#I’m networking like a fuckin champ

[sepiaorchards]

✨I ❤️ being tense and weird✨

[leaveharmony]

Like it's not as though there's nothing they could possibly do w/ him that I wouldn't bitch about.  It's that at this point I'm inescapably forced to conclude there's nothing they're WILLING to do that I wouldn't bitch about. He's literally had to work four times as hard for half as much at this point??? Trash allen waltzed into the company at one of the big 4 ppv's while Shinsuke spent a year in developmental.  He had two lengthy title runs that (iirc, I can't stand looking at the motherfucker and tbh I can't even remember who he won this round from) he didn't have to swing-and-a-miss for over and over again.  He had successful main roster title defenses - I'm struggling to recall even one that Shinsuke had?  Like at a big event??  Was there even one?  I'm legit asking I've never had the network so I don't get NXT but iirc he never had a Takeover title defense he didn't fucking lose.  I'm not even sure he had a regular weekly show defense tbh They've had him losing clean in title shots REPEATEDLY without ever winning the damn thing, they've ignored their own bullshit “Pinning a champion puts you in the conversation for a challenge” rules like 3 times (he pinned Kev AT LEAST that many when Kev was US champ - twice in singles matches).  And when he entered / won the Rumble, they had him blow that shot too.  Heels and faces alike make fun of his english and his race and his looks (it's handwaved away when they get called on it as “We have lots of kooooooky characters it doesn't mean anything!”), he's worked dark matches rather than have televised ones more often than not.  His promos get interrupted or cut off entirely and we are on the razor's edge of a full blown racist-ass ~foreign heel~ gimmick here.  Every fucking week I dread what might happen...though that's been true since like, the third SD he was on.  I knew even then, the warning signs were all there. They've done every fucking thing they could possibly think of to undermine his credibility and make him look like a goddamn fool at this point.  Every fuckin' time people are still behind him.  People are ALWAYS behind him.  But they can't acknowledge that, they can't carry it through or use it.  Boy who cried fuckin’ wolf, man.  I won’t believe they’ll let him have the belt til it’s around his waist and even then I’d give it maybe two months before they have him lose it again, if that long.

[ghostradiostoryhour]

Dinosaur Vacation Shirt

[POWER ON]

[cmd login, access code ********]

[Security question: What is your mother’s maiden name?]

[******]

[!]

[Access code confirmed]

[Hello! What would you like to do?]

[cmd network sync]

[Syncing to Marley Corporation Interspace Wi-Fi . . .]

[!]

[Connection confirmed.]

[!]

[ONE! New video transmission, sender: test facility 2345xHju, NORTH BASTION]

[Access transmission? Y/N]

[Y]

[cmd apply timestamp]

[21:30:20 timestamp applied]

[21:30:23 transmission status: incoming]

[21:30:27 transmission status: confirmed]

[21:30:57 transmission status: buffering…]

[21:31:02 Start transmission? Y/N]

[Y]

[21:31:22 Starting transmission. 3… 2… 1…]

Fuckin’ camera, come ON.

Damn red dust clogging everything up.

Ok, there.

I think we’re rolling.

I’m about to bite the big one. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I’ve already lost a shit ton of blood, and I’m shaky as fuck. And I have no clue where the fucking med bay is in this damn rePark. And I’m wearing a fucking dinosaur-themed vacation shirt. Whoever finds me is going to think I was a moron.

Not that that matters.

Anyway, my guess is I’m not long for this world.

And what a world it has turned out to be.

I guess I should give a little background, considering I have no way of knowing where or when in the multiverse this damn transmission is gonna end up. If it’s even gonna end up anywhere. Oh well, human folly, all that.

Yeah.

So I’m on Amarsica. 2079. That’s what we’ve made of that red ball of dust people used to call Mars. Terraforming, blah blah blah. The name sucks, doesn’t it? Most of us old enough to remember Earth still just call it Mars. Anyway, the good ol’ US of A somehow found oil beneath the rocky surface, so you know the rest. Soon as someone pulled together a prototype for the giant, gleaming shell cities we Amarsicans call home, the U.S. invested. Government spent the last of what it had to finance terraforming on Mars to create a remote colony that could drill for crude, barrel it up, and ship it back via shuttle. I guess there was life on mars, once—we just missed it by a couple hundred thousand years. Weird thing about Mars is, there’s plenty oil, but there’s not that much water up here, at least not naturally occurring water. Yeah, there’s the polar ice caps, but if we were only relying on that to sustain the shell cities, we would have run out in about a decade or two. That’s why they built the H2O factories, out on Far Planet. Giant enclosed warehouses without oxygenized atmosphere—better to fuse hydrogen and oxygen in a vacuum in order to avoid something like the Hindenburg. It’s a decent job, rainmaking, but not one I’d want. More dangerous than rigging, by far, even if it does pay a doctor’s salary. Plus the commute out to Far Planet can take a week or more on transpo. I stick to the rigs that’re enveloped in their own safe terraforming bubbles, thanks.

I don’t really know how well the whole system works—as a colony of the U.S., we don’t get much news in what goes on down Earthside. Guess having us up here makes life for Earthbound U.S. citizens better. Finally working on implementing free healthcare down there, last I heard. Not up here. And boy do I know it.

Dammit, Candi would know what to do in this situation. She always did have an answer.

Anyway.

A buddy of mine growing up used to call Amarsica the Florida of space, whatever that means. Rich half’s Miami, poor half’s I don’t know, the swamp, I guess, if the swamp were just a dry patch of dirt. It’s not a great metaphor, but you get the idea. Income gap’s out of control.

I was maybe four when we moved out here in 2033. My family—all doctors, except me—were part of the first colonization wave. This planet was supposed to be an outpost of sorts, a military base. You know, the whole China thing. But then old-ass, life-extending-nanobot-filled Elon Musk and his people jumped all over it, and started creating ultra-lux resorts for the uber rich in the 2040s, and, well. Amarsica became the premiere vacation destination, or at least lush, green East Planet did, anyway. Dusty, parched West Planet, where I grew up, is still all refineries and oilfields. West Planet is the servants’ quarters of Mars.

I live with my girlfriend Candi in a busted old Airstream, at least before she died. She had a kid, a teenage girl—blue hair, piercings, a black and grey hoodie with holes in the sleeves—and I got on the kid’s good side by building her a little A/C-capable shed of her own next to the trailer. The kid and I weren’t close, not really, but I loved her too, as an extension of Candi. Or maybe as an extension of myself. I’m not sure where the affection came from, but it was real, and it was there, and it was as awkward as a giant moving box in the tiny trailer with us anytime we interacted. Where was the boundary? Who was I to her? Who was she to me? All I knew was that I really, reallydidn’t want to mess up the kid’s life. So generally I kept my distance.

The kid was a total pro on the hover. Suited for math, like Candi was. Analytical. She was smart. Wary. Good at the things she wanted to be good at. The kid wasn’t a big fan of me, sure, and despite all her smarts, she was never interested in school. She carried a messenger bag with a neon green SLACKER patch everywhere she went, hover folded up and stashed away next to whatever book she was reading that week. She didn’t have many friends, but that didn’t seem to bother her much. She was totally focused on her plan to go on to be a hover champ. Candi was always taking her to far planet tourneys with the hope that some engineering firm would sponsor the kid—the X Games had surged in popularity on Earth since Amarsica’s far planet low-grav atmo sections provided bigger, sicker air than ever, and since the invention of hovers in general. It’s now or never, the kid always said. Hover scouts only want boarders in their teens. I understood the feeling. She knew who she was, what she wanted, and how to get it. She had to focus on that goal, didn’t want to miss her window.

But since Candi died, she’d lost that focus. That’s how I knew she was really hurting. The kid hadn’t even been back on the hover since the day Candi got sick.

That moment is etched in my memory, can’t shake it for shit.

Candi burst into the Airstream at five P.M., carrying bags of airsealed fresh grosh and enough printables for the next two weeks. Today was errand day, I knew; second Friday of the month. Candi was a nurse down at the off-rig hospital in New Pasadena, the one where I was usually stationed. The one with the most injuries. Keeps a nurse busy. Keeps us on our toes. Candi plopped a bag of Cheezballs on the counter, and the kid, trailing her, blue hair shagged down over her eyes like the latest popstar, hover in hand, grabbed the bag with her free hand and ripped it open with her teeth.

“Manners,” Candi scolded. The kid made eye contact with her and spat out the ripped top of the plastic bag. Then she headed back outside.

“Hover,” she offered as explanation, then let the door slam behind her.

           “How was your day?” I asked Candi.

           “Oh you know, the usual,” she beamed and popped a ChickenCaz cartridge into the kitchen printer. The machine whirred to life and started laying stripes of puff pastry crust down in a perfect rectangle in Candi’s old stoneware casserole dish with the ducks on it. “Lots of blood and guts. But that’s the best part about it.” She smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

           “You’re disgusting,” I said and she smiled again. I sat down in the chair by the TV to watch the kid out the window.

           “She just broke up with her girlfriend, by the way,” Candi said from the kitchen.

I watched the kid out the window. She was doing flips on the hover in the patch of dirt that served as our yard, tossing a cheeseball into the air and then zooming up and over to catch it in her mouth at the top of each flip. The red dust plains stretched endless behind her, the bluish meniscus of the East Planet terraforming bubble just visible as a glinting reflection of the sunset on the horizon.

“Girlfriend? Wasn’t she just dating a guy?”

Candi scoffed. “Carl, she’s not limited to just one kind of attraction.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “I just—she moves on fast, is all.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a teenager,” Candi said. I heard the sounds of her stacking the grosh in the fridge. “They do that.”

“You think we need to talk to her about it?” I asked. It was hard to tell when the kid was broken up over something, or at least it used to be. Now it was painfully clear.

“Nah,” Candi said. “You know Bryn. She’s resilient, and she—”

A clatter of grosh packets, the horrible sound of a body crumpling to the ground. The glass of water she’d been holding shattered on the faux tiles of the Airstream’s floor.

I jumped to my feet. Outside, the kid fell off her hover, sprinted inside.

“Mom!?” she yelled.

“Candi!”

She blinked, came to. A little fuzzy, unhurt, at least from what we could tell that day. But there it was. The beginning of the constant fatigue and the rapid weight loss, of the doctor’s office trips, of our knowledge of the badness in her bones.

The beginning of the end.

And it would end, only six months later, even though the doctors had given her five years, easy. Even untreated, she should have stayed longer. She shouldn’t have died.

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

None of us had ever really been to East Planet. The hospital was over there, the one we took Candi to. And we’d make the annual trip to go vote at the ballots. But we hadn’t spent time there. Not long enough to really experience it. And it is an experience.

There are the hyper-developed suburbs for the uber wealthy, massive custom houses placed atop long stretching green lawns like crown jewels, glimmering white colonials, spired and gothic gray Victorians, the bright yellow of enormous, Spanish-style haciendas. There are trees, too: every kind, from massive, sprawling oaks to delicate cherry trees covered in blush pink blossoms. Pristine private lakes glisten with the freshest water available from Far Planet.

If you’re thinking Hollywood, you’re not wrong. A lot of big movie stars live in East Planet, now—well, all the aging movie stars, anyway. The retirees. Tons of former professional athletes. Tom Brady has a mansion that literally floats in the sky—some kind of specialized low-grav build. A lot of ex-football players (from back before it was banned) come up to Amarsica for the top notch brain damage treatments, if they can still afford the trip. I hear they’ve opened a few drug rehab facilities up here, too, for the ones who really need a change of scenery in order to recover. Like I said. East Planet has become a kind of wellness Mecca, for those who have the cash. You can get full-on skin replacements, be launched into orbit for a year as an anti-aging measure, dynamic gene editing, and more, if you have the money for it. You can also get state of the art cancer treatment for what Candi had. But not if you’re living on a rigger’s salary.

There are two main corporations who run the whole thing. The Marley Corporation and something called CorpSec, which also runs the refineries where people like me work. It’s not an official monopoly, but it’s pretty clear to anyone who looks twice that there’s no other competition, and that the Marley Corporation and CorpSec are at least copacetic, if not wholly owned by the same people. Whatever. I guess this is what happens at the far end of capitalism. Monopolies aren’t monopolies, but only because now they’re corporate oligarchies. Some fifty years ago, they say there was a move toward socialism, but once oil on Mars became a legitimate prospect, all the legislators swung back to the old standard, dollar signs in their eyes.

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

I wasn’t always like this, bitter and pissed off at the East Planet elite. But after Candi, the extravagance felt more unfair than it ever had before. And I wanted to see it, in person. The kid and I deserved that much. If it were so important to keep these movie stars alive, when our Candi had to die without treatment, then hell. The kid and I were going to see them, at least once.

The only semi-affordable trip to East Planet, these days, is a trip to one of the ReParks, specialized natural habitats for all of the rich people who opted to become ReAnimals. I mean, yeah, the reParks are mostly out of style now, but they were all the rage for a solid couple of decades. Anybody famous who’d died in, I don’t know, the ‘40s or ‘50s are still out there kickin,’ in some form or another, their consciousness implanted into a custom, lab-grown animal synthetic. If you believe the doctors who perform the implantation, your entire personality is preserved; it’s really you in there, only you’re a tiger or a bear now, or whatever. Apparently, there’s a full communication system in the synthetic too—you can’t actually speak, because you’re an animal now, but you can text back and forth with each other, with human family and friends. Pretty state of the art stuff.

I figured a trip to the newest of the parks, the biggest and most extravagant, would be a nice distraction. A way to try to get back to our lives. A bookmark. Or a kind of eraser, even better. We deserved it, after everything. We deserved a look at these East Planet riches, at the people who wouldn’t give Candi the medicine she needed. It would be cathartic, poetic.

At least that’s what I thought then. This shit—agh, sorry, still stings where fabric’s stretched across the skin—none of us deserved this shit.

Still, Candi would have liked coming here, damage be damned. She was obsessed with the weekly tabloids. The idea of stalking through an artificial, Jurassic rainforest in order to get a glimpse of Jason Momoa as a reStego was totally up her alley. But Candi was also an adrenaline junkie, loved an adventure, whatever it was. I guess the kid took after her in that way. I took a little vial of her ashes with me, for old times’ sake. Still got ‘em around my neck, see? Guess I won’t be going out alone after all.

It wasn’t just Candi, though. Everybody I know wants to get out here just to try and guess which of the ReRaptors housed Beyonce’s consciousness, see which of the ReBrontos Meryl Streep was lounging around in. They all could picture themselves laughing about how stupid Bill Gates would look as RePteradactyl, with those leathery wings and that awkward cone head. But deep down, each and every one of them wants to reincarnate as a dino.

Why? That’s easy. When it comes to reincarnations, the bigger and flashier the animal, the higher the price tag. Why do you think there are so goddamn many reRats around? Hell, if I decided to reincarnate, I’d probably only have enough for a reRat, and that’s being optimistic. Most people these days can’t afford much more than reLivestock, at the most. The rePredators are for hedge fund managers—nobody I know has planned for anything flashier than a reCat.

When it first came about, voluntary reincarnation, a lot of big wigs and celebs were still feeling weird about supplanting their conciousnesses into an animal’s body. Which, you know, makes sense, if you haven’t gotten used to the idea. I mean PETA had a conniption about the whole thing, of course, but technically, since all the reAnimals were grown from dead pig skin cells in Petri dishes out of Mars Settlement labs, they’re not really animals, and anyway in the end the Supreme Court dismissed the case. Who gives a fuck about the rights of labgrown animal shells that aren’t even born with consciousness? Not the governing body of the United States, that’s for damn sure. Especially if those living animal skins offer a shot at immortality for humans. Ain’t no human gives a damn once there’s something in it for them, and that’s the truth.

Anyway, things started off small, like they always do. The first reRat. The first reDog. Then after a few years more, the first reTiger, Siberian. All Instagram famous. More and more people decided to reincarnate before they passed. Before the whole process was made affordable, families bankrupted their savings to give grandma a new lease on life, this time as a reWolf or a reHorse or even a reDolphin, once reCorp opened up the controversial ocean-based conservancies on Earth. Damn, CorpSec had a hell of a time regulating the waters once global warming picked up, though. Not that defending the land-based conservancies for the reincarnated was any easier. I can’t even imagine the hell those Grandma reDolphins are in, now that the moon’s orbit’s been artificially slowed. I’m sure the oceans are all kinds of fucked. But I haven’t been back Earthside, not since I left in 2035.

Since last year, the news has been going on about an Everglades-themed reGator park—imagine that, wanting to go vacation at a place where a bunch of reGators running around with the brains of dead middle-class boomers behind the wheel. But yeah, the park is apparently real, complete with reGator wrestling and, some say, even reGator hunting, for the right price if you know a guy. Though if that were the case, CorpSec would have been on them like a bunch of reRats on a discarded bag of synthetic barbeque Taterlike wedges at the transpo. Say what you will about the reincarnation biz, the reRats have really become a problem for pre-Re—or OG, or whatever the fuck people are calling it now—human Amarsica colonists like yours truly. They’re everywhere, digging through the trash to suck the leftover fat ink out of ChickenCaz and TurkRoast cartridges, attacking family picnics at parks, the whole deal. At least Amarsica has no natural animal life, only synthetic reAnimals. Otherwise, we’d be overrun. There’d be fights, too, I imagine—animal vs reAnimal, and I think that kinda takes the whole point out of getting reincarnated at all. If there’s a chance something else will kill you why go to the trouble—and expense—of jumping your consciousness into a vulnerable animal skin on your deathbed?

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

So the kid and I load up on the transpo, and zip off to East Planet. They tell us on Comm that we’re staying in a state of the art reResort, newly purchased from The Marley Corporation, the people who invented the reincarnation industry in the first place. The trip on transpo only took 30 minutes, and then we had arrived at the intersection of celebrity culture and the fear of death: the official reDinosaur habitat. They had each of us put on some shitty dinosaur printed vacation shirt—like a Hawaiian shirt, only filled with t-rex and triceratops instead of surfers and bikini babes. And then they snapped a picture.

The place was sprawling, and everything in it was huge, custom-grown in a lab somewhere to match various periods on Earth: Jurassic, Triassic, whatever. Neatly groomed gravel paths wound through enormous boulders and redwoods, and pristine signage listed both the kinds of reDinos you could see in each enclosure as well as a Who’s Who of the celebrities in each environment. The whole thing was at once totally surreal and less interesting than I had hoped, and I worried for the kid, who seemed to be barely tolerating the trip.

Later that day, the kid and I were leaning against the fence of the reBronto habitat, where Meryl Streep was calmly eating the leaves off of a patently accurate Jurassic era deciduous tree. The sun was getting low in the sky already, and we had only been there for a few hours. I was starting to think this whole trip was a bad idea, but then the kid said something.

“What do you think Mom would have picked?”

“What do you mean picked?” I asked. I was startled; it was the first unprompted thing the kid had said to me in months.

“You know,” the kid said, blowing her blue bangs out of her face. “What kind of dinosaur do you think she would have chosen, if she could be one?”

“Kid, I don’t think we could have afforded…” I started.

The kid rolled her eyes. “Forget it,” she said. “Heaven forbid you have a little imagination for once.”

Something sank in me. It sucked, because she was right. I kicked a stone on the ground and it skittered along the gravel sidewalk before hopping the curb and disappearing into the brush just beyond the enclosure fence. I looked over at the kid. She was leaning on the fence, stone still. The way she held herself now, like if she relaxed, even a little, her armor wouldn’t work, was so unnatural to the laid-back slouch she usually adopted.

I watched her for a minute. We stood maybe five feet apart, like we were strangers. Her eyes shone with sudden tears, and she set her jaw, willing them back. I thought I should move closer. I was technically her guardian now, not exactly a parent, but close enough, and I thought of her as some kind of relation—I had never had kids, before her, and she wasn’t even technically my kid. But still, I wanted to do right by her. I wanted to protect her, help her. But I also didn’t want to hurt. I reached out a hand, then thought better of it—the kid didn’t like physical contact, not unless it came from Candi. That might make things even worse.

“What about archaeopteryx?” I said, keeping my tone as casual as possible.

The kid glanced up at me, cracked a small smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

           “It’s the only one that’s special enough,” I said. The kid stepped closer.

           “You think they have any archaeopteryx here yet?” she asked after a moment. “We could, I don’t know, go look at them or whatever. If you want.”

           “Yeah!” I said, and the kid scoffed at the enthusiasm in my voice.

           When we walked away to go find a map, the kid quickened her step to keep pace with me, bumped my shoulder with her own.

           “Hey, thanks,” she said. “For taking us here. It helps, weirdly.”

[cmd pause footage]

[cmd fast forward]

[cmd stop action]

[cmd play footage]

[!]

[re-enter access code to continue]

[********]

[Thank you. Footage rolling in 3, 2, 1]

Of course Kanye was the first reDinosaur. Who else did you think it would be? I think he was also the first one that monster took down, too—the whole throng of starfuckers we were with freaked the hell out. I mean, Kanye’s also a raptor, or he’s a reRaptor, anyway, but it was no contest. When the real raptor appeared, park staff tried to set up a Comm with it; there are no portals in the rePark—that’s military grade tech—so that it materialized at all was a big issue. Clearly something went wrong somewhere. Also, the raptor’s coloration was all off and different. reDinos are all kinds of bright colors: pink, purple, electric blue… whatever their buyers want. This raptor was olive green and black, all-natural, with no excess additions, and there was none of the lag that happens with reAnimals. No slowed reflexes, nothing. Just slashed right through the Kanye reRaptor’s jugular. Sprayed blood everywhere. I mean, everywhere. And then, well, then it leapt onto us, shredded us. Everybody scattered. I mean, you can see the damage—sliced me clean open from my shoulder to my hip, right across my chest. Never been more scared in my life, man, I’ll tell ya.

[Transmission error. Buffering… high res will return in 5, 4, 3, 2…]

carl what the hell are you doing we need to get you to the med bay

Kid? I thought—that raptor had you cornered.

yeah well i thought the same about you

How did you get out of there?

i don’t want to talk about it

Kid, are you okay?

are you talking to a fucking video camera

Yeah. Hoping for Fox Intergalactic to pick me up for a new reality show about bleeding out with your family on vacation.

shut up carl

jesus you are really ripped up

Yeah I don’t think we’re gonna be able to salvage the shirt they gave us.

bummer. that thing’s probably worth like 4,000 dollars on eBay right now.

What?

yeah it’s got Kanye’s blood on it or whatever. people pay out the ass for that creepy shit.

Could have paid for my med bay bills, huh Kid?

dad, don’t try to make jokes, okay? you suck at it

what

why are you looking at me like that

stop

It’s just, you never call me Dad.

ugh. dad, can we not?

dad

DAD

come on, you asshole, stay with me

…

fuck

fuck, the raptor

HHHHSHHHSSSSSSSS REEEEET AWKHHHSSSS OOoOOOoO

…

…

crunch crunch slurp crunch draaaaaaaaaag REET OoooOOOOooO

oh my god

it took dad

how am i going to get out of here

how am i going to get home

[end of transmission]

[cmd draft report]

[Recipient access code?]

[********]

[Confirm recipient access code.]

[********]

[What is the report?]

[Test 207 complete. Conclusion: Organically

grown dinosaurs distinguish synthetics as prey. Some

collateral damage. Alert CPS on-planet of orphan girl.

Description: short blue hair, medium build. Moderate force authorized.]

[cmd send report]

[!]

[Report sent.]

[What would you like to do with the transmission?]

[cmd delete]

[Are you sure you want to delete this transmission?]

[Y]

[Delete function will permanently delete transmission. Continue?]

[Y]

[enter access code to confirm delete]

[access code ********]

[!]

[Delete confirmed.]

[cmd log out]

[Are you sure?]

[Y] [Logged out.]

[dylanissicc]

Friday Night Pyro

October 4th, 2019

Greenville, South Carolina

* Bon Secours Wellness Arena

Opening Segment: World Champion Jake Awesome bursts out of the backstage curtain with lots of energy and plays up to the excitement of this extra hot crowd tonight. Jake soaks up the crowd for a moment longer than normal and eventually grabs a mic and says “Greenville South Carolina!!!!!* Crowd Pop^

“Friday Night PIE ROW!!!!!! ^Big Pop

Jake: The wrestling world has been set a blaze. Thank you AEW. Thank you FOX Network because this right here, this building, this promotion! Is the hottest thing going today and no matter how Box office it gets or how elite it can go the wrestling world still wants to know where is the PYRO and it’s right here!!!!!!!!

Jake: Last week I was challenged by the new Juniorweight Champion of the world Jordan Oliver ^Crowd Boos^

Jake: *points mic towards crowd*

Jake: Survey says....I’m about to catch a charge in Greenville for beating a minor. Jordan, get your punk ass out here

*drops mic*

Jordan Oliver music plays

^Will Ollafub enters^ Oliver lags behind with the Juniorweight Title around his neck

Ollafub: Jake, Jordan Oliver just doesn’t fall for silly gimmicks. My client needs rest. My client needs*Oliver grabs mic from Ollafub mid sentence*

Oliver: Willy. I got this. Listen close Jacob. Last week I approached you like a grown man. I walked in between those ropes and I called you a 6 foot 9 inch bum. And one week later I couldn’t agree with myself more. Jake you washed up homie. You pushin’ 30. I’m gonna be young forever. I’m gonna be the biggest star this company has ever seen and all these broke boys in Greenville South Carolina know that that’s why they can’t stannnnnd me. ^Crowd boos^

Jake: I think I agree with all the fine people of South Carolina. Matter of fact I got a gift for all the people here tonight and Jordan this gift even applies to you. How about your shut your mouth and do this. Tonight I’m going to put the XPWEW World Heavyweight Championship on the line against you! Under the condition that you put that up!

*Crowd Pops*

Oliver: Jake you pushing 30 in age. Homie you pushing 300 in weight. You have absolutely no business holding this title.

Jake: Well sane to you. I may be pushing 260 pounds nowadays but if you think you can ever win this title, you ain’t even pushing 180 pounds. Jordan I doubt you could even lift this title with both hands. So are you gonna stand there like a bitch clutching some gold like you ain’t had none yet, Or are you going to put that title on the line. I mean if it’s champion versus champion; What’s the point. Greenville if you would treat me to chanting “Asshole” at this man’s

Crowd chants ASSHOLE..ASSHOLE..ASSHOLE

(Ollafub starts shaking no to Oliver thinking)

Oliver: You got it. I’m putting my Juniorweight Title up

*Crowd Pops*

Jake: The hell with waiting half an hour. You look ready. You aren’t a bitch you said so let’s do this right now. Ring the bell.

Jordan Oliver storms down fastly to the ring and then gets on the apron..Jake is leaning forward ready to battle and Oliver jumps back down and walks up the ramp to a chorus of boos from the crowd

Jake grabs a mic

Jake: Woah Woah Woah are you serious.

Oliver: *no mic* (mouthing words) I’ma do this match on my own time pimpin’

You don’t control me

Jake: You Lucky son of a bitch, You think your slick but ima see you later tonight

*XPWEW Appalachia commercial*

Music: Man of Constant Sorrow theme

+ Regina Clausen joins commentary and talks about her new found friendship and alliance with Amy “Primetime” Lee

M1: Amy Lee & GG defeat Chrissy Rivera & Siaka Lexoni

After the match: Regina Clausen raises the hand of Amy Lee and says with the raw power of Primetime it will lead her to her first gold in XPWEW; Women’s Champ Doxy Deity enters to a nice pop and begins our next match

M2: Doxy Deity defeats Regina Clausen w/ Amy Lee (at ringside)

During the match Rosemary comes down to the ring and interferes in the match long enough to pluck a hair off the head of Doxy (probably to assist in the voodoo doll of her they revealed last week on PYRO.)

Kiera Hogan watches from the ramp However does not interfere

Backstage: All Man putting ice on his still injured left leg from falling off that ladder two weeks ago at Anarchy Rules

All Woman looks at him and says “So when do you plan on using this briefcase, exactly”

All Man: “Why? I have like 9 months left”

All Woman: “I don’t think you’ve been aggressive as you were when you first won. Like when you stood up to The Rock that was really admiring and now your nursing 2 week old wounds that you suffered from no offense Ms. Ryu who couldn’t wrestle her way out of a paper bag”

All Man: What is that suppose to mean? I’m hurt! My leg hurts every time I move it. This briefcase guarantees. Guarantees that I will be the World Heavyweight Champion. It guarantees it, Trust me All Woman I wont “Brodie Croyle” this situation.

Brodie Croyle turns around and heard that

Croyle: You won’t what?

All Man: I said I won’t ....Soak...these Boils. I gotta soak the boils. I got boils. On my leg. Underneath this cast. Bad rash. Big red bulbous....boils. I know it sounded like I said Brodie Croyle but I said “Soak these Boils.

Croyle: I’ll see ya out there *slaps All Man’s legs*

All Man: Owwwww!

All Woman: Your gonna have to man up and if you don’t cash that briefcase in soon then consider this partnership....Over.

M3: Brodie Croyle defeats All Man

After the match: All Woman looks visibly disappointed in the All Man’s losing effort tonight, All Woman says “I want that world title All Man, Win it for me...*All Man nods affectionately* As in do it right now

*Jake Awesome enters*

{All Man looks baffled that All Woman is kind of forcing him to cash in on a fresh Jake Awesome}

Awesome storms down the ramp and is hype and All Man looks at All Woman and acts like he’s about to do it

All Man starts amping himself up, stomping the ring, slapping his briefcase

_All Man sucks out of the ring

*Golden Bryce / Dr. Disrespect Twitch Ad

Interview with Nick Simmonds: Referee Danny Coleman announces “I know Troy Clausen might wanna hear this, I still plan on getting MY revenge at the pay-per-view coming up on the 20th of the month. I have official word that Romey Zelli gave *points at self* Me! Champagne Clausen will get a world title match. However I will be the special guests referee.

Troy Clausen enters

What’s up homie. I’ve been doing time in the state penn, I’ve been swimming with sharks while you collect a check at home away from doing what you love Daniel. What you love is refereeing for this promotion

-Jacques Dudley enters

Troy why don’t you...........

Jacques is awestruck by the grill in Troy’s mouth

........

Champagne Clausen enters

- What?

- It’s called a grill and Jacques you keep finding your way into my business I’ll rearrange yours.

- Jacques Dudley attacks Champagne Clausen and they get into a complete brawl until Freight Train grabs Jacques and drags him to the ring for our next I guess impromptu matchup

Freight Traun “Jack Dudley you think you real smart being mean to my friend Champagne Clausen, need to get ya French behind in the rang fore I thump ya”

- Jacques counters into a unique walking on the guardrail move then jumping onto the apron into a moonsault

M4: Jacques Dudley defeats Freight Train

After the match Troy Clausen nails Jacques with a champagne bottle

Troy Clausen grabs a mic “is this what you wanna do Jacques. You wanna make me go back to the man I am. The man I scared the entire Harrison County Prison with my rage........I’ve had it with youuuuu

7 years you’ve been a constant thorn in my side and now my family’s side

Jacques try’s to get up and attack Troy

Amy Lee, Freight Train and Regina Clausen hold him down

Now what I’m about to say has been a LOOOOOONG time coming

It’s gonna be Appalachia. Welch, West By God Damn Virginia

Troy Clausen

Versus

Jacques Dudley

No! Holds! Barred!

I’m gonna embarrass you but just Incase you wanna try to embarrass me I’m going to embarrass you first

Troy: Son, Get the tables

*Pop from crowd*

Champagne Clausen gets the table

Amy Lee acts as Buh Buh and Champagne acts as D-Von and they hit the 3D on Jacques through the table

Commercial: Lockdown 7 countdown

Backstage: Masato Tanaka tells Golden Bryce that maybe his world title aspirations are a little too soon but good luck in tournament match tonight against Joe Gacy

M5: Leonard McGraw & Dragon Kid w/ Ms. Ryu at ringside Defeat Alveno LaFlare & 3M Ultra

{Alveno ofcourse substituting in for M3 Quintillo Who was injured at the hands of Joe Gacy at Anarchy Rules}

Skype Interview Audrey Carbine says she’s still hurt from going thru the Clausen-Mobile at Anarchy Rules from the hands of Amy Lee but she will return October 20th at Appalachia and seek revenge against Lee & Regina Clausen. Beware.

M6: Priscilla Kelly defeats Lola Starr

Slayer joins commentary

M7: International Title Tournament

Golden Bryce defeats Joe Gacy

{Gacy goes for the yellow mist, Bryce ducks in the nick of time, scoops Gacy up for a supreme-plex and then hits the Kamakamahe spear for the 1-2-3

*Slayer stands on the commentary booth and grabs the mic and cuts a damn good scathing promo calling Golden Bryce a man in limbo; A man who’s lost. A man without a country. Golden Bryce, you have a child on the way entering this world and I’m going to leave you malignant after I advance in this tournament cause I think Jacques is going to be easy pickings.

*Bryce responds quick*

Hold up what you say to me

Because it sounded like you said you was gonna Whoop my ass

Slayer I know we ain’t been formerly greeted but I am not a pushover and I ain’t for a damn second gonna let you get the best of me. I hope. You advance. I hope I get a chance. Get it. Got it. Good........

MAIN EVENT TIME

Champion vs Champion

Both titles are on the line !

XPWEW World Title & Juniorweight Title

M8: Jake Awesome vs Jordan Oliver

*Insanf Fuckin’ Classic of a match*

{During the match All Woman comes down running with the CYL briefcase pushing All Man in a wheelchair down the ramp and amps him up to cash in on an ^at the moment this happened^ A prone Jake Awesome.

All Man gets in the ring and stomachs up the courage to hand the new head referee

Kevin Madrox. **Out of nowhere** Leonard McGraw hits a devastating clothesline from hell on All Man and the match gets called a Disqualification by Referee Kevin Madrox and the crowd boos the outcome. Ollafub gathers the Juniorweight Title to a near KO’d Jordan Oliver and then in the crowd Eddie Edwards disguised as a fan snatches Ollafub and yanks him over the guardrail and locks him in the crossface. Oliver scampers with his belt like a coward while Awesome comes to the aid of Ollafub in a way not to help Ollafub but to get more shots in on Edwards who assaulted his little brother Casey Alfonso some weeks back. Jake Awesome starts punching Edwards until he scampers away on his own avoiding Awesome’s ambush.

{Dust settles}

Crowd pauses only to cheer a still standing and still world champion Jake Awesome

{Awesome grabs his title and jumps the rail}

Awesome slowly looks back and sees a destroyed Ollafub

Awesome motions to the crowd and says audibly “Should I get him Greenville?”

**Crowd Pop**

Awesome pulls Ollafub over the guardrail and hits the awesome bomb on him through the announcers table but it does. not. break.

Awesome then does it again which it doesn’t break again.

Awesome then carries a near KO’d Will Ollafub up to the top rope and hits an amazing super awesome bomb thru the table *it finally breaks* and still lands on his feet and the crowd goes absolutely berserk

{Show Ends}

[usuallyrics-blog]

She Bad

New Lyrics has been published on usuallyrics.com https://usuallyrics.com/lyrics/she-bad/

She Bad

“She Bad” (feat. YG)

[YG:] 4Hunnid! Mustard on the beat ho

Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad Gucci bag, Gucci bag, Gucci bag, Fendi bag Prada bag, Louis bag, Gucci bag, Gucci bag Birkin bag, she in the bag, she drip, she swag Never mad, she glad, Louis bag, she in the bag

[Cardi B:] Look, look Momma needs some mill money (cash) Prada bag and heel money See my ex, he still love me (ha) New nigga ‘gon kill for me (yeah) All my chains got diamonds in it (bling) My account got commas in it (cash) Damn daddy, you fine as hell I hope your wallet got condoms in it I’m up, she mad, I’m first, she’s last (yeah) Rob who? Take what? Click-clack, ski-mask I’m a boss in a skirt, I’m a dog, I’m a flirt Write a verse while I twerk, I wear Off-White at church Prolly make the preacher sweat, read the Bible, Jesus wept Bitch say that she gon’ try me, how come I haven’t seen it yet? Give it to him so good that his eyes roll back (huh?) Shorty said it’s all hers, why her thighs don’t match?

[YG:] Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad Gucci bag, Gucci bag, Gucci bag, Fendi bag Prada bag, Louis bag, Gucci bag, Gucci bag Birkin bag, she in the bag, she drip, she swag Never mad, she glad, Louis bag, she in the bag She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad

[Cardi B:] Weed blowin’, pussy boss, suck his dick through his drawers Lick the balls just because, lil bitch, I eat balls I’m a monsta, mouth open wide like opera Face down, ass up, I got perfect posture (woo) It’s lit like a lamp, lick you like a stamp (yuh) Beat this pussy up (yuh) I take it like a champ (woo) Balenciaga momma, I know you heard about her Spoil me in Prada, I’m worth every dollar (cash) The one you made, could keep ’em (yeah) I need Chrissy Teigen Know a bad bitch when I see one (yeah, woo) Tell Rih-Rih I need a threesome I’m his favorite type of chick, boujee, bad, and thick (uh) I could buy designer, but this Fashion Nova fit All that ass (woo, woo, woo, woo)

[YG:] Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad Gucci bag, Gucci bag, Gucci bag, Fendi bag Prada bag, Louis bag, Gucci bag, Gucci bag Birkin bag, she in the bag, she drip, she swag Never mad, she glad, Louis bag, she in the bag She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad

She bad, in the bag, move slow, hit it fast She ride me ’til I crash, 400 minutes, I last She compliment my swag, all you niggas harass All them bitches wanna be her friend now, she laugh (hey now) Uh, uh, she buy her man a Bentley coupe Uh, uh, she got niggas and bitches, too Uh, uh, she wear off-white to church, ooh Uh, only Birkin, not Dooney & Burke, woo Birkin bag, fuck a tag, fuck me, and she fuck me bad Whispered in her ear, “You got these bitches beat, they runnin’ laps” You know you something special, you figured it out, you from the traps Step out wearin’ that dress, showin’ that ass and it’s a fuckin’ wrap

Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad Gucci bag, Gucci bag, Gucci bag, Fendi bag Prada bag, Louis bag, Gucci bag, Gucci bag Birkin bag, she in the bag, she drip, she swag Never mad, she glad, Louis bag, she in the bag She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad She bad, she bad, she bad, she bad

Who is Cardi B

Belcalis Almanzarr was born October 11, 1992 and is known under the pseudonym of Cardi B, an American rapper. Cardi B, born in Bronx, New York, began to undress at age 19 and made a name for himself on social networks.