“If you sit down and talk to him with lunch and then shoot the shit with him, I think you'll say, ‘Well, this guy's cool and pretty nice.’”

Dennis Rodman

I. Shrimp

Everyone knew that... but did they know he was also a man with many dreams and aspirations? Or were they too busy judging him for having a fat dick that wouldn't quit and a nose that never said ‘no?’

These were the questions that Daytona asked himself as he steered a gently used shrimping boat around Chugoku Harbor. Peckerwoods and jackasses of all varieties had asked him dumbfuck questions ever since he got the ol’ girl, too. Questions like, “Do you know how to fish for shrimp?” Or, “Do you even know where the shrimp are?” Um, yeah, the fuckin' ocean. Why do you think he got a boat?

Nevertheless, it was a serene morning as Daytona stood on the deck of his boat, looking out at the horizon. The boat drifted aimlessly around the harbor, by the way. It was tethered to nothing, the anchor was up. Just fuckin’ coastin’. But as it coasted, it passed by a set of docks.

There, Daytona spotted Fred Dick on the dock, staring at Daytona like a dumbass. He looked… completely fucked up. Sat in a wheelchair, braces around his neck and his knees, a dipshitted smile on his ugly face. But Daytona was happy to see him nonetheless. Daytona was so happy to see him, he waved excitedly at him from the dock, before being so overcome with joy he jumped off the boat into the water, leaving it drifting as he swam towards  the dock.

Once Daytona arrived he climbed up the ladder to the dock and shouted, “Big Freddy D! What’re you doin’ here, ya ol’ dicknose?!”

Daytona offered Fred a toothy smile as he bent over, put his hands on his knees and gasped for air. It was a lot of intense, anaerobic swimming he'd just done and, let’s be honest here, the man smoked at least a pack a day.

Fred, puffing on a black and mild with a Tommy Bahama shirt over his Michael Jordan jersey, said, “Well, thought I'd try out my sea-hog.”

Daytona looked at Fred with clear confusion. “But you ain't got no hog, Freddy D.”

Fred rolled his eyes, “Yes, I know that.” He paused briefly to reach in his pocket. “You wrote me a letter, ya idgit.”

Fred pulled a letter out of his pocket. Had Daytona really written Fred a letter about his shrimp excursion? How did he send if? How had it arrived? Was Daytona black-out drunk or black-out high when this occurred? Spoiler: The answer is a resounding most likely.

Fred continued, “Well, well. Captain Daytona Diamonds. I had to see this for myself.”

Daytona and Fred shared a small chuckle.

“And,” Fred said. “I told you if you were ever a shrimp boat Captain, then I'd be your first mate. Well here I am, I am a man of my word.”

Daytona didn't remember making that promise. A right-thinkin’ Daytona would never agree to any of that. He never needed a first mate and he damn sure never wanted one. Fred must've taken advantage of him, became his first mate without consent. Then again, would it really be that bad to have somebody to shoot the shit with on board? As long as he didn't try to take none of the shrimping fortune he was destined to acquire…

“Okay,” Daytona said, shaking Fred's hand. "Reckon we're partners, pardner."

Fred pulled his hand away and pointed it at Daytona, “Yeah, but don't you be thinkin’ that I'm gonna be callin’ you, ‘sir!’”

Daytona grinned, “Naw Freddy! Wouldn't even want'cha to!"

Just then, in the distance, Daytona's shrimping boat collided into a dock, slowly coming to a halt with wooden shrapnel strewn all about the water around it. Several Japanese fishermen ran away in terror.

Daytona nodded towards it, “That's my boat.”

And what a boat she was. Covered in rust, a small dredging crane attached to the rear, all manner of net and hook and tangled mass of seaweed covering its hull. Across her side, scrawled in messy red lettering, ‘DAYTONA’S DIAMOND’.

“Ain’t she a goddang beaut, Freddy?” Daytona asked, giving his fellow Whoresman a hard slap on the back. “Now, c’mon. We’re wastin’ daylight! We got some shrimp to catch!”

The sea was calm and the sun was warm, seabirds flocking overhead as The Rhinestone Cowboy steered his vessel into the Sea of Japan. Fred sat in his wheelchair, fishing pole in hand, sunscreen drawing a line of war paint across his cheeks. “Y’feel that, Freddy?!” Daytona called out from the cockpit. “S’what we call freedom! Sailin’ the high seas! Just two peckers in the breeze! Well… one pecker, I reckon, but the sentiment’s still there.”

Despite the rust and wear of Daytona’s Diamond, the boat flew across the water like a bat out of hell. Daytona had the boat going full speed ahead, so fast that Fred had to hold onto the side to keep himself from rolling away. “We gonna catch shrimp going this fast, Daytona?” Fred called out.

“Naw, Freddy! Shrimp can’t keep up with this sonuvabitch!” Daytona called back. “We’re gettin’ as far away from Japan as we can, we’re tossin’ the anchor, and that’s when we’re goin’ fishin’! Right now, you just kick back and enjoy this little pleasure cruises, huh?!”

Fred pulled a fresh(?) cucumber from his pocket, along with a knife he typically used to trim his toenails. “Sounds fine, Daytona, damn fine!” He sliced off two pieces of cucumber and placed them over his eyes.

And so, the day went on. Fred, relaxing as if he was a trophy wife at an all-inclusive resort and Daytona driving a shrimp boat into the heart of darknes– erm. Into… the Sea of Japan where nothing bad ever happens and with no ulterior motives at all, obviously.

Right?

As the day gave way to night, Daytona’s Diamond slowed down.The sea reflected a night sky full of stars, a crescent moon hung high in the heavens, casting a spotlight down on that little boat out in the middle of the ocean. Daytona hadn’t bothered lowering the nets or casting a line. He hadn’t bothered laying bait, dropping the anchor, or really anything that a fisherman is supposed to do. Instead, he sat in a half-crumpled lawn chair, smoking a cigarette, staring into the darkness.

Fred had been sleeping, finally pulling the cucumbers from his eyes to look around in confusion. “Uh… Daytona?” He asked. “What time is it…? We goin’ back to shore…?”

“Naw, Freddy,” Daytona muttered. “We ain’t goin’ back to shore tonight… We ain’t even near Japan no more...”

“Shid you mean?!” Fred shout, sitting up in his chair. “The hell are we then?!”

“I ain’t been completely honest with you, Freddy,” Daytona said. “We ain’t out here to fish for no shrimp… S’all a front, y’see? Smoke and mirrors, pardner.”

Slowly, cloaked in the shadows, Fred reached for his knife. There was a fear there, some intangible tension that the other shoe was just waiting to drop. “...why we out here, Daytona?”

“...we’re meetin’ with some people,” Daytona said. “Real good people, Freddy. People that’ll help us out, y’get me? Listen. These past few weeks, they ain’t been good for us. Look at yourself. You’re sittin’ in a goddang wheelchair! I lost my title! Now, ol’ Mother Troy’s siccin’ Vae Victus on us like the vultures they are, comin’ to pick our bones clean. Y’get it, Freddy? S’all a setup! They’re tryna end us, brother! End the Whoresmen! We ain’t gonna let ‘em do that though, Freddy. Not Troy, not Kuroyama, not Ria, not none of them motherfuckers.”

“Daytona, I think maybe we orta head back to land,” Fred said, gripping the knife just a little bit tighter. “You ain’t talking straight, buddy. You’re talking crazy! YOU'RE BEIN’ FUGGIN' CRAZY DAWG! It’s just a rasslin’ match god damn it, get a hold of yo’ muhfuggin’ self!”

“Freddy, it ain’t just a wrasslin’ match,” Daytona said. “It’s a fuckin’ war. And we need allies.”

“Alright,” Fred muttered. “Alright, well, shid man. We ain’t meeting no allies out here in the middle of the ocea–”

Suddenly, a flare shoots up in the air in the distance. Fred’s eyes go to the sky just as blinding floodlights get cast down on their little shrimping boat. Fred lifts his hands to cover his eyes only to see a massive warship floating nearby. And up on the mast, waving free in the ocean breeze? The North Korean flag.

“Daytona…?! My gawd…” Fred called out, staring in awe at the massive ship. “What the hell’s happenin’?!”

“Friends, Freddy,” Daytona said. “We’re makin’ friends.”

🦐🦐🦐

II. Big in Pyongyang

You get patted down, questioned in poorly translated English, and loaded onto a helicopter bound for Pyongyang.

This whole time, you’re side by side with a smirking cowboy with more cocaine shoved up his nose than there is snow on top of Mount Everest and you can’t help but ask yourself, “How did I get here?”

You also don’t have a penis, but that’s really more of an addendum to all of this.

Do you: a) Panic,

b) Lash out at your cowboy compatriot,

c) Try to think of a way to escape,

d) Roll with it and get real fucked up on Korean herbal medicines (read: amphetamines)?

If you answered ‘D’, you might be a Fred Dick.

It had been two days since The Whoresmen had landed in Pyongyang. They were set up in a luxury hotel; well, luxury by communist standards. They were treated to grand feasts in empty banquet halls, massages in unused spas, and even a military parade in their honor. The whole time, their designated guide promised that Kim Jong Un would be meeting with them as soon as possible, but The Supreme Leader never materialized.

It was the Tuesday before ReVival. Fred and Daytona sat in a massive hot tub at the very top of their hotel while the staff fanned them with hysterically large palm fronds. Nearby, soldiers stood guard with rifles on their shoulders, staring straight ahead into nothing. Daytona sipped a Mai Tai. Fred, a Bahama Mama. A children’s choir serenaded them with acapella covers of Van Halen songs on Daytona’s request.

“So, lemme get this straight, one more time,” Fred said. “North Korea reached out to you while we was in Australia, said he wanted to meet us, and… that’s it?”

“Close,” Daytona said. “Kimmy wanted to meet me. He’s a big fan, y’know? Basketball, wrasslin’, and nuclear weapons. S’what that guy’s all about. I just brought you along ‘cause you’re my buddy, Freddy. We oughta hang out more, y’know?”

“Hell yeah we do! This is livin’, Daytona! I ain’t felt this good since mama was alive!” Fred said. “But… uh… guess what I’m askin’ is, where’s Kimdawg?”

“Shit, I dunno,” Daytona said with a shrug, almost spilling his Mai Tai in the process. “He’s a busy guy, y’know? Fuckin’ Supreme Leader of a whole goddang country, Freddy. Can’t be eas–”

Before Daytona could finish that thought, a nearby door opened.

A short, tubby man with a bad haircut stepped inside.

A short, tubby dictator with a bad haircut, that is.

The whole room went silent. Even Daytona shushed his mouth for possibly the first time in his entire life. Kim Jong Un walked across the room wearing a white robe. As soon as he was near the hot tub, he untied the robe and let it fall to the floor, revealing his pale, naked body underneath. Without a word, he climbed the short set of stairs into the hot tub, stepped inside, and slowly sank down into the water.

Daytona and Fred stared.

Kim Jong Un stared.

For a long time, all three were quiet… and then Daytona lifted his Mai Tai high in the air, the orange liquid inside his glass spilling over the lip and falling haphazardly into the bubbling waters. “Well, goddang! We was just talkin’ ‘bout you, Kimmy! How the hell you doin’, pardner?!”

“Ya wanna do some drugs, Kimdawg?” Fred asked as he took a toot out of a small glass vial. “I'm told this is some kinda… fucked up Korean medicine for your erection. But I ain't GOT no damn erection and I ain't NEVER gonna have no damn erection ever a-fuggin-gain. Long story, that is. Oh, you'd like a summary? Hell I'll give ya a fuggin summary. ‘Something, something, I ain't got no dick.’ Now THAT'S a gotdayum summary! These dick herbs get ya real fucked up, by the way. Lawd yes. It's like if Viagra buttfugged an Adderall. Anyway, whatchu up to?”

A small woman in a pantsuit standing nearby went wide-eyed at this summary.

“Freddy, calm the fuck down!” Daytona whispered, nudging his friend beneath the water. “You’re scarin’ the North Korean bitches!”

Kim Jong Un looked back and forth at The Whoresmen, an unreadable expression on his face. Slowly, he spoke. His tone was measured, calm, and also completely incomprehensible to the Whoresmen because neither of them knew a single word of Korean.

“Um, Kimmy?” Daytona spoke up. “I ain’t tryna be a dick or nothin’, but we ain’t got a goddang idea what you’re sayin’, pardner.”

Suddenly, the pantsuit woman spoke up in English, “Our most glorious leader says, ‘Welcome to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. We are very excited to host our new friend, Daytona Diamonds, as well as his lasagna-enthusiast friend, Fredward Dick.”

“Well, I wouldn't say I'm a lasagna-enthusiast,” Fred said. “More of a lasagna-existentialist, if anything.”

Daytona scowled.

“What Freddy means to say is, we’re goddang honored to be here, Kimmy,” Daytona said. “Y’all shown us nothin’ but hospitality and hope for the future. Makin’ this ol’ cowboy feel like maybe all the world really needs is a bit of peace, love, and understandin’, ain’t it? Maybe we all just need to try and get along a little better. We ain’t all that different; just spinnin’ our wheels out here in the great unknown, tryna figure it all out, day by day, little by little…”

For a moment, all three men share a moment of silence, Kim Jong Un sagely nodding in agreement.

“But that’s enough of that hokey bullshit, Kimmy!” Daytona said. “We got fuckin’ wolves at the gate, brother! I’m talkin’ Vae Victus tryna run us down and gouge our eyeballs out! Kerry Kuroyama! Ria Lockhart! Lindsay fuckin’ Troy! Buncha goddang peckerwoods! Kimmy, it’s a pleasure to meet’cha, but I aint just come all the way out here just to get chummed up. I’m here to ask for your help, buddy. I’m here to ask for you to fuckin’ nuke Vae Victus to kingdom goddang come!”

“Woah, woah! Nuke ‘em?!” Fred said with eyes wide. “Daytona, that's our gotdayum livelihood, brother! I owe money to people… I mean, shidloads of money! I need the paycheck!”

“S’alright! We don’t need ‘em!” Daytona shouted back. “We’re gonna holler at ol’ Robster and Annie, get them over here, and then we’re startin’ ourselves a new life right here in the DPRK! Ain’t that right, Kimmy?!”

Silence. Pursed lips. Kim slowly bowed his head before he began to speak again, the translator listening intently to every word before echoing it back in English, “Our most glorious leader is honored that you would make such a request. You clearly understand the power and strength of our great country. However, he must regretfully decline the bombardment of this Vae Victus group. He does not believe that this action would be beneficial to our glorious nation.”

Fred breathed a sigh of relief as Daytona rolled his eyes, downing the rest of his Mai Tai in one go.

“Well, dammit, Kimmy,” Daytona muttered. “I was hopin’ this would be the start of a beautiful friendship!”

“However,” The translator began again. “Our Supreme Leader is willing to offer his support to The Poor Whoresmen’s cause in other ways. Please, accept these gifts.”

Kim stood up in the hot tub, dong waving in the breeze, a flourish of his hands leading Fred and Daytona’s eyes to a doorway sliding open. Two North Korean women dressed in bikinis and high heels stepped through, Daytona’s eyes nearly bulging out of his head like the wolf in a Tex Avery cartoon. They both carried briefcases and, once near the hot tub, they knelt before opening the cases wide.

In the first, a Saran-wrapped brick of cocaine, several vials of high-powered North Korean steroids, and an honorary PhD from Pyongyang University of Science and Technology for, roughly translated, ‘Badassdom’.

In the other? A large, golden, telescopic robot penis.

“My god,” Daytona muttered, staring with wide eyes.

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” Fred said, wiping a single tear from the corner of his eye.

Kim Jong Un nodded before climbing out of the hot tub. He turned to The Whoresmen one last time as his aides covered his uncooked chicken breast of a body with a robe. “Thank you for coming,” He said in almost perfect English. “You are the future of wrestling just as Dennis Rodman is the future of basketball. I hope to see you again. Whores up!”

Every person in the room, from the bikini clad women to the soldiers with their guns, quickly found a partner and began fucking each other’s fists with their index fingers. Coyly, almost shy, Kim extended his own fist, thumb and index forming a perfect circle.

Without an ounce a hesitation, Daytona and Fred DP’d Kim Jong Un’s finger hole.

As the Supreme Leader of North Korea left the room, The Whoresmen sat back in the hot tub, their drinks replenished and their spirits high.

“Whores up, Freddy,” Daytona said. “Whores way, way up.”

🦐🦐🦐

III. A Heart So Full

If you have, what we're about to tell you, you already know.

If you haven't, then here's something you should know.

Once you start snorting on a bag of cocaine, you aren't gonna stop until there's nothing left in the bag.

Superman couldn't not finish a bag of cocaine.

A couple of young stallions like Daytona and Fred didn't have a chance at not absolutely crushing that brick as they rode on a helicopter out of Pyongyang.

Their noses looked like powdered god damn donuts.

“My hearts fuller than hell, Daytona! I got a new friend, a new dick, and a new lease on life! Do you think I can ‘bate with this thing?”

“What!?” Daytona shouted, unable to hear Fred over the loud chopper.

Fred didn't notice. His heart was so full, he simply burst out into song, which was a lot like “The Witch is Dead” from the Wizard of Oz.

“DING DONG, I got a big dick! A brand new friend, a donkey dick. DING DONG, I GOT A NEW ROBOT DIIIIIIICK!”

“WHAT!?” Daytona shouted again.

“BUTT?” Fred misunderstood. “NAW, I WAS TALGIN' BOUT MY NEW HOG.”

“YOUR NEW WHAT!?!”

“MY NEW BIG FAT DICK. BUT LISTEN. I WAS THANKIN’. RIA AND KERRY. THEY FUGGIN’ GOOD AT RASSLIN’, SURE, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THEY AIN'T NO GOOD AT? THEY AIN'T NO GOOD AT BEIN’ A TEAM. NOT LIKE YEW AND ME. YEW THANK IF ONE OF THEM WUZ ALL LIKE, ‘HEY, I'M GOIN' TO BE A SHRIMP BOAT CAPTAIN,’ THE OTHER WOULD BE LIKE, ‘HELL YEAH, I'LL BE YOUR FIRST MATE?’ SHID NAW. AND THEN, IF THEY WERE LIKE, ‘JUST KIDDIN' I AIN'T NO SHRIMP BOAT CAPTAIN, THIS WAS ALL A SEMI-ELABORATE RUSE TO GO PARTY IN NORTH KO-FUGGIN-REA,’ THE OTHER WOULD BE LIKE, ‘OKAY SWEET?’ HELL FUGGIN’ NO. THEY'D BE TOTAL PUSSYWILLERS ABOUT IT.”

Daytona couldn't hear a thing and Fred was talking too fucking much. How come every time someone did cocaine with Daytona, they just kept wanting to talk? Less talky, more snorty more cocainey. That was Daytona’s motto. To those ends, Daytona simply offered a thumbs up.

“AND THAT PLAYS TO OUR ADVANTAGE,” Fred, wide eyed and shoveling coke into his nose, continued. “SEE, WE TRULY RIDE OR DIE. RIA, SHE RIDE OR DIE FOR HER TRASHY ACE GURLFRIEND, BUT THAT'S IT. KERRY, HE RIDE OR DIE FOR SCOTT HUNTER, BUT THAT'S IT. SO ALL WE GOTTA DO IS TURN THAT RING INTO A WARZONE. IN THE END, ONE OF THEM WILL GIVE UP ON THE OTHER BEFORE ONE OF US DOES.”

“I RECKON,” Daytona shouted, still basically unable to hear Fred.

“TOTES MCSCROTES,” Fred agreed. “DID YOU NOTICE THAT KIMDAWG HAD A WEIRD SHAPED BUTT?”

And so, The Whoresmen flew off into that wild blue yonder, destined once more for their little shrimping boat, back across the Sea of Japan, with no thought of the international crises they unwittingly caused.