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brookstonalmanac · 5 months ago

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Holidays 9.27

Holidays

Ancestor Appreciation Day (a.k.a. Honor Your Ancestors Day)

Answering Machine Day

Arbor Day (US Virgin Islands)

Banana Slug Day

Battle of Boquerón Day (Paraguay)

Bloodstone Day

Book Matches Day

Castor 927 Day

Crush A Can Day

Dave Matthews Band Day

Day of Preschool Employees (Russia)

Doris Day Day (Cincinnati, Ohio)

European Myeloma Day

1stLinePit Pitch Day

French Community Day (Belgium)

Fun and Fancy Free Day

GNU Day

Google Commemoration Day

International SEO Day

Julien Alfred Day (Saint Lucia)

Lendemain du Magal de Touba (Sénégal)

Manit Day (Culture Day; Marshall Islands)

Memorial Day (Azerbaijan)

Morning Show Hosts Day

National AJ Day

National Boccia Day (UK)

National Butt Plug Day

National Day of Forgiveness

National Doodle Day

National First Responder Appreciation Day

National Gay Men's HIV/AIDS Awareness Day

National Mustache Day

National 911 Telecommunications Suicide Awareness Day

National No Excuses Day

National Prescription Take-Back Day

National Scarf Day

National Youth Day (Turks and Caicos Islands)

NICU Giving Day

Oski the Bear Day (Berkeley)

Polish Underground State’s Day (Poland)

Post and Telecommunications Service Day (Indonesia)

Shut Up and Let Somebody Else Talk Day

Venom Day

World Freight Train Day

World Pet Day

World Tourism Day (UN)

Food & Drink Celebrations

National Chocolate Milk Day

National Corned Beef Hash Day

National Cats Curry Day (UK)

Saloon Day

Tabasco Sauce Day

Independence & Related Days

Consumación de la Independencia (End of Independence War; Mexico)

Elleore (Declared; 1944) [unrecognized]

Glebiania (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

Mexico (Date Consummated, 1821)

Turkmenistan (from USSR, 1991)

Zekia (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

4th & Last Friday in September

Ask a Stupid Question Day [Last Weekday]

Butterbrot Day (Germany) [Last Friday]

Comfort Food Friday [Every Friday]

Field Trip Friday [Last Friday of Each Month]

Finally Friday [Last Friday of Each Month]

Five For Friday [Every Friday]

Flapjack Friday [4th Friday of Each Month]

Flashback Friday [Every Friday]

Flatbread Friday [Last Friday of Each Month]

Flirtatious Friday [4th Friday of Each Month]

Friday Finds [Every Friday]

Fry Day (Pastafarian; Fritism) [Every Friday]

FSC Friday [Last Friday]

Go Gold Day [Last Friday]

Hug A Vegetarian Day [Last Friday]

Love Note Day [4th Friday]

Make Way Day [Last Friday]

Michigan Indian Day (Michigan) [4th Friday]

National BRAVE Day [4th Friday]

National Good Hair Day (Australia) [4th Friday]

National Hug Your Boss Day [4th Friday; also 9.13]

Native American Day (California) [4th Friday]

Save the Koala Day [Last Friday]

Sport Purple For Platelets Day [Last Friday]

TGIF (Thank God It's Friday) [Every Friday]

Vegan Baking Day [Last Friday]

World's Biggest Coffee Morning (UK) [Last Friday]

Weekly Holidays beginning September 27 (4th Full Week of September)

National Drive Electric Week [f.k.a. National Plug-In Week] (thru 20.6)

Festivals Beginning September 27, 2024

Anderson County Burgoo Festival (Lawrenceburg, Kentucky) [thru 9.29]

Apple Festival (Gays Mills, Wisconsin) [thru 9.29]

Beach n' Chili Fest: ICS World's Championsihp Chili Cookoff (Myrtle Beach, South Carolina) [thru 9.29]

Cannstatter Volksfest (Stuttgart, Germany) [thru 10.13]

Chester County BBQ Festival (Henderson, Tennessee) [thru 9.28]

Chicago Gourmet Hamburger Hop (Chicago, Illinois)

Chilhowie Community Apple Festival (Chilhowie, Virginia) [thru 9.29]

Coca-Cola Days (Atlantic, Iowa) [thru 9.28]

Downtown Chandler Oktoberfest (Chandler, Arizona) [thru 9.28]

Downtown Ithaca Apple Harvest Festival (Ithaca, New York) [thru 9.29]

Galway International Oyster & Seafood Festival (Galway, Ireland) [thru 9.29]

Georgia State Fair (Metro Atlanta, Hampton, Georgia) [thru 10.6]

Harvest Festival & Parade (Arroyo Grande, California) [thru 9.28]

Harvest Festival & Street Fair (Emmett, Idaho) [thru 9.28]

Honeybee Festival (Paris, Illinois) [thru 9.29]

International Sandsculpting Championship (Virginia Beach, Virginia) [thru 10.6]

Irmo Okra Strut Festival (Irmo, South Carolina) [thru 9.28]

Joy of Jazz (Johannesburg, South Africa) [thru 9.28]

Las Vegas Greek Food Festival (Las Vegas, Nevada) [thru 9.29]

Marino Grape Festival (Marino, Italy) [thru 10.7]

Marion County Country Ham Days (Lebanon, Kentucky) [thru 9.29]

Mississippi Pecan Festival (New Augusta, Mississippi) [thru 9.29]

Monterey Jazz Festival begins (California) [Last Friday thru Sunday]

Morgan County Sorghum Festival (West Liberty, Kentucky) [thru 9.29]

New Mexico Prickly Pear Festival (Albuquerque, New Mexico) [thru 9.28]

New York Film Festival (New York, New York) [thru 10.14]

Oktoberfest (Waterloo, Iowa) [thru 9.29]

Oktoberfest (Yachats, Oregon) [thru 9.29]

Oktoberfest Chicago (Chicago, Illinois) [thru 9.29]

Oktoberfest in Canada (Kitchener-Waterloo, Canada) [thru 10.19]

Pumpkinfest (South Lyon, Michigan) [thru 9.29]

River Falls Bacon Bash (River Falls, Wisconsin) [thru 9.29]

Saint Charles Oktoberfest (Saint Charles, Missouri) [thru 9.29]

Sisters Folk Festival (Sisters, Oregon) [thru 9.29]

State Fair of Virginia (Doswell, Virginia) [thru 10.6]

Texas Rice Festival BBQ Cook-Off (Winnie, Texas) [thru 9.28]

Virginia Beach Neptune Festival, Boardwalk Weekend (Virginia Beach, Virginia) [thru 9.29]

Warrens Cranberry Festival (Warrens, Wisconsin) [thru 9.29]

WineFest (North East, Pennsylvania) [thru 9.29]

Feast Days

Adheritus (Christian; Saint)

Aequinoctium Autumnale I (Pagan)

Bernard Waber (Artology)

Birth and Rebirth Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Caius of Milan (Christian; Saint)

Cosmas and Damian (Christian; Martyrs)

Elzear, Count of Arian, and Delphina, his wife (Christian; Saints)

Feast of Eileithyia (Minoan Midwife Goddess)

Feast of Mashiyyat (Baha’i)

Fergus Mac Roith (Celtic Book of Days)

Festival of Namakungwe (The Originator; Zambia)

Festival of Varuni (Goddess of Wine; India)

George Cruikshank (Artology)

Horacio Sandoval (Artology)

Hieronymus Bosch Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Insult a Narcissist Day (Pastafarian)

Irvine Walsh (Writerism)

Jack Goldstein (Artology)

Jim Shooter (Artology)

Jim Thompson (Writerism)

Meskel (Discovery of the True Cross; Eritrea, Ethiopia)

Mookie (Muppetism)

Moon Hare Festival (Everyday Wicca)

Romano Scarpa (Artology)

Sesage (Positivist; Saint)

Sophie Crumb (Artology)

T.C. Cannon (Artology)

Thanksgiving Day for Disappearance of Kelp-Koli Again (Shamanism)

Thomas Nast (Artology)

Vincent de Paul (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Premieres

Abominable (Animated Film; 2019)

The Affair, 16th Jack Reacher book, by Lee Child (Novel; 2011)

Bananaphone, by Raffi (Children’s Album; 1994)

A Bird in a Bonnet (WB MM Cartoon; 1958)

Bongo (Disney Cartoon; 1947)

Boogie Woogie Man (Song Symphony Cartoon; 1943)

Born to Run, by Bruce Springsteen (Autobiography; 2016)

Caballero Droopy (Droopy MGM Cartoon; 1952)

Chilly’s Hide-A-Way (Chilly Willy Cartoon; 1971)

The Cleveland Show (Animated TV Series; 2009)

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 (Animated Film; 2013)

Cracker (UK TV Series; 1993)

Dolly! (TV Series; 1976)

Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert (Music TV Series; 1973)

Don’t Stand So Close to Me, by the Police (Song; 1980)

Elementary (TV Series; 2012)

The Fever Code, by James Dashner (Novel; 2016) [Maze Runner #5]

Fun and Fancy Free (Animated Disney Film; 1947)

The Garden of The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran (Poetry; 1931)

The Goal Rush (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1946)

Goodbye to Berlin, by Christopher Isherwood (Novel; 1939)

The Harlem Globetrotters Meet Snow White (Hanna-Barbera Animated TV Movie)

The Invisible Mouse (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1947)

The Journey of Natty Gann (Film; 1985)

The Karate Guard (Tom & Jerry WB Cartoon; 2005)

King of the Mardi Gras (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1935)

The Last King of Scotland (Film; 2006)

Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder (Novel; 1935)

Memphis Blues, by W.C. Handy (Song; 1912) [1st Blues Song]

Mickey and the Beanstalk (Disney Cartoon; 1947)

Monster, by R.E.M. (Album; 1994)

Mumbo Jumbo (Ant and the Aardvark Cartoon; 1970)

New Jersey, by Bon Jovi (Album; 1988)

Nightmare, recorded by Artie Shaw (Song; 1938)

The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (Film; 1939)

Ran (Film; 1985)

Ringo's Rotogravure, by Ringo Starr (Album; 1976)

Rush (Film; 2013)

Sand and Foam, by Kahlil Gibran (Poetry; 1926)

Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV Series; 2007)

Silent Spring (Nature Book; 1962)

Sweet Home Alabama (Film; 2002)

Tepee for Two (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1963)

Thanks for the Memory, by Bob Hope (Song; 1938)

The Tonight Show (TV Talk Show; 1954)

2 Days in the Valley (Film; 1996)

Under the Table and Framing, by The Dave Matthews Band (Album; 1994)

The Village Barber (Ub Iwerks Flip the Frog MGM Cartoon; 1930)

We Didn’t Start the Fore, by Billy Joel (Song; 1989)

Wet Blanket Policy (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1948)

Today’s Name Days

Dietrich, Hiltrud, Vinzenz (Austria)

Berislav, Gaj, Vincent, Vinko, Vinko (Croatia)

Jonáš (Czech Republic)

Cosmus (Denmark)

Elo, Loone, Õrne (Estonia)

Vesa (Finland)

Vincent (France)

Dietrich, Hiltrud, Vinzenz (Germany)

Akylini, Epicharis, Kallistratos, Zenon, Zinon (Greece)

Adalbert (Hungary)

Cosma, Damiano, Vincenzo (Italy)

Ādolfs, Ilgonis, Ronalds (Latvia)

Adalbertas, Damijonas, Daugilė, Kęsgailė, Kovaldas (Lithuania)

Dagmar, Dagrun (Norway)

Amadeusz, Amedeusz, Damian, Kosma, Przedbor, Urban (Poland)

Antim (Romania)

Cyprián (Slovakia)

Vicente (Spain)

Dagmar, Rigmor (Sweden)

Cosima, Cosimo, Cosmo, Damian, Damiana, Damien, Damion, Damon (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 271 of 2024; 95 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of Week 39 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Muin (Vine) [Day 27 of 28]

Chinese: Month 8 (Guy-You), Day 25 (Jia-Wu)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 24 Elul 5784

Islamic: 23 Rabi I 1446

J Cal: 1 Orange; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 14 September 2024

Moon: 22%: Waning Crescent

Positivist: 19 Shakespeare (10th Month) [Miss Edgeworth]

Runic Half Month: Gyfu (Gift) [Day 6 of 15]

Season: Autumn or Fall (Day 6 of 90)

Week: 4th Full Week of September

Zodiac: Libra (Day 5 of 30)

Calendar Changes

Orange (Month 10 of 12; J Calendar)

#Holidays

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pcwpolwrestling · 6 days ago

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2/5-PCW Extreme Political TV-Joe Biden Goes Hollywood, Cline vs. KRC, The View vs. The '10's', and DOGE Warriors in Action

Political Championship Wrestling Extreme Political TV Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon Taped Saturday February 1st, 2025 Wednesday February 5th, 2025

Announcers: ‘The Voice of PCW’ Johnny Suave and Colleen Crowder ‘Low-Level New York Times Reporter Trying to Make a Name for Herself’

PCW Champion: Charlie Blackwell (American Heartland) Since 2/10/2024 Contenders: ‘Mr. Hollywood’ Kevin Daniels (Progressive Alliance) Neal Conn (American Patriots) Mike the Mechanic (Main Street USA) PCW Women’s Champion: Catherine Cline (Independent) Since 9/21/2024

Contenders: Kathryn Randall Collins (Progressive Alliance) Laura Brobert (American Patriots) ‘American Girl’ Sarah Mae Smith (Main Street USA)

PCW Tag Team Champions: The MAGA-Powers: Starz N. Stripes and ‘The One-Man Anti-Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism- Since 3/3/2024 (American Patriots)

Contenders: The Green World Order: GreenPete/’Extreme Vegan’ Brock Cole Lee (Progressive Alliance) The Sports Entertainment Corporation: Gator Bates/The Alabama Kid Bi-Partisan Dream Team: Blue Dog D/RINO Main Street USA: Ken Worth-American Trucker/Farmer John Deer Wall Street World: Kirk Walstreit/P.M.C. Banks

Opening The raucous energy of Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon fills the air with the sound of rabid cheers.

PCW… PCW… PCW…

In the center of the storm, ‘The Voice of PCW’ Johnny Suave stands in the squared circle and raises a microphone to start the show.

Johnny Suave: Hello and welcome to PCW Extreme Political TV! Tonight, we are coming at you from the one and only Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon!

PCW… PCW… PCW…

The crowd’s volume crescendos, a mix of boos and cheers as Colleen Crowder emerges, her expression fixed in a grimace that softens just enough to betray her amusement at the ridiculousness of it all.

Johnny Suave: I am Johnny Suave. As always, with me is the ‘Low Level New York Times Reporter Trying to Make a Name for Herself’ – Colleen Crowder!

Colleen’s green eyes roll behind her stylish glasses.

Colleen Crowder: Why do you have to always put it like that?

Johnny Suave: Last week, we saw ‘The Ultimate Political Operator’ Kathryn Randall Collins defeat the American Patriot’s Laura Brobert in a Women’s Division number one contender’s match. Next week, KRC will challenge PCW Women’s Champion Catherine Cline for the PCW Women’s title. Tonight, both women will be here to address the crowd!

The mention of the title bout sends a wave of anticipation through the crowd. Glasses clink; the air thrums with the electricity of impending conflict.

Johnny Suave: Also tonight, we’ve got the Green World Order… Extreme Vegan Brock Cole Lee and GreenPete…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Johnny Suave: …square off against the Bi-Partisan Dream Team in our main event.

He pauses for dramatic effect, allowing the frenzied shouts and chants to reach a fever pitch.

Johnny Suave: But right now, you all heard the recent remarks ‘The View’s’ Joy Behar made towards PCW CEO Donald Trump’s new spokesperson Karoline Leavitt.

The video screen comes on and shows Joy Behar’s comments about Karoline Leavitt. “I think that she’s probably been put in there because according to Donald Trump, she’s a 10,” Behar said. “You know that’s what it is… she’s a 10.” The crowd erupts into a cacophony of jeers and cheers as Behar’s image freezes on the phrase, “she’s a 10.”

Colleen Crowder: I find nothing wrong with what Joy said.

Johnny Suave: No matter, we’ve got a grudge match between two teams who do not like each other. You do NOT want to miss this! Let’s go to the ring right now with Kimber Marshall.

The familiar theme music from “The View” blares out, igniting the already electric air. Kimber, with her wavy brunette hair cascading over her shoulders like a theatrical curtain, strikes a dramatic pose in the center of the ring.

Kimber Marshall: Introducing, representing ‘The View,’…

Kimber pauses for effect, gesturing grandly toward the entrance,

Kimber Marshall: Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg!

The trio strides out, each step they take punctuated by the mixed reactions from the red, blue, and Heartland sections. Behar smirks knowingly while Goldberg exudes her characteristic confidence, and her eyes flash with competitive fire.

But before the echoes of their theme song fade, Kimber’s voice rises once more.

Kimber Marshall: And now, please welcome their opponents… they are ‘The 10s’!

Her announcement is met with a fresh wave of noise as Trump’s Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt and Attorney General Pam Bondi emerge. The Trump team, looking every bit the part of wrestling elite, stride down towards the ring with purpose and poise.

The trash-talking ignites, verbal jabs flying faster than a reporter’s pen on election night. Behar throws shade with the precision of a seasoned pro, while Leavitt snaps back, her retort cutting through the din. Bondi joins in, their words laced with challenge and defiance.

Johnny Suave: There’s no love lost between these two teams.

Colleen Crowder, ever the sharp-tongued journalist, leans in close to Suave, her green eyes flashing behind stylish glasses.

Colleen Crowder: Johnny, Whoopi Goldberg was right. Without that wokeness, Karoline Leavitt might not have that job.

Johnny Suave: The referee is ready and here we go!

MATCH #1: The View (Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg) vs. The 10’s (Karoline Leavitt and Pam Bondi) The clang of the bell reverberates through Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon and without any hesitation, ‘The View’ and ‘The 10’s’ collide with a violence in the center of the ring.

Johnny Suave: ALL FOUR WOMEN CONVERGE IN THE MIDDLE AND THEY’RE GOING AT IT!

Colleen Crowder: Come on Joy! Come on Whoopi!

The sea of spectators roars approval and dissent, the sound an overwhelming torrent that fuels the fire inside the ring. It’s a free-for-all as the entire saloon shakes with the impact of raw, unfiltered action. The fight spills beyond the confines of the ring, turning every inch of Hack’s Rusty Nail into an arena where only the politically and physically extreme survive.

Chairs clang and bodies tumble, the raucous crowd at Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon on their feet for this no-holds-barred political melee.

Whoopi Goldberg, with the gravitas of a woman unafraid to wield influence, grabs a steel chair.

Johnny Suave: Whoopi’s got the chair…

She swings it with devastating intent, aiming for the head of Karoline Leavitt, who exhibits reflexes normally associated by those who’ve been honed by years of navigating political minefields. Leavitt evades at the last moment, leaving Goldberg off-balance.

Johnny Suave: …no! Missed by a mile!

Suave’s words are punctuated by the collective gasp from the crowd. Leavitt seizes her chance, retaliating with a forceful slam that sends Goldberg crashing through a nearby table.

Johnny Suave: HOLY CRAP! Goldberg’s through the table!

The impact is cataclysmic; splinters erupt into the air as if celebrating in their own macabre confetti parade.

Much to Colleen’s irritation, the crowd roars and a chant breaks out…

PCW… PCW… PCW…

Colleen Crowder: Oh stop it already!

The Saloon’s patrons are on their feet now, some cheering for the display of extreme athleticism, others decrying the brutality. Whoopi Goldberg lies amidst the debris, her chair-wielding arm now limp at her side.

Before the dust can settle, a new uproar erupts from the entranceway. Suave’s eyes widen, Colleen Crowder leans forward in anticipation, and the crowd parts like a sea of political partisans, their cheers and jeers reaching fever pitch.

Johnny Suave: Wait, what’s this?

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez jumps over the bar where she’s been hiding and bursts onto the scene, fury etched into her battle-ready expression.

Johnny Suave: IT’S ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ! SHE WAS HIDING AT THE BAR!

AOC points her finger at her temple to show that she’s smarter than everyone else and zones in on Pam Bondi.

Colleen Crowder: Do it AOC!

Johnny Suave: Bondi has no clue she’s behind her.

But before anything happens, a man steps in and blocks AOC.

Johnny Suave: THAT’S ELON MUSK!

Cue crowd pop.

AOC’s blindsided by the sudden appearance of the leader of the DOGE movement. Musk does the ‘I’m smarter than you’ gesture with his finger.

Johnny Suave: AND THAT’S KRISTI NOEM AND MEGYN KELLY!

Kristi Noem and Megyn Kelly charge into the fray wielding steel-folding chairs in hand.

Colleen Crowder: What are they doing here?

Johnny Suave: This is so totally not your narrative.

Colleen Crowder: No it’s not!

Chairs swing, finding their target in AOC with punishing thuds.

Colleen Crowder: NOOO!

Johnny Suave: Down goes AOC!

*WHACK*

Johnny Suave: Down goes Behar!

Colleen Crowder: Someone stop them!

Johnny struggles to be heard over the clash of metal.

Johnny Suave: Noem and Kelly are cleaning house!

Amid the chaos, Karoline Leavitt—her eyes alight with fiery determination—seizes her golden opportunity.

Leavitt grabs a disoriented Joy Behar by the arm, yanking her back to the ring’s unforgiving canvas like a marionette whose strings have been snatched by fate.

Leavitt wastes not a second. With feline agility, she rolls up Behar, who flails helplessly, caught in the sudden whirlwind pin.

Johnny Suave: Leavitt goes for the cover!

The referee, emblematic of order in this tempest of turmoil, dives into position, hand thundering down upon the mat. “One… Two… Three!”

Johnny Suave: They’ve done it! The 10’s have won!

Colleen Crowder: Dammit!

The bell’s sharp peal cleaves through the cacophony—a beacon of finality. ‘The 10’s’ are victorious; they’ve snatched triumph from the jaws of pandemonium.

In the center of the ring, Kimber Marshall’s voice swells above the din, her announcement grandiose and definitive.

Kimber Marshall: Your winners… Karoline Leavitt and Pam Bondi… ‘The 10’s!’

Leavitt, Bondi, along with Noem and Kelly revel in the spoils of war, their celebration a dance of the politically potent.

The View, though battered and beaten, rise like phoenixes from the ashes of defeat. They stagger to their feet, defiant to the end, hurling verbal salvos back at their conquerors, each word a testament to the unyielding spirit of discourse.

Johnny Suave: Well folks, we’ve got some news to report to you. Former CEO of PCW and current free agent Joe Biden has just signed a deal with talent agency CAA!

The crowd is buzzing, some with confusion, others with amusement. The wrestling ring, still quaking from the earlier brawl, seems to pulse with curiosity at the unexpected turn of events.

Johnny Suave: We’re cutting to a commercial break featuring the man himself, starring in the upcoming Fall Guy remake. Brace yourselves—this is going to be one for the history books!

***

The Fall Guy Remake Trailer The screen above the ring flickers to life, and instantly, the deep, resonant timbre of a Don LaFontaine-like voice fills the air.

Announcer Guy: In a world full of political backdrops and diplomatic throwdowns…

Onscreen, Joe Biden appears, outfitted as the quintessential Hollywood action hero, complete with aviators and a look of determination that borders on comical. He leaps from exploding cars, narrowly avoiding CGI flames that would give any stunt coordinator a nervous breakdown.

Announcer Guy: Where the stakes are high, and the punches are low…

Biden, now clad in an ill-fitting harness, swings across the set like a septuagenarian Tarzan, landing with unsteady feet before offering a thumbs-up to an off-camera aide.

Announcer Guy: One man will rise above the rest. One man will take a stand… or at least attempt to.

Cue Biden, clinging to the side of a mock helicopter, his hair wildly out of place as a fan simulates hurricane-force winds. His expression remains stoic, yet there’s a glint of humor in his eyes that suggests he’s in on the joke.

Announcer Guy: Get ready for thrills, spills, and a whole lot of gaffes…

A sequence flashes by: Biden, driving a Vespa through a crowded market chase scene, tipping over fruit stands; Biden, attempting to defuse a bomb with an oversized pair of wire cutters, only to snip the wrong wire and be greeted with a puff of harmless smoke.

Announcer Guy: Joe Biden IS… The Fall Guy!

Biden sneaks into an office and is confronted by an animatronic Mitch McConnell.

Joe Biden: Mitch… Mitch… is that you?

The animatronic Mitch McConnell simply stares ahead… face frozen.

Announcer Guy: There’s action…

Images flash across the screen: Joe Biden, donning shades and a smirk, leaping from exploding buildings, dodging CGI bullets, and delivering one-liners with a wink. Each stunt more ludicrous than the last, culminating in him parachuting into a Senate hearing, papers flying as he lands with a thud.

Announcer Guy: …there’s suspense…

As the trailer reaches its climax, Biden awkwardly rappels down the side of a green-screened skyscraper, delivering his lines with the same congeniality he might use to address a town hall meeting.

Announcer Guy: …there’s even some humor.

Joe Biden: Folks, I may not always stick the landing, but I promise you- I’ll always fight for justice… exclamation point…

Joe looks off at someone off-screen.

Joe Biden: Oh… I wasn’t supposed to read that? Mpaheohwom!

The trailer ends with Biden wrestling a cardboard cutout of an international villain, both tumbling off a mock-up of Air Force One, followed by a final, emphatic title card- “The Fall Guy.”

Announcer Guy: Coming soon to a theater near you.

***

Backstage Under the harsh fluorescent lights, CEO Donald Trump stands surrounded by aides, his face set in determination, a stack of papers in hand labeled “PCW Proclamations.”

Donald Trump: We’re streamlining this place, making it more efficient than ever! No more red tape to choke our champions. First up, we’re digitizing all contracts – blockchain style, thanks to my good friend Elon Musk. We’re going to be the most transparent political wrestling company in the world.

Aide: PCW is the only political-

Donald Trump: That’s not the point. Joe Biden and his cronies hid everything he did from public view. With Elon’s help, we’re going to pull back the curtain and reveal everything!

The aides scribble furiously, barely keeping up with the rapid-fire declarations.

Donald Trump: I want to know exactly where every penny spent went to. PCW is trillions of dollars in debt thanks to unchecked spending and we want to get to the bottom of this. And we’re going to do it. Watch this commercial…

Cut to…

The screen flickers to life, the gritty overtones of Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon fading into a rugged, dust-choked landscape. A muscular pickup truck, its grill gleaming like the teeth of a predatory beast, roars across the barren terrain. Its driver? None other than Elon Musk, his gaze fixed with laser-like intensity on the horizon.

Musk slams a heavy-duty boot onto the accelerator, the engine’s growl rising to a fevered pitch as he and his DOGE warriors barrel down the wasteland. They’re an eclectic crew clad in tactical gear, each one sporting a symbol – the unmistakable Shiba Inu of Dogecoin.

Narrator: Meet the DOGE warriors, a band of renegades on a mission to sniff out waste and streamline the system!

The truck skids to a halt beside a dilapidated building labeled ‘Department of Redundancy Department.’ Musk hops out, a glint of determination sparkling in his eye. His DOGE warriors follow, brandishing tablets and futuristic tools.

Narrator: Watch them dig up the dirt…

The warriors charge into the building,

Narrator: …and bury inefficiency for good!

A warrior wields a chainsaw, slicing through a tangled mess of red tape that binds a colossal pile of paperwork. Another one hacks into a computer, lines of code streaming down the screen as she eradicates needless processes.

Narrator: From the power-hungry politicians…

Hakeem Jefferies, Chuck Schumer, Elizabeth Warren, Chris Murphy and other members of the Progressive Alliance throw a fit.

Narrator: …to the slack-jawed pencil pushers, NO WASTED DOLLAR IS SAFE!

The truck is now a mobile command center, maps and screens displaying their targets. Musk points to a location marked ‘Unnecessary Meetings Gulch,’ a determined nod to his team. They pile back into the truck, ready to hunt down the next inefficiency.

Narrator: Armed with technology, tenacity, and the will to act, these warriors don’t just face the problem—they RAM right through it!

The truck launches off a ramp, soaring over a canyon of cash. Musk doesn’t flinch; he’s seen higher stakes in the boardroom. They land with a ground-shaking thud, leaving a trail of innovation in their wake.

The truck vanishes into the sunset, a dust cloud billowing behind it like the banner of a revolution. But wait, there’s more…

Donald Trump: Next, we’re implementing a new ranking system – algorithm-based, completely objective, absolutely no fake rankings. It’s going to be tremendous! It’s going to be merit-based… not politically motivated.

Aide: Sir, Musk is on line two.

He holds out a phone.

Donald Trump: Tell him I’m busy making PCW great again.

Trump snatches the phone. Trump barks into the phone, the scene fades back to the ring, where the energy remains electric, the crowd hungry for more political pandemonium.

***

Cut back to the broadcast table.

Johnny Suave: Welcome back. Let’s go to the ring and Kimber Marshall.

She stands confidently in the ring, wearing a dazzling emerald green dress that shimmers under the lights, paired with sleek black heels. Her outfit is completed with sparkling silver earrings that catch the eye with every movement.

Kimber Marshall: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring, your PCW Women’s champion – Catherine ‘The Wunderkind’ Cline!

Catherine Cline Promo Catherine bursts onto the scene, a blur of youthful vigor wrapped in championship gold. She races down the aisle, every step punctuated by the cacophony of cheers from the red, blue, and Heartland sections, all united in their adoration for the Iowan dynamo. Her hands slap against outstretched palms, a tactile connection that sends thrills through the crowd.

She pauses, dropping to one knee to level with young girls who gaze up at her with wide-eyed wonder. Flashbulbs pop like fireworks as smartphones capture these fleeting moments of inspiration, each selfie a snapshot of dreams being nurtured by their champion’s touch.

Catherine Cline: Thank you!

She rolls under the bottom rope with an athlete’s grace to stand center stage in the squared circle.

Catherine Cline: Thank you for riding with me on this wild journey to the PCW Women’s title!

The fans hang onto her every syllable, their chants rising like a tide,

You deserve it! *clap clap clapclapclap* You deserve it!

The air is thick with the electricity of shared dreams and hard-earned triumphs.

Catherine Cline: Living the dream…

Her voice is a beacon of sincerity cutting through the din.

Catherine Cline: …and it’s all thanks to you, the heartbeat of PCW!

She sweeps a hand across the sea of faces, her gratitude showing.

Catherine Cline: I’m new in this game, but together, we’ve climbed mountains!

She plants her feet, her championship belt glinting under the lights, a symbol of the sweat and sacrifice that got her here.

Catherine Cline: Because of you, I am the PCW Women’s champion, and-

The heavy thud of boots on wood announces her before she even steps into the limelight. Kathryn Randall Collins- ‘The Ultimate Political Operative’ and the Progressive Alliance’s top women’s wrestler strides down the aisle with the authority of a seasoned campaign trail blazer.

A hush falls over Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon as KRC ascends the steel steps, her eyes locked onto Catherine Cline standing center-ring, championship belt shimmering like a beacon of hard-fought victory.

Kathryn Randall Collins: Congratulations…

KRC’s voice drips with the kind of condescension typically reserved for political debates.

Kathryn Randall Collins: But let’s face the harsh truth of the ballot box—this matchup is a travesty.

Her gaze never wavers from Catherine’s, who meets her stare with steely resolve.

Kathryn Randall Collins: You, dear Catherine, can’t even begin to lace my boots. It’s I who should be adorned with that title.

The crowd stirs, dissension bubbling in the ranks as murmurs and jeers punctuate KRC’s every calculated pause.

Kathryn Randall Collins: I’m PCW’s longest-serving combatant on the women’s roster, the champion in waiting. Next week, I will put you down like a diseased dog.

She pauses for effect, letting the gravity of her words sink in.

Kathryn Randall Collins: Consider other options, while you still have choices to make.

A defiant fire sparks within Catherine as she steps up to KRC, their faces inches apart in a tense standoff.

Catherine Cline: I’m tired, KRC, bone-weary of your incessant declarations about what I can and cannot be!

The crowd erupts, rallying behind their champion. Catherine’s voice rises above the fervor, strong and unwavering.

Catherine Cline: Next week, here at Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon, I will walk out just as I walked in—still the PCW Women’s Champion!

KRC smirks, unflappable and calculating.

Colleen Crowder: Kathryn Randall Collins is the rightful PCW Women’s champion. Catherine Cline should have waited her turn and gave KRC the respect she deserves.

As they stand there, eye to eye, it’s evident this isn’t merely a contest for a title- it’s an ideological war waged in the squared circle of PCW.

Johnny Suave: The battle lines have been drawn. Their clash next week will be epic, a showdown of political prowess and wrestling finesse for the PCW Women’s title.

***

Backstage The Bi-Partisan Dream Team huddle together, their attire a symbolic fusion of their political allegiances.

RINO: The new PCW CEO brings us a fresh start, and it’s high time to step up.

RINO’s red, white, and blue tights shimmer under the harsh fluorescent lighting as he throws a supportive arm around Blue Dog ‘D’.

Blue Dog D: Compromise isn’t weakness; it’s our greatest strength.

Blue Dog ‘D’s’ blue mask concealing his expression but not the conviction in his words.

Blue Dog D: It’s about doing what’s right for all—reaching across this ring like we reach across the aisle.

Their message, a rallying cry for unity, resonates through the room, but it doesn’t go unchallenged.

SFX-the screen goes static and crackling.

Cut to another corner of the backstage maze, where Berkley, California Professor McCarthy stands on a makeshift soapbox, his “good book” held high like a beacon for his followers—the Flock and allies from The Green World Order. Their expressions are as hardened as their resolve.

Professor McCarthy: Compromise?

McCarthy scoffs, his voice slicing through the relative peace like a siren.

Professor McCarthy: That’s the language of the weak!

Codee Pink nods vehemently, her pink attire a stark contrast against the grey backdrop. Emily S. List clenches her fists, The Legion of Anti-Fascists aka…LOAF radiate silent solidarity, and The Ultimate Social Justice Warrior stands poised for proverbial battle.

McCarthy continues, his eyes ablaze with fervor.

Professor McCarthy: Progress isn’t made by meeting in the middle! ‘Extreme Vegan’ Brock Cole Lee, you know what I’m talking about!

Brock Cole Lee gives a sharp nod, his vegan leather boots planted firmly on the ground. McCarthy turns to the others.

Professor McCarthy: PeaceNick, GreenPete… you all understand the stakes here. We are the enlightened ones, the intellectually superior! To those out there who resist…

His gaze pierces the camera lens, reaching beyond to an unseen audience.

Professor McCarthy: If you are unenlightened, and I’m talking to you in ‘flyover country,’ red states and, counties all across the nation who aren’t as worldly as we are, you need to throw their support towards those are intellectually superior…like us. If you don’t, we will shout you down just like the Green World Order is going to do to the Bi-Partisan Dream Team.

A collective cheer erupts from The Green World Order and McCarthy’s Flock, their voices melding into a raucous crescendo of unwavering conviction. They stand united, an unyielding force in the face of compromise, ready to take their dogma to the extreme.

***

Commercial Break A package of Jeff Spinks Beef Jerky is superimposed in the middle of a campground. There’s a truck with a camper in the bed parked in a forest area with plenty of trees.

Announcer: Jeff Spinks Beef Jerky presents Messing Around with Lauren Boebert- Colorado’s 4th Congressional District representative.

Three men sit around a campfire. The one on the left is crouched down on the ground munching on a piece of Jeff Spinks Beef Jerky. The other two are drinking coffee from a mug.

There’s a rustling by an old barn where four trash cans are located. All four are overflowing over the top. All three look over and see Lauren Boebert with an empty water bottle in her hand. She’s wearing shorts and a tank top as she’s out for a run.

Lauren Boebert: Hey guys. Do you know if there’s any other trash receptacles nearby?

The crouching guy snacking on the beef jerky gets an idea. He reaches into his rucksack and pulls out one of those trick cans that sprays out plastic snakes when you open it up.

Guy #1: Hey guys.

He shows the can to the others.

Lauren Boebert: Um. You do know that I can hear you, right?

The other two snicker at the idea. The man on the far right who’s wearing a plaid lumberjack jacket points to a rock in front of Lauren and the other guy ‘sneaks’ over there with the can.

Lauren Boebert: Okay. You do know that I can see you sneaking up here.

The other two watch as the guy places the can on the rock, with Lauren observing him, and then ‘sneaks’ back to the campfire.

Lauren looks down at the can.

Lauren Boebert: All right. I know what’s inside the can. I’m going to open it up. These plastic thingys are going to come flying out. And then I’m going to have to do something really bad to you guys.

The three campers simply stare at her.

Lauren sighs.

Lauren Boebert: Okay…fine.

She opens the can. Two plastic snakes fly out and the campers begin to laugh. Lauren gives out a ‘look’ that said ‘seriously?’ She exhales, turns, and runs into the woods.

The three campers scurry towards their camper just as Lauren comes back out with a rather ominous looking weapon in hand.

Guy #2 (panicked shout): OH *BLEEP*, SHE’S GOT AN RPG!

Guy #1: AN RPG?

Guy #3 (even more panicked): RUN!

As the campers veer off into the woods, Lauren smiles…aims…and fires the Rocket Propelled Grenade into the camper and blows it up.

Final scene: a package of Jeff Spinks Beef Jerky superimposed over the burning camper and the debris field around it.

Announcer: Jeff Spinks Beef Jerky. Feed your irrationally foolish side.

***

Cut back to the broadcast table.

Johnny Suave: As we noted earlier in the show, former CEO of PCW, Joe Biden has hopped aboard the CAA express, signing on with the talent agency.

The crowd’s reaction is a wild mix of cheers and jeers, echoing off the walls of the saloon like a chorus of discordant slams against the mat.

Johnny Suave: So now, buckle up for another sneak peek at what the former CEO is doing in Hollywood. Roll the footage!

The raucous ambiance of Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon dims as the screen flickers to life, bathing the crowd in a flickering glow. The bombastic music hits, and the voice, gravely and grandiose, booms over the speakers.

Announcer Guy: In a world where politics meets the afterlife…

Joe Biden, decked out in shades and a flamboyant Hawaiian shirt, lounges lifelessly in a beach chair, the center of everyone’s gawking despite his comedic stillness.

With a jarring cut, the scene transposes to a CGI ocean, where Biden—the Bernie of this beach bash—is propped up on a surfboard by none other than Andrew McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman. They ride a digital wave so unconvincing it could be straight out of a low-budget 80s flick, yet the crowd roars with delight, reveling in the absurdity.

Announcer Guy: Exploding Sheep Pictures proudly presents… the one, the only, Joe Biden in the uproarious remake of the century- Weekend at Bernie’s! Get ready for an uproarious ride as the hilarity reaches new heights!

Then, the hilarity escalates. We’re whisked away to a tropical luau, the heat and firelight flickering across the sand. There’s Bernie-Biden, stiff as a board, being used as the limbo stick under a fiery bar by his two desperate co-stars. It’s an exercise in slapstick precision, their movements both awkward and determined as they navigate the political puppet through the dance.

Announcer Guy: But wait, there’s more!

“Bernie” Biden, shades still plastered to his face, is now the unlikely star of a conga line, his body jerked and jostled through the motions. The camera zooms in as bumbling partygoers latch onto him, their hands guiding his limp limbs in an exaggerated shimmy that sends his arms flailing comically.

Announcer Guy: And just when you think it couldn’t get any crazier…

Suddenly, the screen transitions to a raucous city hall scene where, through a series of outrageous mishaps and misunderstandings, Bernie-Biden—still hilariously inert—is declared the new mayor. Confetti flies, the crowd gasps, and the satirical absurdity hits its peak.

Announcer Guy: Weekend at Bernies… coming soon to a theater near you!

The trailer wraps up with a victorious shot of Bernie-Biden being hoisted up by the jubilant citizens, his lifeless form the puppet of the people.

As the trailer hits its crescendo and fades to black, the infectious energy of Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon snaps back to reality. Glasses clink and beer sloshes as patrons debate over the ridiculousness they’ve just witnessed—a perfect blend of satire and slapstick served up PCW-style.

Johnny turns to Colleen- who looks mortified.

Johnny Suave: So, what do you think?

Colleen Crowder: I think it’s totally disrespectful to a great man.

Johnny Suave: All right… it is about time for our main event. Let’s go to Kimber Marshall in the ring for the introductions.

MAIN EVENT: The Green World Order (Progressive Alliance) vs. the Bi-Partisan Dream Team The charged atmosphere of Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon is palpable as Kimber Marshall’s voice booms over the thunderous crowd.

Kimber Marshall: Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for our main event! Introducing… RINO… Blue Dog ‘D’… they are The Bi-Partisan Dream Team!

RINO, cloaked in the proud hues of America, strides confidently down the ramp, followed by Blue Dog ‘D’, his blue mask reflecting the lights like a beacon of moderate politics. They raise their hands, acknowledging the cheers of the Heartland Coalition section, their optimism unyielding.

But before they can reach the sacred squared circle, shadows descend upon them…

Johnny Suave: IT’S PROFESSOR McCARTHY’S FLOCK!

Professor McCarthy’s Flock… The Legion of Anti-Fascists, aka LOAF #1 and LOAF #2, storm the scene with dogmatic fury and ambush RINO and Blue Dog ‘D’. Their fists are gavels, pounding judgment into the Dream Team.

Johnny Suave: They’re attacking the Bi-Partisan Dream Team!

Peta from PETA gets a kick in before she raises a microphone to her mouth.

Peta from PETA: We’re changing… everything!

Peta from PETA’s rallying cry cuts through the mayhem, her fist clenched in revolutionary fervor. The Green World Order floods the arena floor, a tidal wave of eco-extremist wrath joining the beatdown. They stomp on bipartisanship, each kick a metaphor for their disdain for compromise.

The new leader of the Progressive Alliance, Ken Martin, walks out on stage to watch.

Johnny Suave: Ken Martin just stands there, overseeing this ideological destruction.

Ken Martin, the embodiment of the Progressive Alliance’s new direction, nods solemnly from the stage. His eyes are cold, calculating- watching as the Dream Team’s hopes are dismantled beneath an onslaught of boots and dogma.

As the final seconds tick away, Professor McCarthy seizes a camera, thrusting his ‘good book’ toward the lens with evangelical zeal.

Professor McCarthy: Let’s make this perfectly clear. There will be no compromise.

His voice resounds with an authority that chills the air.

Professor McCarthy: It doesn’t matter who you are. CEO Trump or some poor ignorant schlump in flyover country. If you don’t follow the ‘good book’… we will shout you down!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The show ends not with a bell but with the image of the Green World Order posing triumphantly in the ring, their stance unyielding, their message clear: in this world of extreme political wrestling, theirs is the only voice that matters.

Epilogue The screen cuts from the chaos of the ring to a starkly different scene. There’s Joe Biden, climbing the steps of Air Force One with stately poise. It’s serene, almost presidential, until—suddenly—he stumbles. His foot catches on an unseen obstacle, and his balance wavers dangerously.

Narrator: Life comes at you fast.

The narrator’s voice drips with gravitas. Biden wobbles, arms flailing in slow motion as he tries to regain equilibrium, but it’s no use. Down he goes, tumbling backward with a thud that echoes through the living room screens of PCW fans everywhere.

Narrator: Especially when you least expect it.

Biden lies sprawled on the steps, looking up at the sky with a mix of bewilderment and resignation.

Joe Biden: I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.

Narrator: Life Alert: for those moments when the world is unpredictable.

1 note · View note

brookston · 5 months ago

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Holidays 9.27

Holidays

Ancestor Appreciation Day (a.k.a. Honor Your Ancestors Day)

Answering Machine Day

Arbor Day (US Virgin Islands)

Banana Slug Day

Battle of Boquerón Day (Paraguay)

Bloodstone Day

Book Matches Day

Castor 927 Day

Crush A Can Day

Dave Matthews Band Day

Day of Preschool Employees (Russia)

Doris Day Day (Cincinnati, Ohio)

European Myeloma Day

1stLinePit Pitch Day

French Community Day (Belgium)

Fun and Fancy Free Day

GNU Day

Google Commemoration Day

International SEO Day

Julien Alfred Day (Saint Lucia)

Lendemain du Magal de Touba (Sénégal)

Manit Day (Culture Day; Marshall Islands)

Memorial Day (Azerbaijan)

Morning Show Hosts Day

National AJ Day

National Boccia Day (UK)

National Butt Plug Day

National Day of Forgiveness

National Doodle Day

National First Responder Appreciation Day

National Gay Men's HIV/AIDS Awareness Day

National Mustache Day

National 911 Telecommunications Suicide Awareness Day

National No Excuses Day

National Prescription Take-Back Day

National Scarf Day

National Youth Day (Turks and Caicos Islands)

NICU Giving Day

Oski the Bear Day (Berkeley)

Polish Underground State’s Day (Poland)

Post and Telecommunications Service Day (Indonesia)

Shut Up and Let Somebody Else Talk Day

Venom Day

World Freight Train Day

World Pet Day

World Tourism Day (UN)

Food & Drink Celebrations

National Chocolate Milk Day

National Corned Beef Hash Day

National Cats Curry Day (UK)

Saloon Day

Tabasco Sauce Day

Independence & Related Days

Consumación de la Independencia (End of Independence War; Mexico)

Elleore (Declared; 1944) [unrecognized]

Glebiania (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

Mexico (Date Consummated, 1821)

Turkmenistan (from USSR, 1991)

Zekia (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

4th & Last Friday in September

Ask a Stupid Question Day [Last Weekday]

Butterbrot Day (Germany) [Last Friday]

Comfort Food Friday [Every Friday]

Field Trip Friday [Last Friday of Each Month]

Finally Friday [Last Friday of Each Month]

Five For Friday [Every Friday]

Flapjack Friday [4th Friday of Each Month]

Flashback Friday [Every Friday]

Flatbread Friday [Last Friday of Each Month]

Flirtatious Friday [4th Friday of Each Month]

Friday Finds [Every Friday]

Fry Day (Pastafarian; Fritism) [Every Friday]

FSC Friday [Last Friday]

Go Gold Day [Last Friday]

Hug A Vegetarian Day [Last Friday]

Love Note Day [4th Friday]

Make Way Day [Last Friday]

Michigan Indian Day (Michigan) [4th Friday]

National BRAVE Day [4th Friday]

National Good Hair Day (Australia) [4th Friday]

National Hug Your Boss Day [4th Friday; also 9.13]

Native American Day (California) [4th Friday]

Save the Koala Day [Last Friday]

Sport Purple For Platelets Day [Last Friday]

TGIF (Thank God It's Friday) [Every Friday]

Vegan Baking Day [Last Friday]

World's Biggest Coffee Morning (UK) [Last Friday]

Weekly Holidays beginning September 27 (4th Full Week of September)

National Drive Electric Week [f.k.a. National Plug-In Week] (thru 20.6)

Festivals Beginning September 27, 2024

Anderson County Burgoo Festival (Lawrenceburg, Kentucky) [thru 9.29]

Apple Festival (Gays Mills, Wisconsin) [thru 9.29]

Beach n' Chili Fest: ICS World's Championsihp Chili Cookoff (Myrtle Beach, South Carolina) [thru 9.29]

Cannstatter Volksfest (Stuttgart, Germany) [thru 10.13]

Chester County BBQ Festival (Henderson, Tennessee) [thru 9.28]

Chicago Gourmet Hamburger Hop (Chicago, Illinois)

Chilhowie Community Apple Festival (Chilhowie, Virginia) [thru 9.29]

Coca-Cola Days (Atlantic, Iowa) [thru 9.28]

Downtown Chandler Oktoberfest (Chandler, Arizona) [thru 9.28]

Downtown Ithaca Apple Harvest Festival (Ithaca, New York) [thru 9.29]

Galway International Oyster & Seafood Festival (Galway, Ireland) [thru 9.29]

Georgia State Fair (Metro Atlanta, Hampton, Georgia) [thru 10.6]

Harvest Festival & Parade (Arroyo Grande, California) [thru 9.28]

Harvest Festival & Street Fair (Emmett, Idaho) [thru 9.28]

Honeybee Festival (Paris, Illinois) [thru 9.29]

International Sandsculpting Championship (Virginia Beach, Virginia) [thru 10.6]

Irmo Okra Strut Festival (Irmo, South Carolina) [thru 9.28]

Joy of Jazz (Johannesburg, South Africa) [thru 9.28]

Las Vegas Greek Food Festival (Las Vegas, Nevada) [thru 9.29]

Marino Grape Festival (Marino, Italy) [thru 10.7]

Marion County Country Ham Days (Lebanon, Kentucky) [thru 9.29]

Mississippi Pecan Festival (New Augusta, Mississippi) [thru 9.29]

Monterey Jazz Festival begins (California) [Last Friday thru Sunday]

Morgan County Sorghum Festival (West Liberty, Kentucky) [thru 9.29]

New Mexico Prickly Pear Festival (Albuquerque, New Mexico) [thru 9.28]

New York Film Festival (New York, New York) [thru 10.14]

Oktoberfest (Waterloo, Iowa) [thru 9.29]

Oktoberfest (Yachats, Oregon) [thru 9.29]

Oktoberfest Chicago (Chicago, Illinois) [thru 9.29]

Oktoberfest in Canada (Kitchener-Waterloo, Canada) [thru 10.19]

Pumpkinfest (South Lyon, Michigan) [thru 9.29]

River Falls Bacon Bash (River Falls, Wisconsin) [thru 9.29]

Saint Charles Oktoberfest (Saint Charles, Missouri) [thru 9.29]

Sisters Folk Festival (Sisters, Oregon) [thru 9.29]

State Fair of Virginia (Doswell, Virginia) [thru 10.6]

Texas Rice Festival BBQ Cook-Off (Winnie, Texas) [thru 9.28]

Virginia Beach Neptune Festival, Boardwalk Weekend (Virginia Beach, Virginia) [thru 9.29]

Warrens Cranberry Festival (Warrens, Wisconsin) [thru 9.29]

WineFest (North East, Pennsylvania) [thru 9.29]

Feast Days

Adheritus (Christian; Saint)

Aequinoctium Autumnale I (Pagan)

Bernard Waber (Artology)

Birth and Rebirth Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Caius of Milan (Christian; Saint)

Cosmas and Damian (Christian; Martyrs)

Elzear, Count of Arian, and Delphina, his wife (Christian; Saints)

Feast of Eileithyia (Minoan Midwife Goddess)

Feast of Mashiyyat (Baha’i)

Fergus Mac Roith (Celtic Book of Days)

Festival of Namakungwe (The Originator; Zambia)

Festival of Varuni (Goddess of Wine; India)

George Cruikshank (Artology)

Horacio Sandoval (Artology)

Hieronymus Bosch Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Insult a Narcissist Day (Pastafarian)

Irvine Walsh (Writerism)

Jack Goldstein (Artology)

Jim Shooter (Artology)

Jim Thompson (Writerism)

Meskel (Discovery of the True Cross; Eritrea, Ethiopia)

Mookie (Muppetism)

Moon Hare Festival (Everyday Wicca)

Romano Scarpa (Artology)

Sesage (Positivist; Saint)

Sophie Crumb (Artology)

T.C. Cannon (Artology)

Thanksgiving Day for Disappearance of Kelp-Koli Again (Shamanism)

Thomas Nast (Artology)

Vincent de Paul (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Premieres

Abominable (Animated Film; 2019)

The Affair, 16th Jack Reacher book, by Lee Child (Novel; 2011)

Bananaphone, by Raffi (Children’s Album; 1994)

A Bird in a Bonnet (WB MM Cartoon; 1958)

Bongo (Disney Cartoon; 1947)

Boogie Woogie Man (Song Symphony Cartoon; 1943)

Born to Run, by Bruce Springsteen (Autobiography; 2016)

Caballero Droopy (Droopy MGM Cartoon; 1952)

Chilly’s Hide-A-Way (Chilly Willy Cartoon; 1971)

The Cleveland Show (Animated TV Series; 2009)

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 (Animated Film; 2013)

Cracker (UK TV Series; 1993)

Dolly! (TV Series; 1976)

Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert (Music TV Series; 1973)

Don’t Stand So Close to Me, by the Police (Song; 1980)

Elementary (TV Series; 2012)

The Fever Code, by James Dashner (Novel; 2016) [Maze Runner #5]

Fun and Fancy Free (Animated Disney Film; 1947)

The Garden of The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran (Poetry; 1931)

The Goal Rush (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1946)

Goodbye to Berlin, by Christopher Isherwood (Novel; 1939)

The Harlem Globetrotters Meet Snow White (Hanna-Barbera Animated TV Movie)

The Invisible Mouse (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1947)

The Journey of Natty Gann (Film; 1985)

The Karate Guard (Tom & Jerry WB Cartoon; 2005)

King of the Mardi Gras (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1935)

The Last King of Scotland (Film; 2006)

Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder (Novel; 1935)

Memphis Blues, by W.C. Handy (Song; 1912) [1st Blues Song]

Mickey and the Beanstalk (Disney Cartoon; 1947)

Monster, by R.E.M. (Album; 1994)

Mumbo Jumbo (Ant and the Aardvark Cartoon; 1970)

New Jersey, by Bon Jovi (Album; 1988)

Nightmare, recorded by Artie Shaw (Song; 1938)

The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (Film; 1939)

Ran (Film; 1985)

Ringo's Rotogravure, by Ringo Starr (Album; 1976)

Rush (Film; 2013)

Sand and Foam, by Kahlil Gibran (Poetry; 1926)

Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV Series; 2007)

Silent Spring (Nature Book; 1962)

Sweet Home Alabama (Film; 2002)

Tepee for Two (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1963)

Thanks for the Memory, by Bob Hope (Song; 1938)

The Tonight Show (TV Talk Show; 1954)

2 Days in the Valley (Film; 1996)

Under the Table and Framing, by The Dave Matthews Band (Album; 1994)

The Village Barber (Ub Iwerks Flip the Frog MGM Cartoon; 1930)

We Didn’t Start the Fore, by Billy Joel (Song; 1989)

Wet Blanket Policy (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1948)

Today’s Name Days

Dietrich, Hiltrud, Vinzenz (Austria)

Berislav, Gaj, Vincent, Vinko, Vinko (Croatia)

Jonáš (Czech Republic)

Cosmus (Denmark)

Elo, Loone, Õrne (Estonia)

Vesa (Finland)

Vincent (France)

Dietrich, Hiltrud, Vinzenz (Germany)

Akylini, Epicharis, Kallistratos, Zenon, Zinon (Greece)

Adalbert (Hungary)

Cosma, Damiano, Vincenzo (Italy)

Ādolfs, Ilgonis, Ronalds (Latvia)

Adalbertas, Damijonas, Daugilė, Kęsgailė, Kovaldas (Lithuania)

Dagmar, Dagrun (Norway)

Amadeusz, Amedeusz, Damian, Kosma, Przedbor, Urban (Poland)

Antim (Romania)

Cyprián (Slovakia)

Vicente (Spain)

Dagmar, Rigmor (Sweden)

Cosima, Cosimo, Cosmo, Damian, Damiana, Damien, Damion, Damon (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 271 of 2024; 95 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of Week 39 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Muin (Vine) [Day 27 of 28]

Chinese: Month 8 (Guy-You), Day 25 (Jia-Wu)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 24 Elul 5784

Islamic: 23 Rabi I 1446

J Cal: 1 Orange; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 14 September 2024

Moon: 22%: Waning Crescent

Positivist: 19 Shakespeare (10th Month) [Miss Edgeworth]

Runic Half Month: Gyfu (Gift) [Day 6 of 15]

Season: Autumn or Fall (Day 6 of 90)

Week: 4th Full Week of September

Zodiac: Libra (Day 5 of 30)

Calendar Changes

Orange (Month 10 of 12; J Calendar)

#calendar #Holidays

0 notes

iancumminsauthor · 9 months ago

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1974

I was recently watching an old episode of a TV drama - a cop show from 1974 - as research for my next time travel novel.

I then imagined what it would have been like in 1974 if it was possible to watch a TV cop show from 1924. Would the changes be more noticeably significant?

Street scenes would instantly date the shows – traffic has a habit of changing over the years, from horse-drawn and vintage 'upright' motor vehicles in 1924 to saloon and sports cars of 1974 and sleek cars of today, with 'plastic' bodywork and electric engines. And fashion - I’m sure someone dressed in clothing from 1924 would have stood out in 1974, despite the 'anything goes' vibe from the 60s to date. Equally, I think that certain 1974 clothing would barely receive a glance in 2024. Or maybe that's because I'm still wearing them 😂

Technology from 1924 to 1974 had not advanced as much as it has between 1974 to 2024. In one scene from 1974, the police detective typed up his report on a typewriter, looked up an address in a paper telephone directory and complained that he could not speak to a colleague until he calls in from a landline telephone or returns to the station. This would have been the same problem in 1924.

There were no mobile ’phones or even computer communications until later in the century. these days, we expect instant information, by pushing few buttons or even just asking Alexa or Siri to provide it.

My conclusion? The speed with which things change can be both variable and deceptive. The pace of visible change might have slowed in the last hundred years (from industrial to digital), but the underlying changes to how we perform even the most mundane tasks have probably been more significant and have happened much quicker than we think.

#time travel #classic cars #transportation #1970s tv #delorean #ford motor co #jaguar #fashion #style #technology

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 3 months ago

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Mercedes-Benz Vision AMG Concept, 2022. A design study for a high performance electric saloon with a long wheelbase and short overhangs. The concept was built on the dedicated AMG.EA platform and had an Axial Flux Motor developed by Mercedes-Benz' wholly owned subsidiary YASA.

#Mercedes-Benz #Mercedes-Benz Vision AMG Concept #2022 #concept #design study #prototype #Axial Flux Motor #long wheelbase #EV #electric car #BEV #sports saloon #futuristic

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sims4cars-breezemotors · 11 months ago

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“Aerodynamic with style”

2022 Hyundai IONIQ 6 🇰🇷

The 2022 Hyundai IONIQ 6 is an EV with an aerodynamic look and function that not only makes it run more efficiently, but it also allows it to perform like a sports saloon on the track. The IONIQ 6 can take off from standstill to 100 kmh in just 5.1 seconds. An electric car that screams performance with its flaps, aerodynamic mirrors, and wheel gap reducers, the Hyundai IONIQ 6 is a great pick for those looking to use less gas and still be fast.

Available exclusively for “No Limits” and “All Inclusive” tiers this March. Since April 1’st. Available for All Inclusive tier only.

Model with HQ interior, open/close doors, trunk and functional light.

Go and join my Patreon!

#the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims4 #sims4car #the sims 4 cc #the sims 4 custom content #thesims4cars #the sims 4 cars #sims4vehicles #the sims

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f1mike28 · 3 months ago

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AMG S63 E PERFORMANCE „The Boss“.

Mercedes-AMG S63 E PERFORMANCE (combined fuel consumption, weighted: 4.4 l/100 km; combined CO2 emissions, weighted: 100 g/km; combined power consumption, weighted: 21.4 kWh/100 km)[1] with AMG hybrid technology once again sets the benchmark in the segment. The E PERFORMANCE model combines the AMG 4.0-litre V8 biturbo engine with the AMG-specific hybrid powertrain and a new expansion stage of the AMG high-performance battery.

The focus of the powertrain, however, is less on electric range and more on best-in-class performance. With 590kW (802hp) of system output and 1430Nm of system torque, the saloon sets new standards in the segment. The acceleration of 3.3 seconds to 100km/h and the optional top speed of 290km/h underline the superior, dynamic driving performance. Systems such as the AMG RIDE CONTROL+ suspension, AMG ACTIVE RIDE CONTROL roll stabilisation and rear-axle steering as standard ensure a wide spread between driving dynamics and comfort.

A central component of the P3 hybrid powertrain is the AMG 4.0 V8 biturbo engine, in this case producing 450kW (612hp). It provides a maximum torque of 900Nm, which is available over a wide speed range. The engine’s most important design features include the two twin-scroll turbochargers, which are located in the hot inner-V. The position between the two cylinder banks shortens the paths of the exhaust gases to the turbocharger and the compressed fresh air to the combustion chamber.

The result is a very immediate response. Another important feature is the belt-driven starter-generator (RSG), which is integrated into the 400-volt electrical system. This combines the starter and alternator into one unit, and has sufficient power to always start the V8 at once.

Mercedes-AMG One man, one engine Handcrafted by Michael Kübler @f1mike28 in Germany Affalterbach. Driving Performance is our Passion!

Mercedes-AMG the Performance and Sports Car Brand from Mercedes-Benz. Mercedes-AMG Handcrafted by Racers.

#amg #sclass #s63 #s63amg #s63amgeperformance #s63eperformance #eperformance #mercedesamg #mercedes #mercedesbenz #affalterbach #onemanoneengine #pagani

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e-carlease · 2 years ago

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In terms of the car shown, the Porsche Taycan Saloon 500KW Turbo 93kwh 4 door Auto [22KW] [5 Seat] Pure Electric Vehicle, this is based on the following configuration:

Porsche special metallic paint - Crayon

Carbon interior package - Taycan

Leather free - Black

21" RS Spyder design alloy wheels

Factory Options Dealer Fit Option

Adaptive cruise control Ceramic Coating

Homelink (programmable garage door opener)

Lane change assistant with blind spot monitoring

Park assist including surround view

Porsche electric sport sound

Electrically folding exterior mirrors

Fixed panoramic roof

High gloss black side window trims

Illuminated door sill guards in matt carbon

Model designation painted in high gloss black

PORSCHE logo LED door courtesy lights

Privacy glass

Windscreen with grey top tint

Ambient lighting

Passenger display

Rear axle steering including power steering plus

trim B pillars race tex

High gloss black exterior pack – Taycan

Side airbags in rear compartment

Comfort access system

150 kW On board booster

#cars #car lease #car leasing #porsche #porsche taycan #Electric Car #electric cars #EV #company #taycan lease #taycan leasing

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pcwpolwrestling · 1 year ago

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1/20-PCW Returns with Extreme Political TV from Iowa

When we last met…

January 20th, 2021-Joe Biden’s Inauguration as CEO of PCW Seated in her plush, overstuffed armchair at home, PCW Owner Dawn McGill luxuriated in comfort as she watched the newly returned PCW Blue Brand aka… Political Shakedown show- live from Washington, D.C. She sipped on a glass of whiskey, the smooth liquid washing away any tension or stress from the day. The soft light from the nearby lamp casts a warm glow over her living room, highlighting her freshly painted red toenails that peeked out from beneath her favorite sweatshirt and blue jeans.

As she munched on a bowl of buttery popcorn, Dawn’s gaze flicked from the screen to her surroundings, her sanctuary, her safe haven from the chaos and drama of the outside world. But even here, she can’t escape the political turmoil that has consumed PCW over the past few months.

With Joe Biden officially being installed as the new CEO of PCW, Dawn reflected on everything that has transpired: the return of PCW and Extreme Election Night 2020 where the Progressive Alliance swept everything and took full control of the PCW Executive Committee; her own abduction at the hands of wealthy financiers George Moros and the Coke Brothers, with assistance from The Alan Lincoln’s Project, during Extreme Election Night; and her subsequent detention for almost two months before being rescued by The Deplorables.

But perhaps what weighed heaviest on Dawn’s mind is the recent riot at Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon, which resulted in the destruction of PCW’s spiritual home of over 15 years. It was this event that ultimately led to the return of ‘Sports Entertainment Genius’ Mr. McMann and spelled the end for PCW as she knew it.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Dawn shook her head in disbelief at how quickly everything had unraveled.

As the TV flickered to life, a grand and lavish production filled the screen. The atmosphere was electric, with waves of excitement emanating from the audience. Security was tight, with members of the newly established Space Force clad in pristine white and black uniforms standing guard.

Finally, the moment arrived as Joe Biden, the newly inaugurated CEO of PCW, stepped up to the podium. His wrinkled seventy-six year old face was covered in a dark shroud and black cloak. But it was his eyes that captured the attention of the viewers. Like two storm clouds swirling with power and intensity, they seemed to shoot out bolts of lightning with each gesticulation.

“People… supporters of…” Biden was stopped in mid-sentence when his aides realized Joe was facing the wrong direction. They guided Biden and turned around to address the crowd. An annoyed look from the new CEO of PCW presaged a quick bolt of lightning from his eyes that incinerated an unlucky cameraman in front of him leaving the poor man in a heap of ash on the ground.

Now, looking in the correct direction, Biden’s voice boomed through the crowded arena, his words punctuated by cheers from the passionate crowd. “People, supporters of Political Championship Wrestling, today we mark a transition. For years, PCW stood as the conduit for people who were fed up with the status quo, fed up with politics as usual. But there were those within our fan base who would set us against one another for we never suspected that the greatest threat came from within. These “supporters” conspired to create a shadow of doubt on my appointment aided and abetted by the previous PCW CEO.”

Dawn McGill watched while she munched on a large bucket of buttered popcorn she’d just microwaved.

Biden continued: “The riot two and a half weeks ago left PCW scarred and deformed. But I can assure you my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over. Donald Trump has been defeated and we stand on the threshold of a new beginning. With that in mind, in order to ensure the security and continuing stability and for a safe and secure society, Political Championship Wrestling will be reorganized into the Political Wrestling Universe and PCW will cease to exist.”

Dawn reached over to grab her flask of whiskey hidden under her seat, taking a quick swig before leaning back to listen to Biden’s plans for a stronger, more stable political wrestling universe.

Biden continued, “By bringing the political universal under our enlightened guidance, the corruption that plagued PCW in the past few years under the ownership of Dawn McGill will never take root ever again.”

As Biden spoke about the transition and the previous controversy within PCW, Dawn couldn’t help but roll her eyes and throw a piece of popcorn at the TV screen showing the speech.

Biden went on while a crowd of powerful elites before him nodded in agreement, their faces set with determination and conviction. “Under our New Order, our most cherished beliefs will be safeguarded. We will defend our ideals by force of arms.

Behind Biden stood a lineup of influential figures, including George Moros, a big money, political bank roller known for his controversial political views; the infamous Coke Brothers, shrewd businessmen who controlled large portions of the world’s resources; Jack Buckenberg, the enigmatic CEO of Facetwitogram, a popular social media platform; and Alan Lincolns, founder of the Alan Lincolns Project, a highly influential group in shaping public opinion.

The camera then panned to Professor McCarthy, a renowned scholar from Berkeley, California known for his devotion to the ‘good book that spells out what’s correct and incorrect to think, say, and believe,’ and his loyal followers -The Green World Order. GreenPete, a vocal environmentalist; ‘Extreme Vegan’ Brock Cole Lee, known for his extreme methods of promoting plant-based diets; PeaceNick, an advocate for non-violent resolutions; and Peta from PETA, dedicated to animal rights.

But it didn’t stop there. The Hollywood Left and sports celebrities from all walks of life joined in, signaling their support with cheers and clapping.

Finally, Biden concluded his speech with a fierce declaration: “We will give no ground to our enemies and we will stand together against attacks from with or without. Let our enemies take heed. Those who challenge our resolve will be crushed.”

The Guild of Low-Level Media People Trying to Make a Name for Themselves: Colleen Crowder of That Big New York Newspaper that pushes ‘Narrative as News’, Sharon Johns from the National News Cable Company, Hallie Reed of MS Left Wing News, and Dan Miller from the Big Washington Newspaper that used to be really good until they decided to be the New York Times-lite- all enthusiastically joined in the ovation.

FIN? January 31st, 2021 The location of Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon, a once thriving hub of entertainment and community, now lay desolate in the midst of a snowy landscape. The icy wind whipped against Dawn McGill’s face as she parked her car on the side of the road, next to Johnny Suave’s vehicle. Together, they stared at the empty field that was once adorned with the bustling saloon.

Dawn reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a flask of whiskey. She poured two shots and handed one to Suave, who accepted it with a grateful nod. The liquid burned their throats as they downed it, trying to warm themselves from the bitter cold.

As they stood there, reminiscing about the days when PCW was at its peak, running monthly at Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon. They couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy wash over them. They had spent countless nights here, making memories that would last a lifetime.

But now it was all gone. The saloon had been torn down, leaving only an empty space behind. Yet, despite its absence, Dawn and Suave still felt its presence lingering in the air.

“What should we drink to?” Dawn asked, breaking the silence between them.

Suave turned to look at her, his eyes filled with nostalgia. “How about good times and good memories?”

Dawn smiled wistfully and clinked her shot glass against his. “Good times and good memories,” she echoed before they both took another sip.

As they stood there in silent reflection, they knew that even though Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon may no longer exist physically and PCW may no longer exist period, the spirit would always live on through their shared experiences and cherished recollections. And for that, they were forever grateful.

Fin?

(…)

Nope…

==============================

Political Championship Wrestling Drama in Des Moines Des Moines, Iowa Taped Monday January 14th, 2024 Saturday January 20th, 2021

Announcers: ‘The Voice of PCW’ Johnny Suave AGE: 50 / HT: 5’ 11” WT: 195 HOME: Philadelphia, PA HAIR: Brown / STYLE: Like Ronnie Dunn / FACE: Goatee DRESS: Brown suit without tie

Colleen Crowder ‘Low Level New York Times Reporter Trying to Make a Name for Herself’ AGE: 28 / HT: 5’ 5” WT: 142 HOME: New York City, NY HAIR: Black / STYLE: Curly / FACE: Narrow face with rounded jaw, turned-up nose, faint freckles, and thin lips. Bulging blue eyes, thin eyebrows. DRESS: Black pants suit

PCW Investigative Reporter -Woodward Bernstein

Opening The air in the bar was thick with anticipation, a heady cocktail of sweat and spilled beer. Underneath the clamor, there was an electric hum – the sound of fervent hearts chanting in unison, “PCW… PCW… PCW!” Spotlights crisscrossed over their heads, converging on the squared circle that was the evening’s altar of entertainment.

In the eye of this human hurricane stood Johnny Suave, microphone in hand, his slick suit barely containing his excitement. Beside him, That Big New York Newspaper that pushes ‘Narrative as News’ reporter Colleen Crowder’s sharp features were set in a look of disdain.

“Welcome, one and all, to the grand return of PCW’s Extreme Political TV, right here in Des Moines, Iowa!” Suave announced, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife. He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes twinkling with showmanship, before dropping his catchphrase…

“HOLY CRAP!”

As if on cue, the crowd exploded into cheers, the room vibrating with their approval. Colleen, however, remained unimpressed, her lips curling as though she had tasted something sour.

“This… spectacle has no place on the air,” Colleen declared, her voice dripping with condescension.

“Tonight, we’re kicking off the road to Extreme Election Night 2024 with a four-way American Patriots Iowa Caucus match!” Suave continued, the announcement injecting even more life into the already excited audience. “But first…” Suave turned, gesturing toward the entrance with a flourish. “Let me bring out the owner of PCW, the woman who fought tooth and nail to bring us back – Dawn McGill!”

Colleen’s face sank and the crowd roared as Dawn stepped into view, security parting the sea of bodies like a modern-day Moses. She wore black boots laced up to her knees, tight denim shorts, and a PCW tank top that hugged her athletic frame. Her medium-length hair was poofed out, and her eyes sparkled with determination, gratitude, and a lot of makeup.

McGill was escorted to the ring by a team of burly security guards, their muscles bulging under tight black shirts. The bar erupted as she passed through. The big screen televisions lining the wall displayed provocative, but tasteful, images from her recent Henhouse Magazine shoot and ignited a frenzy within the crowd. Fans jostled for a chance to touch her, reaching out with outstretched arms and pleading eyes. McGill strode forward confidently past the fans who jostled and reached out with outstretched arms towards her. She basked in the attention like a queen amongst her loyal subjects.

“Nice pictures,” Colleen snarked under her breath as Dawn rolled into the ring, her tone acidic enough to curdle milk.

“I know,” Dawn replied without missing a beat, with the confidence of someone who’d faced greater challenges than a verbal spar.

She embraced Suave, her ally in this world of chaos and theatrics. They stood united, a bulwark against the smug dismissal in Colleen’s eyes. It was more than a hug; it was an affirmation that they were ready to take on whatever the political arena would throw at them.

In the midst of the cheers and the palpable energy of revival, Dawn couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. She had taken the hits, bore the scrutiny, and emerged victorious. This ring was her domain, and she was back – not just for herself, but for every person who believed that PCW was more than a show. It was a movement, a voice, and tonight, it was going to be louder than ever.

The PCW chants swelled like a storm, crashing against the makeshift arena within the walls of Des Moines’ most unlikely venue.

“WE’RE BACK!” she bellowed, fists clenched with the tenacity of a prizefighter.

The bar thundered in response, a chorus of “PCW… PCW… PCW…” that shook pint glasses and rattled the turnbuckles.

“Lord knows it’s been a long road,” Dawn projected over the din, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces. “But we’ve driven every bumpy mile thanks to you—the fans!” She punched a finger upward, punctuating her gratitude. The spotlight caught the glimmer of determination in her eyes.

“Let’s give a round of applause to Henhouse Magazine,” she declared, a sly smirk on her lips. “Who would have thought that just flipping through some glossy pages could rekindle a revolution?” Dawn paused as more pictures cycled through on the big screen televisions inside the bar. “And thanks to the money I made posing for their magazine, we had the financing to restart PCW.” The crowd erupted into cheers, grateful for the insider information from their beloved leader.

“Of course, none of this would be possible without Waylon Husk!” Dawn’s tone shifted, a note of respect threading through her words. “His social media platform gave us a megaphone when others wanted to keep us silent.”

She spun on her heel, suddenly facing the hard camera, her expression fierce. “And as for you, Jack Buckenberg, deplatform this! ” she snarled, raising her middle finger with a flourish. “*BLEEP* you!” The censors barely caught the f-bomb in time but clearly caught the cheer that erupted, echoing her sentiment: “PCW… PCW… PCW!”

Colleen Crowder’s lip curled at the edges, disdain dripping from her posture. “This is exactly the type of uncouth behavior that should be deplatformed,” she muttered into her mic, loud enough for the cameras but drowned out by the fervor of chanting supporters.

“TONIGHT, is just the beginning,” Dawn declared, reclaiming the moment as her own. “Come November, on Extreme Election Night 2024, we crown a new CEO of PCW.” Her hands swept wide, framing the future in the air before her.

“Joe Biden will win because that’s our narrative,” Colleen Crowder interjected sharply, the words slicing through the anticipation like a knife. “That Big New York Newspaper that pushes ‘Narrative as News,’ we’ve already decided it.”

“Decided?” Suave’s brow arched, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You do realize that narrative-driven news is the same as scripted pro wrestling, right?” His words were velvet wrapped around a sledgehammer, soft but devastating.

“Comparing journalism to your scripted circus?” Colleen’s face flushed, a vein throbbing in her temple. “Apples and oranges, Suave. Apples and oranges.”

“Both are entertaining, but only one pretends to be reality,” Suave shot back, the barbs hidden under his breathy chuckle.

Dawn seized the pause, rising above the fray. She ascended the turnbuckle, arms spread wide—a phoenix risen from the ashes of controversy. Her smile was a beacon, a signal that no matter how heated the debate, the show must—and would—go on.

And just like that, we were off and running.

Preview The raucous energy inside the bar crackled like a live wire as ‘The Voice of PCW’ Johnny Suave stood center ring, his voice cutting through the cacophony with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his tone rising above the buzz, “tonight, four titans will clash in the American Patriots’ Iowa Caucus match!”

The crowd, a seething mass of anticipation, responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm as Suave introduced the contenders one by one. “First up, Vivek Ramaswamy!” A smattering of hands met together in polite, yet unenthusiastic applause—a golf clap for the political pugilist.

“Next, the trailblazing Nikki Haley!” The applause grew slightly warmer but still lacked true fervor, like a tepid bath that couldn’t quite steam the mirror.

“Then we have Ron DeSantis!” Approval crested higher now, okay applause rolling in like a reliable tide, respectful and expected.

“And finally, the former CEO of PCW… Donald Trump!” The arena erupted, a volcanic release of adoration and excitement that sent a shockwave through the air—roaring applause that shook the foundations of the building.

Beside Suave, Colleen Crowder’s face contorted with incredulity, her voice piercing the din. “This is preposterous! Trump has no business being in this match!” Her protest was a tempest in a teapot, drowned out by the thunderous approval of the masses.

“Well, not even the misuse of the American Judicial system can keep Trump from being here,” Suave quipped.

Colleen let out a gasp and sputtered a few incomprehensible things.

With the announcement squared away, Suave pivoted to the imminent action. “It’s time for our first match!”

MATCH #1: Big Oil vs. ‘New Age Sensitive Guy’ Brandon Thomas-Taylor Under the soft glow of eco-friendly LED lights, the “New Age Sensitive Guy” Brandon Thomas-Taylor, perched upon an electric cart, his passage through the bar towards the ring Mikeed by a glacial pace that could only be described as ironic. The cart, much like the political promises of renewable energy, ran out of juice…

“Son of a bitch!” Brandon exclaimed

…and forced Brandon to disembark and walk the remainder of the way, his footfalls a quiet testament to thwarted innovation.

“Where’s the charging station?” he groused.

“It’s very cold here in Des Moines, tonight,” Suave said. “And cold apparently reduces the amount of charge electric batteries hold.”

Accompanying him to the ring, Soccer Mom waved her banner high, her rallying cry piercing the atmosphere “It’s for the children!” An emblem of suburban activism, she personified the intersection of helicopter parenting and hashtag advocacy.

But as the behemoth known as Big Oil made his entrance, the mood shifted just a little. The lighting cast elongated shadows behind the 7-foot goliath, his every step a seismic event. Texas Tex, the epitome of fossil fuel excess, followed, pushing a wheelbarrow overflowing with cash—symbolic of profits over planet.

“Big Oil versus ‘New Age Sensitive Guy’ Brandon Thomas-Taylor!” announced Suave, his voice riding the wave of the crowd’s shifting focus.

A chant, both derisive and catchy, began to sweep through the stands. “Let’s Go Brandon!” The crowd latched onto the meme with fervor, their unified voices a sardonic serenade that tickled the ears of all but one.

Colleen Crowder bristled, her commentary betraying her agitation. “This mockery is unacceptable!” Her voice trembled with the force of her conviction, a lone reporter against the tide of public opinion.

“His name is Brandon,” Suave pointed out.

“Unacceptable!” Colleen repeated.

The bell’s clang reverberated through the bar. Brandon Thomas-Taylor, his eco-conscious heart pounding beneath his hemp-fiber singlet, steadied himself as the colossus known as Big Oil loomed over him. The behemoth’s boots pounded the mat like drumbeats of doom, each stomp a metaphor for environmental degradation.

“Here comes the deforestation in human form!” Johnny Suave’s voice crackled with excitement, the crowd hanging on his every word.

“That’s not funny,” Colleen said.

Big Oil’s massive hand clapped onto Brandon’s chest, the sound echoing like a tree falling in an untouched forest. He chopped the New Age Sensitive Guy down, Brandon’s body hitting the mat with the weight of a carbon footprint. The crowd was a tempest of jeers and cheers, a storm of public opinion in the political arena of the ring.

“Look at that power! It’s like watching an oil spill cover pristine coastline,” Colleen cried out, her voice laced with sarcasm and dread.

Whip after whip, corner to corner, Big Oil sent Brandon careening like a misguided energy policy, until finally, with a roar that shook the foundations, he powerbombed the sensitive soul to the canvas. Brandon tried to clear his head.

“Renewable energy can’t be snuffed out this easily,” he thought, trying to rally his spirit. Then Big Oil lifted him for a second devastating powerbomb and drove him down with enough force to cause him to bounce three feet up in the air before crashing down again.

Big Oil, the embodiment of fossil fuel might, hoisted Brandon once more.

“Can’t you see he’s had enough?” Colleen’s plea to the referee was a desperate cry against unchecked corporate power, but it went unheeded as Big Oil delivered a third cataclysmic powerbomb.

As if the ring were fracked earth, Brandon lay fractured on the mat, his resolve leaking away.

“BIG OIL HAS JUST HIT THREE CONSECUTIVE POWERBOMBS ON BRANDON!” Suave shouted. “AND NOW HE’S SET BRANDON UP FOR THE OKLAHOMA DRILLER!”

Big Oil placed Brandon’s head between his legs and readied him for this finisher by holding him upside down.

“STOP THE MATCH!” Colleen screamed, her journalistic objectivity lost in a sea of concern for the underdog.

But then, the opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop” filled the bar, a refrain of hope amidst despair. Big Oil’s attention snapped away from his defeated opponent.

“HOLY CRAP! IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?” Suave’s voice rose in pitch, disbelief coloring his words.

A spotlight cut through the dimly lit bar, searching, seeking the savior. And there he was, amidst the throng of spectators—a plaid-shirted enigma wielding a steel chair, a grayish beard, and a weaponized mocha.

“HE’S HERE!” Suave bellowed, barely able to contain his glee.

The bar erupted, a geyser of adulation for the Environmental Extreme Hardcore Icon, Al Gore, brandishing his biodegradable cup high, a toast to Mother Earth herself as he headed down the ramp. With a long swig that emptied the cup, he channeled the fury of a thousand climate accords and spewed the caffeinated contents over the roaring masses.

“IT’S THE TREE HUGGIN’, MOCHA CHUGGIN’, TOBACCO COMPANY BUGGIN’, INSANE CHAIR-SWINGING, ENVIRONMENTAL EXTREME HARDCORE ICON- AL GORE!”

Big Oil let Brandon fall to the mat and glared at Gore.

“Take that, emissions!” Colleen found herself shouting, swept up in the moment.

As the crowd serenaded him with Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop,” Gore crushed the paper cup against his cranium, signaling his readiness to recycle Big Oil’s attitude with extreme prejudice.

“AL GORE IS BACK IN PCW AND HE’S COME TO BRANDON’S AID!” Suave exclaimed.

Once again, Gore pulled out another mocha and drank it down. He then smashed the cop against his forhead and another container met its fate, the crowd wild with anticipation, as Gore continued his eco-friendly onslaught, dousing them with both liquid and fervor.

With Soccer Mom’s maternal instincts kicking in, she slid into the ring, pulling Brandon to safety. His battered body was a testament to the clash between green ideals and black gold.

Gore rolled into the ring and a staredown ensued.

“Al Gore makes the save for ‘New Age Sensitive Guy’ Brandon Thomas-Taylor,” Suave said. “I suspect this battle is not over yet.”

“You know, it’s like Al Gore said in his book,” Colleen chimed in with a sly grin, causing a smirk to grace her lips. “Some people just can’t handle The Inconvenient Truth!”

Suave rolled his eyes…

How Dare You? …and on the towering big-screen televisions, static snow danced for an agonizing few seconds before crystallizing into the figure of a young woman. “And now, folks,” Colleen Crowder’s voice oozed through the speakers with the syrupy sweetness of false praise, “let us bear witness to the power of youth activism, as exemplified by the incomparable Greta Thunberg!”

Except it wasn’t Greta Thunberg at all.

“Wait just a minute!” Johnny Suave’s voice cut in, sharp and clear. His eyes widened behind his signature shades as he leaned forward, disbelief etched on his face. “That’s not Greta.”

Colleen’s eyes widened. “What?”

“That’s Gracie McAvay!” Suave said. “Dawn McGill’s nine-year-old daughter!”

Gracie, her tiny frame dwarfed by the screen, stood defiantly before the camera, her chin lifted in a mimicry that was both uncanny and scathing. “How dare you?” Her small voice echoed with a conviction that belied her years, each word a pint-sized punch thrown at the bloated belly of Washington D.C.’s political elite. “Spending trillions more than what we take in taxes!” Gracie continued, her hands balled into fists. “You’re spending my money, my children’s money, my grandchildren’s money, because who do you think is going to have to pay this all back?” She stomped a small foot, a miniature gladiator in the coliseum of public opinion. “Running up a national debt over thirty trillion dollars—how dare you?”

Colleen Crowder spluttered into her mic, the image of disarray. “Well, she’s too young to understand complex fiscal policies and the intricacies of government spending.”

And then, as if Gracie sensed the rising tide of support from the audience, her small arms shot up, fingers splayed in an unmistakable ‘up yours’ gesture that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

“Gracie!” The reprimand came off-camera, Dawn’s voice piercing through the din.

“Sorry, Mom.” Gracie’s sheepish reply was almost drowned out by the deafening roar of approval from the fans. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and resolve—a reflection of her mother’s spirit.

As the video feed cut out, leaving the screens blank once again, the arena buzzed with energy.

An Offer She Can’t Refuse Inside her office, Dawn McGill lounged in her chair. Her gaze narrowed on the monitor, but not because the commercial held any particular interest; it was just there, like the unavoidable hum of a distant lawnmower on a lazy Sunday.

*KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK*

“Come in,” she called out, voice dripping with anticipation like honey from a spoon, a tone concocted for unsolicited guests with delusions of grandeur.

The door swung open, and in strode two actors playing caricatures of political virtue, Mike Johnson and Mitch McConnell, decked out in their finest American Patriot Leader cosplay – red ties tight as nooses around their necks. “Mike… Mitch. What a surprise,” Dawn drawled, the sarcasm obvious enough to leave a taste.

“Good evening, Dawn,” Mike began, his Southern drawl thick as molasses in December. “We’re here to offer you a golden opportunity.”

“Golden opportunity, you say?” She raised an impeccably arched brow, leaning back in her chair, the very picture of feigned curiosity.

“Indeed,” Mitch chimed in, face earnest, mustache. “PCW should come home…to the Red Brand.”

“Come home to the Red Brand,” Dawn echoed, tasting the words like a connoisseur sips a suspect vintage.

Mike adopted a preacher’s fervor. “That’s right. The American Patriots are the faction of Abraham Lincoln. The Red Brand is the perfect place for you to be.”

Dawn’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I see. And where would our wrestlers start?”

“Entry level,” Mitch said, as though he were offering up a spot in heaven’s waiting room.

“Entry level?” Dawn repeated, letting the phrase hang in the air, sour as curdled milk.

“The pay isn’t great, but it’s better than it used to be,” Mitch offered, hoping the bone he threw had some meat on it.

“Ah.” She nodded, the gesture as empty as most campaign promises.

“And we also have some wrestlers who are bankrolled by some of our big corporate supporters. They would have to be pushed ahead of all the newcomers,” Mike interjected, his tone slightly apologetic.

“Corporate branding of the characters would need to be done,” Mitch added, as if laying out the perks of a timeshare in hell.

“Well, as much as that sounds intriguing…” Dawn began, voice soaked in facetiousness, “…and it does…I think I’m going to pass.”

Mike’s face fell; he looked like a dog that had been kicked one too many times. “I see, you want us to sweeten the deal,” he said, hand slicing through the air as though it could cut a side of beef.

Their act was as convincing as a toupee in a hurricane, as authentic as a three-dollar bill. Dawn knew this dance well, the awkward pas de deux of power plays and false promises. But she wasn’t buying what they were selling – not today, not ever. Dawn McGill played to win, and in PCW, winning meant keeping your soul intact, not auctioning it off to the highest bidder.

Mike Johnson laid out their ‘generous’ offer, Dawn reclined in her chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, like a seasoned poker player hiding a royal flush up her sleeve.

“Okay, we can throw in advocating lower taxes without demanding reduced spending,” Mike declared, his voice carrying the oily charm of a used car salesman peddling a lemon. “Laissez-faire regulations that favor corporations, health care and wages that again favor big business at the expense of ordinary workers.”

Mitch chimed in, his drawl thick as molasses, “Let’s not forget big business trickle-down economic policies that also favor large employers and leave middle America behind.”

“Ahh…gotcha.” Dawn’s voice dripped with sarcasm, her eyes glinting with amusement as if she’d just witnessed a chicken trying to play chess. “Guys, that’s a really bad deal,” she said, her tone flat, like a teacher explaining gravity to a room full of kindergarteners moonwalking in defiance of it.

“Ooooh…we’ve got a negotiator here,” Mike said, his grin stretching like he’d just struck oil in his backyard.

“Um no. I’m not negotiating,” Dawn retorted, crossing her arms, her posture unyielding as a barricade at a protest rally.

But yet, the negotiating began.

“Okay—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—Miss McGill,” Mitch began, leaning forward, his face earnest as a boy scout pledging an oath he intended to break, “we’ll even throw in a half-assed promise to root out deep state bureaucrats and keep out activist judges who undermine legislate from the bench and thwart the will of the people…”

“…while maintaining the status quo for the Washington D.C. beltway elites to continue to prosper while middle America withers on the vine like they have for the past 25 years,” Mike concluded, nodding gravely as though he’d just offered her the keys to Fort Knox instead of a ticking time bomb.

“Really?” Dawn’s eyebrows arched toward the heavens, her incredulity wrapped in a thin veneer of politeness.

“That’s our final offer,” Mike said, his tone suggesting he’d laid down a royal flush when all he had was a pair of twos.

At that moment, Dawn’s cell phone cut through the stale air, its ringtone a brash country riff that made both men jump. “Um, no. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, plucking the phone from her desk with the urgency of a surgeon answering a Code Blue.

“Hello?” Her voice shifted from sardonic detachment to sharp concern. “WHAT? (pause) I’ll be right there.” She ended the call, her face now a mask of alarm, any trace of mockery washed away by genuine distress.

“Sorry guys…duty calls.” Dawn bolted from her chair, legs striding across the room in a sprint, each step echoing off the walls like the pounding of a judge’s gavel. She slammed the door behind her, leaving a silence that hung heavy and uncomfortable.

“Ah, the old pretend an emergency has come up and shut the door in our face trick!” Mike scoffed, bitterness seeping into his voice like whiskey through a cracked glass. He muttered, more to himself than to McConnell, a desperate hope clinging to his words like rust to iron, “She’ll come back. They always do. Right, Mitch?…… Mitch?”

But Mitch’s attention was fixated on the glossy photo from Dawn’s recent Henhouse layout spread – the one where she posed provocatively behind the ring post, her perfect body contorted in alluring angles, her arms strategically placed to cover up any hint of modesty. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her sultry gaze and exposed skin.

“Mitch?” Mike’s voice broke through his reverie.

But Mitch remained silent and motionless, frozen in place and staring at the photo.

“MITCH!” Mike whapped him hard on the shoulder and snapped him out of it.

“What?”

“Let’s just go,” Mike said with defeat laced in his tone, sensing the futility of their situation.

Dawn briskly walked out of the bustling office, her heels clicking against the polished marble floors. As she turned the corner, she ran into… Hakeem Jeffries from New York and Chuck Schumer, with his thick New York accent, leaders of the Progressive Alliance.

“There she is!” Hakeem exclaimed in a falsely upbeat tone. “We’ve been searching for you.”

Dawn forced a polite smile. “Hakeem, Chuck. What can I do for you?”

“We knew that the American Patriots might be stopping by tonight to try and sway you towards joining the Red Brand,” Hakeem stated confidently.

Dawn couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Really?”

Chuck chimed in, “We wanted to present you with an opportunity… make you a better offer.”

Sighing, Dawn already knew what they were going to offer her. “Let me guess, an offer I can’t refuse?”

“Exactly,” Hakeem confirmed with a smug grin. “It’s time for PCW Heartland to come home…to the Blue Brand.”

Dawn couldn’t help but roll her eyes at their blatant attempts to recruit her. “Come home to the Blue Brand?” she repeated sarcastically.

“Yes,” Chuck continued eagerly. “The Progressive Alliance represents the underdogs, and our brand is perfect for them.”

“Okay,” Dawn replied half-heartedly.

But then Chuck revealed the catch. “Of course, your wrestlers would have to start from scratch at the bottom.”

“At the bottom?” Dawn repeated incredulously.

Hakeem nodded, holding up his hand as if to show how much lower their wrestlers would have to start compared to current Blue Brand members. “Well, we do have some wrestlers who are financially backed by our big-money supporters, so they would naturally take precedence over any newcomers.”

Chuck added, “And we must also consider seniority. Our current members have been with us longer and deserve to be at the top.”

Dawn pretended to contemplate their offer, but she knew it was a no-brainer. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

Hakeem’s smarmy smile faltered slightly. “I see. You want us to sweeten the deal,” he said, making a hand gesture that was supposed to represent adding something extra.

Dawn couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at his obvious attempt to bribe her.

Hakeem’s voice boomed through the boardroom, his words hitting like a sledgehammer. “We can throw in higher taxes, excessive regulations, artificial solutions to health care and wage stagnation-”

Dawn shifted uncomfortably on her feet, her eyebrows raised in skepticism.

“Artificial solutions?” she questioned, her tone sharp.

Chuck leaned forward eagerly, eager to add his two cents. “Big government trickle-down economic mandates versus doing the hard work to formulate concrete long-term solutions and promoting policies that create organic growth.”

Dawn let out an exasperated sigh. “Guys, that’s a bad deal.”

But Hakeem just grinned, clearly enjoying the verbal sparring. “Ooooh…we’ve got a haggler here,” he taunted.

“Yes we do,” agreed Chuck with a chuckle.

Dawn shook her head. “Um no. I’m not haggling.”

But despite her protests, the haggling commenced.

“Okay…and I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Chuck began. “…Miss McGill, we’ll even throw in political correctness…”

“…deep state bureaucrats and activist judges undermining the will of the people and making law from the bench…” interjected Hakeem.

“…and maintaining the status quo for the Washington D.C. beltway elites to continue to prosper while middle America withers on the vine as they have for the last 25 years,” finished Chuck triumphantly.

“Really?” Dawn replied with faux excitement.

“And last but not least…” Hakeem declared, pausing for dramatic effect before continuing. Suddenly, former PCW CEO Barack Obama appeared, a smug grin on his face.

“And I’ll be the first one to welcome all of the bitter clingers to the Blue Brand!” Obama announced, clearly relishing in the chaos.

Dawn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the unexpected guest. She had to give them credit – this was quite the show they were putting on.

“That’s our best offer,” Chuck declared with a satisfied smirk.

Dawn pretended to mull it over for a nanosecond before turning away abruptly. “Um, no. If you’ll excuse me.” With that, she quickly made her escape, sprinting down the hallway toward the gorilla position backstage.

“Oh…it’s the run away down the hall trick,” Hakeem mocked from behind her.

But Dawn didn’t look back. She had better things to do than entertain their ridiculous offers.

Right before she turned the corner and disappeared from sight, Chuck called out to her, “Oh, and by the way,” he called out. “Loved your photos in Henhouse!”

MAIN EVENT-The Iowa Caucus Match: Vivek Ramaswamy vs. Nikki Haley vs. Ron DeSantis vs. Donald Trump The arena reverberated with the roar of anticipation, its air electric with expectation as Johnny Suave’s voice boomed through the speakers. “It’s time for our Main Event,” he declared, his tone a blend of gravitas and glee, tailor-made for the spectacle that was about to unfold.

Ring announcer Kimber Marshall stepped into the limelight, her voice cutting clear and sharp across the din. “First up, Vivek Ramaswamy!” The newcomer strode down the ramp, his gaze locked on the squared circle that was both battleground and political proving ground. He slid beneath the bottom rope with a fluidity that belied his outsider status.

“Next, the pride of South Carolina, Nikki Haley!” Kimber continued. Haley emerged, her smile as polished as her campaign buttons, waving regally to an audience that responded with a mixture of cheers and jeers. Each step seemed measured, calculated—like her policies—designed to leave just the right impression as she approached ringside.

“Florida’s own, Governor Ron DeSantis!” With that announcement, DeSantis appeared, his presence commanding even before he struck a pose that was more campaign poster than wrestler. Swaggering toward the ring with the confidence of a man accustomed to weathering storms, both literal and political, he climbed onto the apron, nodding at the crowd as if already declaring victory.

“Finally,” Kimber’s voice rose above the crowd’s crescendo, “former CEO of PCW… Donald Trump!” A single spotlight stabbed through the darkness, aiming at an empty stage. Backstage, away from prying eyes, Trump loomed large in the shadows, telling an American Patriot official with that unmistakable bluster, “I’ll go out when I’m good and ready.”

“Typical,” Colleen Crowder sniped from her seat beside Suave, her words dripping with disdain. “He’s afraid to engage with the others.”

“Or,” Suave countered, his eyes alight with the drama unfolding before them, “Trump may not need to engage with the others to win.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the match, and the fans erupted like a volcano of pent-up passion. DeSantis and Haley wasted no time, their brawl spilling out at ringside in a tangle of limbs and political platitudes made physical.

“Watch your back, Nikki!” Suave shouted as DeSantis ducked and dodged, only to catch a low kick from Haley. It was politics in motion—attack and counter-attack, each move a headline in the making.

But then, with the stealth of a silent amendment to a bill, Ramaswamy seized a steel chair and swung with legislative force, crashing it down on Haley, who collapsed like a poll number after a scandal. DeSantis seized the moment, lifting Ramaswamy in a Herculean effort and hurling him towards the ropes.

“Ramaswamy’s hanging on by a thread!” Colleen cried out, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and partisan concern.

DeSantis charged like a filibuster against the clock, but Ramaswamy clung to the ropes with a desperation born of someone who knew the stakes were higher than mere championship gold. Haley, recovering, hit Ramaswamy with a political haymaker, a SHOTGUN blast of raw power that set him teetering precariously.

“Can he survive this?” Suave questioned, leaning forward as if he could will the outcome with sheer vocal energy.

“Like a third-party candidate in a two-party system,” Colleen shot back, skeptical.

With the force of a controversial executive order, DeSantis delivered a dropkick that sent Ramaswamy flying over the top rope and crashing to the floor below, his campaign within the PCW effectively suspended.

“Ramaswamy’s out!” Suave bellowed, the finality in his voice akin to the closing of polls. “Now it’s down to DeSantis and Haley!”

ELIMINATED: Vivek Ramaswamy

As the action unfolded, the thoughts of each contender were laid bare, their strategies and ambitions as visible as the sweat on their brows. Would they adapt their tactics or stick to their platforms? The ring was their soapbox now, and the next move might just sway the undecided voters watching at home.

The ring became a gladiatorial arena of political prowess as the two remaining contenders circled each other. DeSantis, eyes alight with fierce determination, lunged for a chair, its steel glinting under the harsh lights like the sharp edge of a campaign promise.

“DeSantis is rewriting the rulebook!” Suave exclaimed, his voice rising above the roar of the crowd.

With a swing that echoed through the rafters, DeSantis connected with a WHAP that resounded like a damning headline against Haley’s skull. She staggered, her equilibrium shaken as if by a sudden shift in poll numbers. But Nikki Haley was no stranger to adversity; she gathered herself, grimacing, and launched a counterattack—a low kick that struck Ron like a scandalous leak, halting his momentum.

“Oooh, what a strategic move by Haley!” Colleen sneered, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Aiming below the belt—quite literally.”

As Haley fought back, unleashing a flurry of blows that reflected the tenacity of her political career, the crowd sensed a shift in the tides. But DeSantis parried, his resilience on full display as he swung the chair once more, striking true, another chairshot reverberating off the ropes. This time, Haley couldn’t recover. With an effort that seemed to channel the will of his constituents, DeSantis hurled her over the top rope, eliminating her from contention.

“An emphatic statement from DeSantis!” shouted Suave, as the audience gasped and cheered in equal measure.

“Ugh, it’s just like him to resort to such brute force,” Colleen muttered, rolling her eyes.

Then, as if on cue, the atmosphere shifted. The lights dimmed, and the unmistakable silhouette of Donald Trump emerged, commanding attention in the way only he could. His presence was larger than life, his stride filled with the swagger of a man who had tasted power and hungered for its return.

“Look who decided to show up,” Colleen quipped, her voice laced with disdain. “The former CEO graces us with his grand entrance.”

“Can Ron DeSantis pull off the big upset?” Suave pondered aloud, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.

“Absolutely not,” Colleen shot back before the action unfolded.

Trump rolled into the ring with the ease of someone accustomed to stepping onto the world stage. He surveyed his opponent with the critical eye of a man assessing his competition. Without warning, he executed a DDT so devastating it could’ve been a metaphor for a sudden policy shift. DeSantis crumpled, and Trump stomped away at him, each blow landing like a contentious tweet sparking outrage.

“Colleen, your thoughts?” Suave nudged, knowing full well the storm brewing beside him.

“Disgusting! He swoops in at the last minute and thinks he can just dominate the narrative!” Colleen fumed, her voice reaching a fever pitch.

Undeterred, Trump prepared the final spectacle, setting up a table in the center of the ring with a showman’s flair. He hoisted DeSantis up, and with a BOOM that shook the foundations of the PCW itself, slammed him through the table. The crowd erupted, their chants of “PCW” pulsating through the arena like the heartbeat of a nation enthralled.

“Colleen is aghast… irate!” Suave narrated, capturing the moment.

“PCW doesn’t need this kind of leadership!” Colleen protested, but the deed was done. Trump pinned DeSantis: one… two… THREE!

“And Trump wins the Iowa Caucus match, seizing victory with the ruthlessness of a seasoned political combatant!” Suave declared, as confetti began to fall like promises from a campaign trail.

Colleen sank back, her face a mask of disbelief. In the ring, Trump stood triumphant, arms raised, basking in the adulation and controversy that followed him like his own shadow.

The confetti still drifted through the air like a snowstorm of red, white, and blue as Johnny Suave stood at the ringside, microphone in hand, his voice carrying over the din of the tumultuous crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, what a seismic night we’ve witnessed here at PCW’s Iowa Caucus match!” His eyes sparkled with the reflection of the spectacle, a ring seasoned with the grit of political ambitions.

“Seismic? More like a sham,” Colleen Crowder retorted sharply, her words cutting through the festive atmosphere with the precision of a well-aimed policy critique. “This wasn’t a victory for democracy; it was a victory for grandstanding.”

“Say what you will, Colleen,” Suave countered, “but tonight, the former CEO of PCW, Donald Trump, showed why he’s a force to be reckoned with. Huge win for him tonight!”

Colleen sighed audibly, pressing a hand to her temple as if trying to massage away the headache of partisan politics. “Johnny, the real winner tonight is Joe Biden. While these candidates were busy brawling in the ring, Biden’s been strategizing, preparing. Trump can’t beat Joe Biden and this… spectacle—it’s just noise.”

Suave nodded, acknowledging her point but not conceding an inch. “Noise or not, next week PCW rolls into New Hampshire, and the stakes are even higher! We’ll see Joe Biden in action, along with Trump, DeSantis, and Haley. The political arena is heating up, folks!”

“New Hampshire won’t be so easily swayed by theatrics,” Colleen mused, her gaze lingering on the empty ring now being cleared of debris. She imagined the upcoming battles, the strategies unwinding, the alliances forming and dissolving. “Real leadership will stand out there… I hope.”

“And speaking of hope, that’s all we have time for tonight, folks!” Suave said.

“Unbelievable,” Colleen muttered under her breath, her skepticism a stark contrast to Suave’s infectious enthusiasm.

“Goodnight, and we will see you in New Hampshire.” With a final flourish, Suave dropped his hand, the spotlight dimming on his figure as the screen faded to black. “See you next week!” he concluded.

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