match looking at all of those options on the table, doing my best to prepare for an Ambulance Match, a Fight Pit, a Dumpster Match, or even a Monster’s Ball. The only thing is, there’s a fifth option known as “other” that might just turn everything around on a motherfucking dime.”


“On the surface, it might seem like the lesson is simple; Be prepared for anything, ‘cause anything could happen when you’re a card-carrying member of Fallout. Now put yourself in my motherfucking shoes and take a big step back. Do you know how many “others'' there are in this fucked-up world we compete in? Just pick a really big number and then multiply it by three, because that’s how many opponents I’m gonna be facing in the motherfucker. Trust me, it turns out to be more possibilities than a motherfucker could prepare for in a year, let alone a few weeks.”


“Of course, being the thorough motherfucker that I am, I had to give it a try anyway.”



He’d been away from Detroit for a while, but Julius still had connections in the city; the kind of connections that could get him access to an abandoned steel mill on a random weekday. The building provided the kind of space Julius thought would be necessary to prepare for the various match types he might face at Wired Consequences. To oversee this preparation, Rass al Lin and Winston Winfield were both on hand, along with three men that Winston had found and hired at a local gym to act as sparring partners.

For 24 hours, Julius had been locked away inside of a windowless room on the factory floor, deprived of light, food, and water. When those 24 hours were up, Winston took it upon himself to unlock the heavy steel door that isolated Julius from the rest of the world. After cranking the heavy wheel upon the door, Winston used all of the strength in his small frame to pull it open, allowing a beam of light to penetrate the darkness within. For a few seconds, all was quiet within the isolation chamber, leading Winston to wonder if his willing prisoner had survived the ordeal. Then, with a maddening shriek, Julius Fairweather burst from the room, his bloodshot eyes bulging and his afro disheveled.


Winston Winfield: “Monster’s Ball Match...begin!”


Winston waved his arm as if he were signaling the beginning of a race, and then quickly ran away from his crazed friend and employer.


Julius: “AAAARRRRRGGHHHH!!!! I’M GONNA KILL A MOTHERFUCKER! SOMEBODY GET ME A GODDAMN CHEESEBURGER!”


It was clear that the isolation had gotten the better of Julius as he paced around the factory floor like a crazed madman, his black suit shredded and hanging onto his body by various tatters and threads. The three men who had been hired to spar with Julius began to move towards him with care, none of them willing to make the first move against the wild man that had emerged from the cell.


Julius: “Come at me, motherfuckers! I’m gonna drink your blood and eat your flesh!”


The three men looked at each other with great concern, as off to the side, Rass sat in a folding lawn chair and puffed on his long, wooden pipe. Judging by the Chinese man’s face, he was neither interested nor impressed by the scene unfolding in front of him. Meanwhile, instead of advancing on Julius, the three men began to retreat as he took turns lunging toward each of them, his hands held up like the claws of a wild animal and snarls of hunger emerging from his throat.


Before Julius could get his hands on any of the three hired sparring partners, a loud siren began to echo throughout the abandoned factory. Julius turned his attention away from his prey with a curious look on his face, totally unprepared for the loud noise. He was also unprepared for the ambulance driving toward him, thus giving him no time to dive out of the way. Thankfully, Winston hit the brakes on the ambulance as it neared Julius, but it still had enough momentum to launch him onto the hood and against the windshield upon impact. Julius rolled back off of the ambulance onto the cold cement floor, as Winston leaped out of the driver’s seat and gave another signal with the wave of his arm.


Winston: “Ambulance Match...begin!”


With Julius stunned, the three men finally found the courage to approach him, as two of them grabbed him by the arms and began to drag him toward the back of the ambulance. The third man swung open the ambulance doors as his two partners approached with Julius in tow, but much to their surprise, the back of the vehicle was occupied by a large, green dumpster. Winston sprinted to the back of the ambulance and gave another starting motion with his arm.


Winston: “Dumpster Match...begin!”


The two men holding the stunned Julius maintained their grip as the third man struggled to pull the dumpster from the back of the ambulance. After much effort, the metal container rolled onto the factory floor with a loud bang, enough to startle Julius out of his stupor. He then found enough strength in his arms to swing his two captors together, forcing them to crack heads and release their holds. Not wasting a second, Julius pounced upon one of the men and began to unload with a flurry of rights and lefts, battering the man without restraint. Winston took this as his cue to switch up the rules yet again, reaching into the back of the ambulance to retrieve a long fishing pole.


Winston: “Stun Gun on a Pole Match...begin!”


Julius looked up from his pummeled target to give Winston a look of confusion, just in time to see the third man grab the dangling stun gun off the end of the fishing pole.


Julius: “What the fuck…”


ZZZZAAAPPPP!


Julius: “AAARRRGGHH...M-M-M-MOTHERF-F-F-UCKER!!!”


As the man jabbed the stun gun against Julius’ midsection, Winston tossed his fishing pole aside and rushed to the side of the dumpster, hastily flipping open the lid.


Winston: “Dumpster Match Part Two...begin!”


Once again, Julius was stunned and unable to defend himself as two of the men grabbed him by the arms and began to pull him away from their bloody and unconscious partner. They then lifted Julius off the ground and maneuvered him over the edge of the open dumpster, dropping him inside with a resounding thud. Still, Winston was not done with his nonsensical training gauntlet.


Winston: “Fight Pit Match...begin!”


The pencil-mustached emcee motioned for the two men to follow him, and hoping to end the insanity and finally earn their pay, they obliged by rolling the dumpster behind Winston. Several feet away, an open pit in the factory floor laid waiting, and just as Julius lifted the top half of his body over the edge of the dumpster, the two men gave the contraption a final shove.


Julius: “...motherfuckers…”


Clearly unaware of the rules or the concept behind a Fight Pit Match, Winston watched as the dumpster tipped over the edge of the open pit and fell inside, carrying his employer along with it. The metal container hit the bottom of the open pit with a loud crash, followed moments later by groans of disoriented pain from Julius. Still determined to do his part in preparing Julius for anything he might face at Wired Consequences, Winston picked up a pair of shovels and tossed them at the remaining two men.


Winston: “Buried Alive Match...begin!”


The two men took a brief moment to look at each other, uncertain if they should continue, but fearing what kind of fury they might face were Julius to escape the pit, they eventually shrugged their shoulders and began to shovel from the mound of dirt alongside the opening in the floor. If there was any sadistic glee upon Winston’s face as the two men struggled to fill the pit with dirt, Julius was not able to see it from his resting place deep below. Thankfully, at least one person in the abandoned factory decided that he’d seen enough. Rising from his lawn chair, Rass al Lin began to move toward the pit.


Rass: “Stop! This has gone on long enough!”


The swirling madness of revenge in Winston’s eyes quickly faded as the elderly Chinese man approached him, and the two men hesitantly stopped shoveling dirt into the pit.


Winston: “But...I have 37 more match types to get through…”


Rass: “No! I will endure no more of this tomfoolery! This isn’t even how these matches work! For fuck’s sake, they stopped using the isolation gimmick in the Monster’s Ball years ago!”


Winston slowly hung his head in defeat and shame as Rass berated him, unaware that this break in the action had given Julius a valuable moment to recover. With both of the hired men having turned their attention away from their shoveling, they failed to see the dirt-covered afro and hateful eyes of Julius emerge from the edge of the hole. Without warning, he grabbed both of the shovels and pulled them downward, knocking both men off balance and sending them stumbling into the open pit.


Julius: “IMMA KILL ALL YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!”


Glancing over at Rass, Winston found himself unsure of what to do next.


Winston: “So...uh...do we let them finish or…?


The old Chinese man stared at Winston for a few seconds, his face filled with disappointment. Finally, while shaking his head, the old man began to walk away. Moments later, Julius pulled himself over the edge of the pit, just in time to see Rass making his exit. In that moment, Julius realized that he had failed to impress his trainer, and he slowly turned to set his annoyed glare upon Winston.


Julius: “You’d better start running, motherfucker…”




“It didn’t take me long to realize that there was no way in hell I could prepare myself for every possible outcome of the fan voting for Wired Consequences. Running myself through a gauntlet of pain and suffering would only wear my ass down and give the other three motherfuckers an advantage. That’s probably what a fucked-up psychopath like Pyro would do, and the similarities between me and him end after the fact that we’re both breathing.”


“Hmmm, Pyro. I wonder what a motherfucker with a name like that could be all about? Do you think he’s into balloon animals and aromatherapy? Nah, we all know what you’re about, motherfucker. You can dress it up as pretty as you want, use all kinds of excuses to explain the way you think, but the bottom line is that you like to set shit on fire. You’re just another psychopath on a roster full of crazy motherfuckers. The only difference between you and those other motherfuckers, is that you let everybody know what your weakness is. As tempting as it is to say that weakness is a fire extinguisher, it’s really some poor kid that had the misfortune of being made from your radioactive sperm.”


“That’s right, motherfucker. I’m talking about your daughter. The question is; what are you gonna do about it? Are you gonna try to choke me out like you did that reporter on Fallout? What kind of sick motherfucker picks on a helpless reporter anyway? Don’t laugh. That statement was meant to be ironic.”


“You don’t like it when people bring her up, so let me repeat myself nice and clear; daughter, daughter, daughter. Wherever that poor girl is right now, she’s got to be a hell of a lot better off than being with your stanky ass. Do you really think you could be someone’s daddy? Are you that motherfucking stupid? Shit, I’d bet my gold Caddy that you ain’t even her daddy anyway. Any ho that would lay down with your ass is either getting paid for it or she’s more desperate than a drowning man reaching for a life preserver. What I’m saying is, that bitch’s legs were like peanut butter cause they were being spread all over town.”


“Pyro, you’ve wanted a piece of me for a long time, and you’re about to get your motherfucking wish. I don’t know why you had a hard-on for me before now. Maybe it’s because I’m good-looking, intelligent, and tough enough not to cry when I run out of matches. In other words, I’m everything that you’re not. Hell, when I put it like that, maybe I’m even the daddy that your little girl really deserves. How’s that for motivation, motherfucker? Now you’ve got a real reason to come after my ass. Just keep this in mind when you’re standing across the ring from me and salivating all over yourself; I’ve felt your motherfucking flames before, but you haven’t seen half of what my ass can do.”



After his first day of preparation turned into “Winston Winfield’s Series of Unfortunate Events”, Julius knew that he had to approach Wired Consequences from a different angle. Rass al Lin had not been impressed with his method of training, and believing that the old man had valuable wisdom to share, Julius decided to take a step back and listen instead of charging into the situation head-first. He found Rass poolside with Bambi and Candy first thing that morning, and after a respectful bow, he delivered a daily stipend of cold, hard cash to the old man’s hand. After Rass took a puff from his pipe and nodded in recognition, Julius knew that he was about to embark on the next leg of his spiritual journey.


A few hours later, Rass led Julius to the rooftop of his luxurious condo, wearing nothing but a blindfold over his eyes. The bitter cold of winter’s last desperate attempt to cling to life tore at Julius’ bare skin like the claws of a rabid animal. As his body shivered and shook, he wanted nothing more than to call the old man a sick motherfucker, but he dug deep and remembered the discipline he had learned during his previous lesson.


Rass: “You have taken your first steps in learning The Five Ways of the Gimmick, and while you have shown progress, you are not yet a master. Julius Fairweather, are you ready to take that next step?”


Julius: “N-n-not how I p-p-planned to spend Saint P-P-Patty's Day, but yeah I’m r-r-ready.”


Julius could not see what the old man was doing or even tell where his voice was coming from, but he knew whatever happened next would not be pleasant.


CRACK!


The bamboo smacked against Julius’ frozen skin without warning or mercy, leaving the skin on his right arm with a momentary burning sensation that was the antithesis of the freezing cold assaulting the rest of his body.


Julius: “Ouch! M-m-motherfucker, that hurt!”


Rass: “Yes, and it will continue to hurt until you choose to make it stop.”


CRACK!


Another stinging blow landed across Julius’ shoulder blades, the impact making him stagger forward.


Rass: “Even the mighty oak can be toppled by the strongest breeze!”


Julius regained his footing, planting his bare feet against the cold rooftop as if they were the roots of a tree.


CRACK!


Another blow to his spine made Julius arch his back in pain, but this time he clenched his fists and kept his feet planted firm.


Rass: “You cannot prepare for every kind of match you may find yourself in, nor can you prepare for everything your opponents may do. You must adapt to everything thrown at you, like the chameleon who adapts to his surroundings.”


Julius: “Okay. I’m d-d-down with that, but d-d-do I have to be n-n-naked to do it?”


CRACK!


This time the blow landed on Julius’ left arm, and while his face twisted into a sneer, he refrained from flinching or cussing.


Rass: “The clothes do not make the man, but it is the man who makes the clothes! If you could have prepared for this lesson, you would be covered from head to toe to protect yourself from the bamboo and the cold. You did not have this opportunity, so instead you must adapt! You must look inside to your instincts if you want to survive, just as you look inside of yourself if you want the bamboo to miss its target!”


CRACK!


Julius could feel the skin of left leg blister where the weapon landed, yet still he remained focused and unmoving.


Rass: “Your body must be fluid like water! Even when it is frozen, you must relinquish control and allow it to move! To achieve that, you must first keep your mind fluid as well! While the oak can be toppled, the sea endures!”


CRACK!


A blow to the right thigh.


CRACK!


Another to his abdomen.


CRACK!


A third to the top of his head.


Julius: “Goddamn it! How am I supposed to block that motherfucker if I can’t even see!”


Rass: “Your eyes can deceive you, make you judge an opponent by their appearance! You must let go of your conscious self and act on instinct! Stretch out with your feelings!”


Despite his anger, frustration, and frozen appendages, Julius did his best to focus on what the old man was telling him. He relaxed his body, forcing himself to stop shivering, focusing only on what he could hear and feel. His breathing slowed and his teeth stopped chattering as he released the tension in his muscles. No longer focused on standing firm and tall, not worrying about where the next blow might land, Julius began to feel an inner peace welling up deep inside.


When Rass made his next swing, Julius ducked under it without even realizing that the bamboo was aimed at his head. Another swing came immediately after the first, but Julius hopped over it as if he knew his legs had been targeted. A third blow was imminent, but before the bamboo cane could find its mark, Julius clapped both of his hands together in front of his face, catching the weapon between them. With an excited laugh, Julius released the bamboo and ripped off his blindfold.


Julius: “I did it! Ha ha! Take that, motherfucker!”


CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!


While Julius had successfully blocked the three shots while being blindfolded, he succumbed the next three across his chest.


Julius: “Motherfucker!”


Rass took a step back, his face barely visible under the hood of his parka.


Rass: “Not bad, but I didn’t say we were finished.”


Julius: “Yeah, I’ll remember that next time. Now can we continue this inside? Little Julius is stuck inside his shell like a motherfucking turtle.”


Rass: “Hm. Yes, and your neighbor has been watching with binoculars.”


Julius focused his gaze past his elderly spirit guide to take notice of the high-rise apartment across the street. Upon doing so, he saw a wiry little man smile and wave.



Furious over the fact that some strange man had taken personal pleasure from spying on his frigid manhood, Julius shook his fist and shouted at the man across the street.


Julius: “Take a picture, motherfucker! It’ll last longer!”




“I almost made a fatal mistake at the last Fallout. Despite my best efforts, I still looked across the ring and saw Contessa Floran for the hot little number that she is instead of the badass she turned out to be. I guess if Pyro’s weakness is his little pride and joy, mine is letting my ego judge books by their motherfucking cover. Hell, I had to use my brass knucks to put Contessa down, and while I ain’t about to apologize for that shit, I know I could have beaten her without them.”


“After seeing what she could bring in a fight, I ain’t about to make that mistake again. Brass knucks or not, I’m fixing to knock your ass out again, Contessa. Throw anything you want at me, cause I’ll be ready to throw my own shit back at you ten times harder. The motherfucking fans could vote for us to have a hopscotch competition and I’d still knock your ass out, just cause it felt so good the first damn time.”


“On the surface, shit between us may not seem as personal as any of the issues between me and Pyro or Drago, but I happen to see things a little bit differently. Anytime someone is standing between me and my motherfucking goals, you can bet your sweet ass I take it personally. You’re standing between me and the motherfucking Prime Championship, and I can’t let that shit go unanswered. While some of the fans might hate me and some might love me, all of those little motherfuckers deserve to have The Most Suave Man in Wrestling as their champion. Unless Contessa is hiding a big, flaccid secret under that little number she bought at Hot Topic, it’s pretty clear I ain’t talking about her.”


“You were in my way one time before, Contessa, and we both know that didn’t work out too well for you. The first time you get a pass, cause I can accept that you just don’t know any better. The second time though, that shit’s all on you. So the two of us will do another dance number, but the second verse is gonna be the same as the first. When the music stops and the dance floor is empty, the scorecard’s gonna say Julius - two, Contessa - zero.”


“What can I say? Beating you just comes naturally.”




Another day dawned on the city of Detroit, and for Julius, it would be his third consecutive day of training for Wired Consequences. Instead of an abandoned steel mill or the frigid rooftop of his condo, this day’s training took place in a much less secluded location. With travelers wandering about, announcements being made, and the occasional train rushing past, Julius sat cross-legged, fully clothed but once again blindfolded, on one of the many platforms of Detroit’s Amtrak station. Rass al Lin was present as well, pacing back and forth in front of Julius with his hands clasped behind his back.


Rass: “You have seen the folly that comes with too much preparation. You have learned to adapt to the things you cannot prepare for. Now you must find absolute trust in your intuition.”


Julius squinted his eyes behind his blindfold as he cocked his head to the side, doing his best to hear what his spirit guide was saying over the surrounding distraction.


Julius: “Speak up, motherfucker! I can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying with all the shit going on around here!”


Rass continued to pace back and forth, raising his voice only slightly to allow Julius to understand what would be expected of him.


Rass: “You have given up your expectations. You have given up your sight. Now you must give up your hearing as well. You must focus only on that which you can feel, and with those sensations you must immediately choose a course of action.”


Passengers wandered on and off a stationary train, giving Julius and Rass curious looks as they passed by. An announcement was made over the station’s PA, informing travelers of the next departure time, which made it even more difficult for Julius to fully hear his trainer’s instructions. Still, Rass remained unwilling to repeat what he had said. Instead, he stopped pacing in front of Julius and reached into the folds of his robes, producing a simple matchbook. He slid one of the wooden matches from the box and struck it against the side, setting its tip ablaze. Then, without making a sound, he leaned forward and held the match close to the side of Julius’ face, forcing The Weatherman to flinch.


Julius: “Motherfucker! What the hell are you doing?”


Rass threw the match aside and proceeded to chastise his pupil.


Rass: “I will answer no questions! Only your purest of instincts will provide the answers you seek!”


The old man pulled another match from the box, lit it against the box’s rough edge, and held it close to the bare skin of Julius’ face. Without taking the time to think, Julius shouted out his immediate thoughts in response.


Julius: “Pyro! I’ll kick that motherfucker’s head off his goddamn shoulders!”


With a slight smile, Rass tossed the match aside before digging his hand back into the folds of his robes. This time he produced what appeared to be a human femur bone, not unlike the signature weapon of one of Julius’ other upcoming opponents. Rass held the bone toward Julius, poking its opposite end against Julius’ forehead.


Julius: “Contessa motherfucking Floran! I’ll knock that bitch’s lights out!”


Rass smiled again as he tossed the odd weapon aside. Next, instead of producing something else from his robes, the old man reached down to grab one of Julius’ middle fingers, twisting it in a direction it was not meant to go.


Julius: “Drago Santiago! I’m gonna choke that motherfucker out!”


The old man continued to smile as he released Julius’ finger and took a step back. After a few moments, Julius realized that there were no more clues forthcoming, and he reached up to remove his blindfold before looking up to give his spirit guide a questioning stare. The old man began to nod in response.


Rass: “You know all you need to face your opponents at Wired Consequences, Julius Fairweather. Your instincts did not fail you the last time you met Drago Santiago, and they will not fail you again. You have only to act upon them. With those instincts as your guide, you will find the strength to adapt and overcome any obstacle put in your path.”




“I have no doubt that Pyro and Contessa will bring their motherfucking best, but their best is only equal to my minimum motherfucking effort. If it was just the three of us in this match, I’d put a motherfucking exclamation point on the end of it and call it a day, but there’s one more motherfucker that deserves a little bit of my attention. Drago motherfucking Santiago. The Saint of all sinners. The Prime motherfucking Champion.”


“We’ve been in this spot before, haven’t we, Drago? Me trying to run your ass down with my Caddy, you breaking my motherfucking fingers. That shit was just another day at the office for a couple of hard-hitting motherfuckers like us, wasn’t it? Well get ready to punch that motherfucking time clock again, cause our asses have some overtime to look forward to.”


“The way I see it, the shit we did to each other a few weeks ago makes us even. Our win/loss record against each other may look a little lopsided, but Momma Fairweather didn’t raise no fool. I know my last win against you doesn't mean shit going in to Wired Consequences, cause that was just me proving that I belonged in the dance. This time, that motherfucking gold is on the line, and I’m guessing you’re gonna fight like a cornered tiger. Last time you broke my fingers, and this time you’ll be looking to break my neck. I can respect that shit. I just hope you can respect the fact that running your ass over ain’t nothing compared to what I’m willing to do this time.”


“Much to Pyro’s dismay, we started this motherfucking fire, and we’re gonna be the ones to finish it. My win over you set this motherfucking match in motion, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna let it go to waste. Bring every violent tendency you’ve got in that sick brain of yours, and I promise to let that shit motivate me into beating your ass a second time. The Shepherd is willing to play the pain game all night if that’s what it takes to become the marquee man on Fallout.”


“I’m guessing Drago feels the same way. Hell, we’re a lot more alike than either of us would like to admit. We both call The Motor City our home, we’re both charming motherfuckers, and we both like to hurt people. I might even say that Drago is a bad motherfucker, but that’s where our similarities start to disappear, cause I’m THE bad motherfucker. The only thing Drago has that I don’t is the Prime Championship, but I’m fixing to change that at Wired Consequences. I know I have what it takes to be the champion deep down in my cold, black soul, just like I know I have what it takes to put a sick freak like Drago down for the count.”




When a new day dawned on the city of Detroit, Julius and Rass were already well into the next phase of their training. This time they were not in an abandoned steel mill, on a rooftop, or at a train station, but in the close confines of Julius’ own kitchen. The two men sat across from each other, staring into each other’s eyes and determined not to blink. On the counter between them were several empty pie tins, along with a stack of multi-colored playing cards.


Rass: “Uno.”


The simple proclamation from the old man not only made Julius blink, but it made him throw his cards down in anger.


Julius: “Motherfucker! Again?! You’re gonna win your fifth straight hand! How do you keep getting so many Draw Fours?!”


Rass: “There are some ancient secrets I will not share.”


Julius hung his head and gave it a frustrated shake. After pouting for a few moments, he looked back at the old man with a sudden realization.


Julius: “Wait a minute. Doesn’t all of this preparation go against what you’ve been teaching me? The card games, the staring contest, hangman...I thought I wasn’t supposed to prepare for all of the possible contests at Wired Consequences?”


The old man took a long drag from his pipe before giving his pupil an answer.


Rass: “You’re not. This was just an excuse to eat pie for breakfast.”


Julius: “Motherfucker…”


Rass al Lin stood up from his kitchen chair, holding his full belly with one hand and brushing the stray pie crumbs from his beard with the other. At that moment, several Uno cards began to fall out of the sleeve of his robe. Julius’ eyes began to widen, but before he could say anything, Rass quickly thought up an excuse.


Rass: “An important lesson you have learned here today; always be aware that your opponent may be cheating.”


With those convenient words of wisdom, Rass rushed out of the kitchen, leaving Julius to contemplate what he’d learned.




“Drago Santiago, Contessa Floran, Pyro...sure, that may be some stiff competition, but they ain’t nothing I can’t handle. It won’t matter if I’m stuffing your asses in an ambulance or a dumpster. It won’t matter if I’m tapping you out in a Fight Pit. It won’t even matter if we’re all locked up in cages and then set loose on each other like wild animals. No matter what the crazy motherfuckers vote on, my beautiful ass is walking into Wired Consequences knowing I can handle anything you motherfucker dish out.”


“It goes without saying that the same goes for James motherfucking Edgebrook. Bitch, I’ve got a chance to be Prime Champion, but before I can do that, I’ve got to take care of some unfinished business with Project: Honor’s most useless staff member. That’s saying a lot, considering the only place you can see Callum Walker is on the side of a milk carton.”


“The thing is, I was content to make fun of James on a regular basis until he grew a pair and fired back with some decent shots of his own. Instead, he decided to make things physical. I can’t let that shit stand. So Jimmy, I’m gonna make an ass out of you one more time before I claim that Prime Championship for myself. Then, after you’ve been outplayed in whatever game the fans want to see, you’ll have the honor of putting me in your Elite Seven next week. After all, that’s where a newly crowned Prime Champion deserves to be.”


“Make no mistake, that’s exactly what I’m gonna be after Wired Consequences. My ass is on a motherfucking roll, and ain’t no saints, skanks, or schizophrenics gonna stop my momentum now. If a bolt of lightning strikes the ring and God himself shows up at Wired Consequences to fight my ass, I’ll still find a motherfucking way to get that gold. Winning by any means necessary is an instinct I can’t ignore, and once Wired Consequences is over and done with, I’ll be the champion that can’t be denied."


"Until next time, motherfuckers…”