From the Parable

"And lo," said the lizard, approaching the goat. "What do you call yourself, oh rectangle-eyed one?"

"I am a goat," the goat replied.

The lizard asked, "Do you know what they call me?"

"Not a goat," the goat replied.

🐐

"I don't want to just go to the playoffs, I don't want to go to the playoffs and win the first round, second round, and not win the whole thing because it's bittersweet."

-Allen Iverson

🦎

THE BOILER ROOM, la première partie

By Night 1 of Ultra Violence, the rest of the Whoresmen had learned that Fred needed a little time to himself after a loss. No use letting him know you'd be there for him, he'd just cuss you out, cry like a bitch, and threaten self-harm. It was extremely lame behavior.

Thusly, when the bell rang for the final time that night, no one said a word to Fred. Not Daytona, not Harley, not the secretly inducted Rob Williams.

Even STRONK simply went back to the Whorehouse and silently began binge eating chicken thighs.

This hurt Fred's feelings deeply, so he cussed everyone out, cried like a bitch, and threatened self-harm.

No winning with this fucking guy.

So Fred ran from the Whorehouse, deep, deep into the bowels of Lumen Field, down, down, down...

Into the Boiler Room.

Fred had been spending time there lately. When the world felt too big and cold, the Boiler Room became sanctuary. Small. Closed away. Warm.

Mama Dick needed to refocus. Lawd, yes! He couldn't allow himself to dwell on this loss. Not when, tomorrow, Paxton Ray was going to attempt to kill him in a sharp cage of death.

Warchamber. It loomed like a shadow.

He needed to shine some light on it.

Bright yellow spray paint. Like the sun.

"Bliiiiiiinded by the liiiiight," Fred sang to himself in a whimper. "Wrapped up like a douche and a corona in the night."

The first time he got high on inhalants, he was a boy and it was a complete accident while spray painting dicks on the side of his science teacher's house. Now, as a man, he did it like a man, by Gawd.

Purposefully-like.

Intentionalistically.

...God damn

Inhalants were an instantly rewarding high. The euphoric rush was incredibly intense, and Fred enjoyed the opportunity to take his mind off the masked fugger, his dumb ace fuggin' tag partner, and that fuggin' goat what was apparently dead, and how gold, real gold, was in his grasp.

...and s l i p p e d a w a y...

Soon, after several rounds of bright yellow spray paint fumes, Fred found himself doing the same.

Curled up in the fetal position, his thumb in his mouth (it's called self-soothing you judgmental prick), Fred found his eyes closing, his mind drifting ever further from this realm to one entirely of his own making.

Towards the Dream Place, he did go.

The place Fred loved most.

Have dreams, will travel.

And as far as dreams were concerned, Fred had a full bandolier.

🐐

From the Parable

"Why are you wearing sunglasses?" The goat asked the lizard, eyeing him cautiously.

"To hide my intentions," the Lizard said, a smoothness to him, a credit to his cold blood. "You see, I collect necks. I have a multitude, actually. Many goat's necks are among my trophies."

"I see," the goat said. "And yet, you remain a mere lizard. Remarkable."

🦎

The Heartless Goat

The void.

Space.

Fred sat in the middle of it, posed as if meditating, but truly, admiring the vast and wide-open emptiness of wherever he was.

"Do you truly want to know where you are?"

"I'm clearly in outer space somewhurs... Wait a tick, who da heyell is talgin' to me?"

"Are you sure you want to see the likes of me, Fred? For I am pointless. I am nothing."

"I wanna look the man I'm talgin' with in the eye, even if he is a sorry, no-good, down-on-his-luck sumbench."

"Very well, Fred."

Immediately, the entity manifested itself before Fred Dick.

It was a three-legged goat, it's heart violently removed from his chest, with a big ol' set of nuts for it's giant dong to rest nestled upon.

"You must be that goat what was runnin' around with our..." Fred could barely stomach it. "New tag team champions... You must be elated."

"Actually," the goat said, "I'm not elated at all. In fact, I'm pretty pissed off about it. Ever had your heart ripped out of you by your homies, literally, like, LITERALLY? HAVE YOU?"

"Hell yeah," Fred said. "Fuggin' sucks."

"Sure does," the goat said. "But y'know, it doesn't fucking matter. Nothing matters, actually. You know where we are right now? We're in your heart, buddy. We can't go in my heart. It's been shit out of my BEST FRIEND'S BUTT. But your heart hasn't been shit out of anything yet. Though, if Paxton has his way tomorrow, he's probably gonna do that to you."

"What do I have to do?" Fred asked. "You know... To stop him from diarrhea'in' my heart out of his ace?"

"You gotta stop giving a fuck, my guy," the goat said. "I mean, look at me. No heart in my chest. Big ol' thang, big ol' nuts -- I only got three legs, but we're very similar. Difference is? I know the universal truths that mainstream media WON'T give you."

"Gimme dem secrets, Daddy-o!"

"Ok, here they are: Life SUCKS, Life is POINTLESS, NOTHING matters, your friends KILL YOU, and then you DIE. Why do I have a big dick? Fuck you, that's why. It doesn't matter. Why didn't you win the tag titles? How about, who gives a big ol shit filled with goat heart material? Not me. Because it doesn't matter."

"This ain't helpin' me, damn it," Fred said.

"Oh, yes it is. See Fred, tomorrow, if you're hyper-fixated on all that bullshit you're always hyper-fixated on, 'euuuuugh I wAnNa bE a WiNnEr,' always crying and acting like a baby, Paxton is gonna beat you."

"Why's that?" Fred asked, an eyebrow raised.

The goat scoffed, "Because Pax doesn't care if he wins or loses. He's like a lizard. He wants your neck. And when he has it? He'll break it."

Fred ruminated on this for a moment. Then he asked, "How do I stop hyperfixachin' on what it is I'm done hyperfixachin' on?"

The goat took his finger and pretended his concaved chest was a butthole. He poked it in three times and made fart sounds.

"By not giving a fuck, Fred. Listen. If I hadn't given a fuck, I'd still be alive. You adopted me? Who gives a shit? I'll still kick your ass. But no, that's not what I did. And now I'm dead. If you don't wanna be dead with me, traveling around to different dipshits dreams, telling them to say fuck everything because life is pointless, then you'll say fuck everything and fight like it doesn't matter."

"Fight like it doesn't matter? Maaaaan that don't make no fuggin' sense."

"The most dangerous fighter is the one who has nothing to lose," the goat said. "Think about it. A man worried about losing has everything to lose, he makes a few mistakes, gets his neck broken. SNAP!"

Fred grew quiet.

And then the goat said, "But a man with nothing to lose? He just tomahawks the opponent in the nuts a hundred times, then headbutts him in the nuts, BECAUSE HE DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT NOTHING."

Fred nodded. He understood. Really and truly. And the worst part was, it made a lot of sense.

"That's your final form Fred. That's the most dangerous version of you there is. No fucks given. Just pure lizard brain. Survival mode."

And then, Fred awoke.

🐐

“I am a superhero! I am the Nihilist! My superpowers include logical detachment, emotional invincibility, and the ability to blend in anywhere. I work alone and am never compromised by romantic entanglements, and I don’t have a costume because who the fuck cares?”

― Lianne Oelke

🦎

Mr. Warchamber, Who didn't give a shid

Fred had done it.

He had won Warchamber.

The dumb ace goat in his dreams was right. He was right about all of it. Fred had to let go of winning, of its importance, of the meaning winning held in his heart.

Then, and only then, was the savagery in his heart perfectly executed.

Tomahawk to the NYUTS.

Tomahawk to the NYUTS.

Tomahawk to the NYUTS.

Tomahawk to the NYUTS.

TOMAHAWK TO THE MUHFUGGIN NYYYYYUTS.

Headbutt to the NYUTS.

That's how you win a damn fight right there!

YEEEEEEEE-HAWWWWWWW!

That's lizard brain baybeeeee!

And the ironic thing about it all? I mean, the thing that just tickled Fred pink?

Paxton could've done it anyway. Could've left Fred in the permanent care of nurses, wiping his ass and toting him to and fro. Paxton Ray had Fred, had him right where he wanted him.

But then, Pax began to believe that something mattered.

And make no mistake, we don't paralyze our enemies because we believe there are higher order concerns we value more.

The goat was right.

Values, concerns, these things make a man weak. Recognizing that no one matters, that nothing matters -- that's strength right there.

The sort of strength that allowed you take a neck without giving a damn about who it belonged to.

Fred was over the moon when he returned to the Whorehouse. Daytona had retained, with the help of the freshly debuted Rob Williams. Fred had won Warchamber and his neck wasn't broken. He was cut up to shit and bruised all to hell - but he had won.

Not that it mattered.

"Whatcha drinkin', Freddy?" Daytona had asked.

"Who gives a shid?" Fred said, smiling.

"Good answer," the goat said.

"Shuddup goat," Fred replied.

"WHAT DID MAMA DICK SAY, MAMA DICK?" 

"Nothin' STRONKY... I'm just... I'm just mutterin'. Lost a loooooot of blood out there, buddy."

"MAMA DICK DID A GOOD JOB CRUSHING THE FRAIL HUMAN."

"Thanks, bud."

But Fred... Oddly...

And more importantly, truly...

Didn't give a single, solitary shit.

Reckon the Nihilism of the Goat is a strong medicine, indeed.

"Good," said the goat.

🐐

From the Parable

The lizard was offended. He hissed at the goat, "Do not mistake the fact that I am a lizard to mean that you are somehow superior."

The goat chuckled, "Not at all. I'm just like you. Except I'm a goat."

The lizard seethed.

"Wanna know something? I'm starting to think those sunglasses aren't to hide your intentions," the goat said.

"Non?" The lizard said. "Then what are they hiding?"

"Your jealousy," the goat said.

🦎

“Eye contact, all by itself, is enough to throw your lizard brain into a tizzy. Imagine how scary it must be to set out to do something that will get you noticed, or perhaps even criticized.”

-Seth Godin

🐐

The Boiler Room, PARTIE DEUX

As soon as Fred fully embraced what he knew of the Nihilism of the Goat, besting his enemy and moving on to new pastures of hay to eat, he found reason to challenge it.

Lindsay Troy, always happy to find something new to FUG FRED IN THE ACE WITH, booked him against Flamberge.

Flamberge was...

Special, to Fred.

When Fred first arrived, FLAMBO was on top of the world. Universal Champion, considered the best pound for pound rassler in the world.

And he was just... Like... So cool? Ya know? Fred wanted to be him, Fred wanted to be with him.

But at that time, Fred wasn't a winner yet, so he never dared to introduce himself.

By the time Fred had any notoriety whatsoever, the lizard had shed its skin, and lost its title in the process. Meanwhile Fred had ponied up with the likes of Daytona Diamonds, who was steadfastly approaching the point of greatness where FLAMBO stood just months ago.

Truthfully, Fred had kinda forgotten about FLAMBO. It wasn't so much that he wasn't cool anymore. It was more that, he wasn't the GOAT Fred believed him to be.

He was just a lizard, after all.

Be that as it may, Fred sat in the Boiler Room, dick deep in some more bright yellow spray paint.

And that is when the three-legged goat appeared before him. Heartless, with a big ol', rock hard dick. Impressively, he juggled his own nuts. For some reason, he had three.

"Woah woah woah," Fred said. "That's not how this works. You spose to only appear to me in my dreams."

"Well," the goat said, "That was before you did enough inhalants to kill most normal-bodied men."

"I ain't no normal-bodied man, though, bubba," Fred retorted.

The goat looked Fred up and down, "That's... true."

"But I gotta admit... Big Lindsay Troy aka BLT put me up against FLAMBO, and... I kinda... I feel myself givin' a shid about it. I wanna win it, Mr. Goat. Big time."

"Look around you, Fred. Where are you?"

"I'm in the Boiler Room of Lumen Field."

"Mhmm. And where's everyone else?"

"They gon'. It's Monday."

"That's right. So why are you still here?"

"I didn't... Give a shid to leave? Was havin' a good time, nawmean? Enjoyin' myself. Why can't a fella lock himself in a boiler room and do a buncha drugs he bought from Home Depot?"

"Can't say I disagree with you. But do you wanna know the real reason you're still here?"

"Yeah, of course."

"The real reason you're here is that you ain't got nowhere else to go. Your best friend and only son? He's owned by corporate goons now. Your ex drove Lowell to suicide and captured STRONK's semen for nefarious purposes. She's moved on. Your homeboys, Daytona and them? They don't necessarily love being around you. You're kind of a pain in the ass. The truth is that you're here because the only person who loves Fred Dick enough to spend quality time with him anymore, is Fred Dick."

"Well so the fuck what!?" Fred screams. "Huh? So the fuck what? I love me some me. Is that a crime?"

"Yes," the goat said. "Because if you love yourself, that means you think you matter."

Fred paused. He wanted to matter. Hell, his entire life, he's been the only thing that really mattered. That's why he cared so much about winning. He needed to prove to the world that he mattered as much as he thought he did.

"Maybe I do think I matter," Fred said.

"You don't," the goat replied. "Nothing does."

An anguish fell over Fred in that moment. An anguish that he had never truly felt before (except once, we don't talk about that, we don't THINK about that).

Tears fell silently from his face. He kept quiet because his tears didn't matter anymore than his anguish. It was all empty. It was all meaningless.

"Then why rassle at all?"

The goat shrugged, "Then why not wrestle at all? If the world's meaningless, then it's your oyster. It's yours to make of it what you will. Improve it. Destroy it. It's inconsequential either way."

"...I don't understand."

"Have I told you the Parable of the Goat and the Lizard?"

"Naw," Fred said, though he wasn't sure what a pair of bull was.

"Take your clothes off and listen to me as I weave this tale."

Fred lifted an eyebrow, "Why you want me to take muh clothes off, though?"

The goat wiggled his own. "Why not?"

🦎

From the Parable

The lizard felt great anger towards the goat. To suggest he was... Jealous... JEALOUS?? THE LIZARD WAS THE GREATEST! THE LIZARD WAS GOING TO TAKE THE GOAT'S NECK FOR THIS SLIGHT.

The goat grinned. "You wanna know something, lizard? Before you take my neck from me, and send me to the void?"

The lizard hissed. "Oui, say your last words now, goat."

The goat's grin became a knowing smile -- the snobby kind that drives normal people crazy. "You think I care about my neck."

The goat stepped forward, and offered its neck to the lizard

"But I don't," the goat said. "I don't care about anything. And that's the difference in you and me. You're all lizard brain, you're all caught up in your own survival."

The goat continued, "But my survival is of no import to me, lizard. You can take my neck, but there's two things you'll never take from me. One? You'll never take what I am from me. I'm a motherfucking goat. Two? My balls. They're huge. Honestly, they're annoyingly big. They got me doing all kinds of shit I have no business doing -- like offering my neck to a lizard."

The goat chuckled. "So do what you must, attempt to take this trophy that you think matters. And I? I will not care as I step on your fucking stomach and hold you on the ground while I feast on your flesh. For I am hungry. And nothing matters."

The lizard advanced on the goat.

The goat advanced on the lizard.

🐐

The Moral

"So what happened next?" Fred asked.

The heartless goat replied, "Who cares?"

Fred nodded. He understood. The Nihilism of the Goat had pressed itself fully into Fred's understanding.

The lizard would come for his neck because that's what lizards do.

The heartless goat continued, "Fred, you are a baby goat. The things you have accomplished in the wrestling ring, without caring to know a single wrestling move, is impressive. You are one of the most singularly hated people not just in PRIME, but in professional wrestling. And all the while? You've been winning. But it doesn't matter, Fred."

The goat finally dropped his nuts and floated towards Fred. Inches away from Fred's face with his own, the goat grinned.

"Look into my eyes, Fred. What do you see?"

"Rectangles."

"That's what everyone says. But I think they're squared circles. The same things that's been in your eyes since this career of yours started. But now you know the truth. Your career, your win rate, all of that shit is pointless. Meaningless crap that lizards care about."

The goat whispered, "Since nothing matters, the lizard doesn't matter."

"What does that mean for me?" Fred asks.

The goat backed away, and began to fade out of the Boiler Room.

"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN FOR ME?" Fred screams.

"It means that you have bigger balls than he has. It means that while he's busy thinking about your neck, you can think about pussy or country music or whatever the fuck it is you want to think about.

"I got squared circles eyes, no heart, and a big dick and balls, Fred. Just like you. All you have to do to beat him, is show him."

And with that, Fred was once again, all alone.

He didn't care.

He reached in his pants, tried to juggle his balls.

Yup, just as he suspected.

He only had two.

🦎

"Everyone loves reptiles. Me? I'm a fan of dragons...

Dragons Deez nuts cross yo face hahahahaha"

- Unknown