Performance Review

Between Fallout’s international schedule and filming The F Word, it had been awhile since Julius had taken the time to return to the luxurious home in Detroit that his hard work had been paying for. After a brutal and bloody match at Disputed Territory, a little time at home was just what he needed to recharge before another series of shows across South America, yet fate had more in mind for Julius than a peaceful respite. With Nigel Half-Weather along for the ride, The Furious One pulled up to the curb outside his urban home, shut off The Avengers on his iPad, and looked up to see to see a gaggle of people gathered around his front step. With a confused scowl, Julius exited his cab while the driver retrieved his bag from the trunk.

JULIUS: What the motherfucking fuck…?

It didn’t take long for the crowd to notice his arrival, which immediately turned their attention away from his home so that they could focus on the man himself.

FAN #1: There he is! It’s really him!

FAN #2: I love you, Julius!

FAN #3: Bald is beautiful!

FAN #4: I want to have your baby!

FAN #5: I already had his baby, bitch!

As the fans charged towards him like a herd of cattle, he could not help wonder if Edgebrook had released his home address to the public in retaliation for giving out his cell number on The F Word, but as one excited fan in particular ran up to him, Julius quickly realized that the situation was due to his own recent actions.

FAN #6: Can I get a picture with you, Luther?

Hearing his real name escape the lips of a fan caused Julius to shoot the young man an annoyed, bug-eyed glare, as he began to realize that his most recent promo was coming back to haunt him.

JULIUS: Motherfucker, what did you call me?

FAN #6: That’s...that’s your name, right? Luther Franklin?

In an effort to keep his professional life separate from his personal one, Julius had registered his home under his real name, which after revealing in his last promo against Pyro, the more rabid fans had used to track him down. Julius clenched his fists and shook his head back and forth, which was enough to convince the fan to back off, even if dozens of other fans continued to press in around him. Some of them called out to him by using his stage name, others his real name, but all of them contributed to the burning of his short fuse. Without putting any thought behind his actions, Julius did the only thing that he could think of, as he pulled the .45 from inside of his suit jacket and waved it in the air like a madman.

JULIUS: All you motherfuckers better get to steppin’ before I pop a cap in someone’s ass! Now get the fuck off my property and don’t let my name roll around your fat fucking tongues again!

Some fans heeded his warning, while others smiled and laughed, lost in the belief that it was part of his public persona. With a grimace upon his face, Julius felt that he had no choice but to fire a few rounds into the air.

JULIUS: I SAID GET TO STEPPIN’ MOTHERFUCKERS!

This time the crowd of fans dispersed, running away in various directions as they gave off panicked shrieks. Once Julius was content with the distance the fans had put between themselves and his property, he tucked the .45 back into his suit jacket as Nigel gave him a bewildered look.

NIGEL: They’re gonna be callin’ the cops on your ass!

JULIUS: Won’t be the first time I’ve had the po-po up in my crib. Now pick up my bag and get your little ass inside. It’s time for an official Team Fairweather meeting…



A short while later, Julius managed to gather all of his household guests, hired employees, and tagalongs in the master dining room. Seated at the head of the table, as if he was the boss of the world’s strangest mafia, was Julius himself. Joining him around the table were Bambi and Candy Swallows, Winston Winfield, Rass a’ Lin, Thaddeus Hieronymus Craft, Momma Fairweather, Lemmy the Lemur, and Nigel Half-Weather. While the expression on Julius’ face portrayed that he was as serious as the shits in a traffic jam, the members of his entourage were hardly taking the situation seriously. Julius eyed each of them like a hungry vulture as they chatted and laughed amongst themselves, until finally he could take no more.

JULIUS: LISTEN UP, MOTHERFUCKERS! And momma, you too, please.

MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Yes, sugar bear.

The large woman to Julius’ right gave him a pleasant smile as she placed her needle-point on the dining table while the others snapped to attention.

JULIUS: There was an idea...an idea to bring together a group of remarkable motherfuckers, to see if they could become something more. To see if they could work together when I needed them to fight the battles I couldn’t be bothered with. You were that group of motherfuckers...Julius' League of Assholes. The idea remains sound, but my judgment may have been just a little bit off. Now it’s time to make some changes.

At first there were smiles and a little bit of laughter, but once everyone around the table realized that Julius was serious, a deathly silence crept over them.

JULIUS: Let’s start at my right with Bambi and Candy…




JULIUS: The two of you were brought on board to look hot as hell, drive up the ratings on The F Word, and never say a goddamn thing. Mission accomplished.

The twins giggled, jiggled, and hugged each other enthusiastically, happy that they’d kept their place on Team Fairweather.

JULIUS: Which brings me to the motherfucker on your left…

Both twins looked at Julius to their right.

JULIUS: ...your other left.

They then turned to set their eyes on the middle aged emcee with the gray pencil moustache.




JULIUS: That’s right, Winston, I’m talking about you. As the very first motherfucker I hired when building this elite cadre of motherfuckers, I expected you to set a good example and lead the goddamn team. Based on that, I’d say you're skating on thin fucking ice, but don’t ever say that your boss doesn’t have a heart. I don’t know if I could bear seeing you begging for change on the street again, and you’ve got the ring announcing job down pretty well. So, for now, you get to stay on.

Winston pulled the handkerchief from his suit pocket to dab the sweat off his brow as he let out a huge sigh of relief.

WINSTON: Thank you so much, sir…

JULIUS: But I don’t remember asking you a goddamn thing!

Winston immediately fell silent as Julius’ bug-eyed stare fell upon him.




JULIUS: Then we come to my spiritual advisor; the man who came on board to help me find balance in the ways of the motherfucking force or some shit like that. Instead, I gave his wrinkled old ass a place to crash and then all I started to do was lose!

The ancient Chinese man took a hit from his long, slender pipe before speaking up in his own defense.

RASS: A man must first lose himself in order to find himself…

JULIUS: Shut the fuck up, motherfucker! You started teaching me The Five Ways of the Gimmick, but all it took was three of those motherfuckers before I realized you were just taking ideas from that David Carradine Kung Fu movie!

RASS: But I taught you discipline, intuition, and character...

JULIUS: And which lessons were next, motherfucker?

RASS: ...killer instinct and strength?

JULIUS: Uh-huh. Discipline. Intuition. Character. Killer instinct. Strength. Take the first letters of each one and that’s the wisdom you have to share! Nothing but D.I.C.K.S.! How many months were you gonna run with that shit just for a motherfucking punchline?

RASS: Well, I…

JULIUS: It wasn’t even that funny, motherfucker! Your ass is fired! Get the fuck out of my house before I knock the ancient Chinese secrets outta your ass!

Utterly defeated, Rass slowly arose from his chair and began to hobble toward the door.

JULIUS: And put that motherfucking cane away! I done caught your ass doing Billy Blanks’ Tai Bo the last time I was home!

The old man glanced over his shoulder before tucking the cane under his arm and completing his exit unhindered.




JULIUS: Well, well, well...look who’s next on the motherfucking list. If it ain’t my next door neighbor and bodyguard, T.H.C. The same motherfucker who got the job on the night that Drago and Pyro left me laying backstage. The motherfucker who wasn’t nowhere to be seen when Pyro set my ass on fire a couple of weeks after that.

With a meek smile, Thaddeus waved at Julius from the far end of the table.

JULIUS: I could’ve had that Travolta-looking motherfucker watching my back or better yet, that big old walking tank, Trip Hammer. Instead, I ended up with your lame ass.

THC: Well, a lot of people hate you so it’s not an easy job…

JULIUS: Motherfucker, you couldn’t even keep those fans out of my yard! They stomped all over my petunias and everything!

MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Mm-hmm. You tell him, baby.

THC: Maybe you shouldn't have revealed your secret identity? I mean, there's a reason Clark Kent wears glasses...

JULIUS: Shut the fuck up, toothpick! You’re fired, motherfucker! Get your ass back across the street to your own goddamn house, and if I catch you spying on me with that telescope again, I’m gonna shove it so far up your ass that your teeth will be able to see Uranus!

Thaddeus gave his former boss a puzzled look, as if he were trying to figure out the physics behind Julius’ threat.

JULIUS: Now, motherfucker!

Without argument, T.H.C. quickly leapt up from his chair and made a beeline for the exit.




JULIUS: How are you doing over there, momma?

MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Oh, I’m fine, sugar bear. Don’t you worry about me none.

JULIUS: Can I get you some more of that sweet tea you like so much? You’re not missing out on your afternoon shows, are you?

MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: I’m just right as rain, honey child. You just keep on doing what you’re doing.

JULIUS: I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck finding an apartment yet?

MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Oh, not just yet. Don't you worry none, I’m sure something will come up soon enough.

JULIUS: That’s just great, momma...just great…

The forced smile on Julius’ face was enough to fool his mother for the time-being, as he then turned his attention to the furry creature seated next to her.




JULIUS: Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy, Lemmy?

The fully-dressed lemur scampered across the table and took his spot on Julius' lap so that The Furious One could scratch behind his ears.

JULIUS: Goddamn right you are, motherfucker. Lemmy stays.




NIGEL: Well, I guess that just about does it. Now if someone could show me to my room…

JULIUS: Not so fast, mini-me. We got some shit to sort out.

NIGEL: Wait a minute, I just got here! What in the hell did I do wrong?

JULIUS: Take a step back, little motherfucker. I admit, your Fight Pit idea wasn’t so bad, and you did a decent job filling in for me on The F Word…

NIGEL: That’s what I’m talking about!

JULIUS: ...but you also kept your mouth shut when Pyro snuck into my locker room to light my ass up, and when it was time for me to enter that Fight Pit, my so-called corner man was nowhere to be found…

NIGEL: Don’t you do it…

JULIUS: You’re fired, motherfucker! Now get to steppin’ before I turn you into my personal Mr. Potato Head and skull-fuck all the empty holes I’m gonna make from the pieces I rip off!

NIGEL: You’re keeping the fucking lemur and firing me?! Motherfucker, you ain’t even paid me yet!

JULIUS: And I ain’t going to! Now get your Oompa Loompa ass outta here!

With a look of sheer anger upon his face, Nigel moved away from the table, but he refused to leave before offering a threat of his own…

NIGEL: You’re gonna pay for this, Julius! Someway, somehow, you’re gonna rue the day you crossed me!

With that, Nigel stormed from the room, leaving Julius, The Swallows Twins, Winston, Momma Fairweather, and Lemmy to contemplate their next moves.



Hours later, with the housecleaning complete and his life free of a few leeches, Julius made his way to his private den, where he could enjoy a nice glass of Hennessey while addressing his fans and detractors with an aired promo. Seated near the fireplace in an overstuffed easy chair and dressed in his suede smoking jacket, he grins at the camera.

“What’s up, motherfuckers? We’re just over a week removed from Disputed Territory, and that shit was as crazy as I expected it to be. No, I wasn’t able to put Pyro out of our misery like I had hoped, but I promise that I did my best to at least knock some sense into his thick skull. At least he won’t have Drago fucking up his brain anymore than it already is thanks to my boy, Jason Long. Not only that, but Dom Daddy DeMarco has this thing for holiday themed matches, and because of that, me and Pryo are gonna do our dance of death at least one more time.”

“We’re not the only two motherfuckers caught in a time warp like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, cause this time it’s a six-person tag match with a few other motherfuckers along for the ride. Recently, I took some time to clean out the clutter in my life, and while cutting some motherfuckers loose shouldn’t be a fun thing to do, I admit that it raised my spirits and helped put the failures of Disputed Territory behind me. So why fuck with a winning formula when I can just hit everyone in the match with their own performance review?”

“Since I already mentioned him, we may as well start this shit with the oil to my water, the yin to my yang, the Lex Luthor to my black Superman. No, it ain’t James Edgebrook. He’d be more like a back-alley pick-pocket in comparison to my superhero status. I’m talking about Pyro, the motherfucker who refuses to die. By now, we’ve found ourselves in all kinds of crazy situations. Sometimes he wins, sometimes I win, and sometimes both of us lose. There hasn’t been a clear winner between the two of us yet, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m starting to wonder if there ever will be.”

“He’s a sick freak intent on sharing his pain with the world, and he’s shared a little bit of it with yours truly. Now don’t start thinking that your boy’s going soft, cause this ain’t no mutual respect bullshit I’m serving up. It’s just the way things are. Pyro and I might fight until the end of time, which suits me just fine. Maybe I’ll never put out his fire, but you can damn sure bet that he ain’t putting The Shepherd out to pasture either. Yeah, I hate his guts and he hates mine. That ain’t nothing new. The only thing new is the motherfuckers who we’re gonna find ourselves in the ring with. So as much as I’d love to fire his ass, I’m pretty sure he’d get a kick out of it or have some cheesy one-liner to throw back at me. Of course he ain’t no model employee either, so there ain’t no raise coming his way. Instead, he can expect the same thing he’s been getting for a while now, and that’s a furious fight courtesy of Mr. Fairweather.”

“On the other side of the aisle, we have someone who has a strong dislike for Pyro just like me. Only she’s not about the furious anger and great vengeance. For her, it’s all about the candy and rainbows. Just don’t let that sweet face fool you, cause Savannah Sunshine has had enough of that damsel in distress bullshit and she’s about to unload a can of whoop-ass all over the opposing team. She’s already the number one contender to the Noble Championship with a win over Valkyrie, so we all know she can hold her own. Hell, that woman puts up with Jason Long on a regular basis, so she has to be tougher than a two-dollar steak of nails! Not only that, but she pinned Havoc to win that match! You know, Havoc? The guy who can supposedly only eliminate himself in those multi-motherfucker matches? Yeah, she pinned his ass to the mat and she’ll do the same to Pyro, Valkyrie, or Kayla if I don’t get the job done first. Number one contender to the Noble Title? Honored and valued member of Team Fairweather? It’s starting to sound like Savannah’s earned herself a promotion already.”

“So how about Valkyrie? Yeah, the lady’s got spirit and she can throw down, but I haven’t seen enough to make me shake in my boots just yet. In fact, she might be the weak link when it comes to our opponents. Now I ain’t taking her lightly, but even a blind man can see that she ain’t made the kind of impact that her teammates have. She can make all the threats of hurting her opponents that she wants, but until she makes this bad motherfucker wince in pain, she ain’t nothing more than a cool Northern breeze blowing into my motherfucking ring. So when she rides into town on her big, bad motor scooter and swings that razor wire bat in my direction, she’d better be ready for me to snatch that motherfucker out of her hands and shove it back up her exhaust pipe. I ain’t nobody’s bitch, especially when that someone prays to Anthony Hopkins in an eyepatch and a cape. Consider this your notice, Valkyrie. I’ll be handing out the pink slips on Fallout.”

“You know who’s not getting a motherfucking pink slip? Pixie Sloane. We’re talking about a badass woman and I’m glad she’s on Team Fairweather and not on the other side of the ring. Becoming the Noble Champion at the expense of Kayla Richards ain’t nothing to ignore. Not only can she outwrestle motherfuckers, but she can outfight them too. Pixie’s all about sisterhood, and while I may not be the most forward thinking motherfucker on the roster, this brother is happy to have sisters like Pixie and Savannah in my corner. Hell, now that I think about it, I’m the only motherfucker on our team that didn’t get a big win at Disputed Territory! Maybe I should stop calling us Team Fairweather and step aside so Pixie can captain the ship. After all, we’re still a group of bad motherfuckers at heart, especially Pixie Sloane. I guess I’ll let her give herself a raise, seeing as how she outranks me.”

“That brings us to the last person in the match, the former Noble Champion, Kayla Richards. This lady wears her bad attitude like a badge of honor, right on top of those fake jigglies she’s so damn proud of. At first glance, some motherfuckers might say that old Julius is at a disadvantage facing off with Kayla and those expensive fun bags. The thing is, I was bouncing motherfuckers out the door and on their asses at Butch’s Beaver Emporium before I found myself in Project: Honor, and I’ve seen plenty of silicone in my day. I may appreciate the subtle hands of Kayla’s surgeon, but that ain’t gonna stop me from turning those glorified punching bags black and blue. They sure as hell ain’t gonna distract me from how dangerous she can be in the ring either. As for her performance evaluation, I ain’t about to fire Kayla just for being the biggest beyotch on the roster. I ain’t even gonna give her a written warning. I don’t have to do any of that, because Pixie already demoted her ass.”

“So there you have it. Team Pixie Sunshine-Weather is looking pretty motherfucking good when you stack us up together. On the other hand, the Nordic Fire Tits leave a little to be desired. Those three motherfuckers don’t realize that their ain’t no ‘I’ in ‘Team’, and this repeat match is gonna look a lot like round one. Second verse, same as the first, motherfuckers. Kayla’s not gonna have the answer to the riddle that is Pixie Sloan, Valkyrie’s gonna be outshined by Savannah Sunshine, and Pyro won’t be able to drag his team to a double knock-out draw. Our stock prices are on the rise while our opponents are one step closer to going out of business. You motherfuckers are headed for bankruptcy courtesy of the best damn makeshift team the Fallout brand has ever seen. We may not be a well-oiled group of Super Friends, but the three of you ain't no Legion of Doom either. Hell, you motherfuckers ain't even the Baltimore Oriels. Now be cool, or be gone.”

Julius raises his glass to the camera before taking a long drink, bringing his promo to its conclusion.







Meanwhile…

Across the very street from where Julius is wrapping up his promo for Fallout, a trio of sinister ne'er-do-wells have gathered together with revenge in their hearts. They have gathered around an open pizza box laying atop the kitchen counter, eating slices of the most vile concoction of anchovies, sauerkraut, pineapple, and green olives that the world has ever seen.

RASS A’ LIN: So, it has been decided?

THADDEUS HIERONYMUS CRAFT: Count me in.

NIGEL HALF-WEATHER: That motherfucker is gonna rue the day he crossed us…

The three men each hold up a slice of pizza as if making a toast, this malevolent pack forever sealing their fates and the fate of their former employer.

RASS A’ LIN: Then as of today, the end of Julius Fairweather begins…

THADDEUS HIERONYMUS CRAFT: ...along with all those he holds dear...

NIGEL HALF-WEATHER: ...and the Fairweather Revenge Squad is born.

Lightning flashes in the sky outside of THC’s apartment, thunder rolls in the distance, and the maniacal laughter from this den of deceit echoes into eternity…