Do you remember the first time we rassled, FLAMBO?

I do.

I “won.”

Ya know, by DQ.

Because yo’ ace was bein’ a fuggin’ DEEYICK, and choked me well after you weren't s'posed to be chokin’ me no more.

You wanted my neck so muhfuggin’ bad, you didn't care if you won or lost.

Well…

Least I don't gotta worry about dat, this time.

🧙‍♀️

Seymour's

Just a little while was left before it was closing time at Seymour's, and eight patrons had become four.

The Old Bear chewed the Comic Relief up and spit him outside of the bar, said he tasted funny.

The A-Lister took the Golden Rookie's ticket, and sent his ass to Cancun.

The Lizard discovered the Tentacle did have a neck, and took it before removing him from the bar.

And the Shid Gremlin? Well, he took the Mime and his conman associate, packed them up, and sent them out the door.

The A-Lister, he and the Old Bear had history. The fight they were about to have, in many ways, felt fated. This fight was supposed to happen.

Which left the Lizard and the Shid Gremlin, who did have a bit of history, but nothing about this felt fated. Maybe for the Lizard it did, but for the Shid Gremlin, this wasn't destined. It was slippier than that, thinner, less tangible. Luck, maybe.

The Crown of the Universe, behind the bar, held by the Mantle, it was within reach now. The Shid Gremlin knew that, in all likelihood, this was it. He was unlikely to ever find himself in this position again.

Thus, there was a real sense of desperation clawing at the Shid Gremlin's tiny, black heart, when the Lizard said, “Do you not remember the last time we fought, Shid Gremlin? I took your neck.”

The Shid Gremlin couldn't help but spit through grit teeth, “Yeah, but I won.”

The Lizard laughed in French, and replied, “Oui, but now I know it can be taken.”

And then the Lizard, as quick as lightning, tossed his tail around the Shid Gremlin's throat, and squeezed.

Suddenly, it seemed that Luck had abandoned him – right when the Shid Gremlin needed it most.

🧙‍♀️

Lover's Lane

“I saw magic in his eyes. Dirty, dark, beautiful magic.” 

-Nicole Lyons

Gertrude Lippy, CEO of a fast-casual spaghetti restaurant chain called “Sketti Bucket,” had for some time lately felt like less of a woman and more of a tomb. Secrets she kept, sealed behind the bone of her breast, a door which would never open for anyone, for simply too much was at stake.

A look at her driver's license would tell you that she was eighty two years old, and real close to 83. The truth was, there were times she felt far older, and times she felt far younger.

Fred Dick, for all his faults, had at times made her feel like a young woman. The way he'd courted her, the innocence in his eyes when they gazed into one another's. She knew that he was far from innocent – he was, more than likely, a uniquely stupid psychopath. But for Gertrude, his unique stupidity made her feel young and dumb again, and in her own way, she loved him.

Another secret.

She was a tomb.

Oh, but was she not a well-maintained and vibrant tomb when she was with him? Necking in the backseat of what was sure to be a stolen 1961 Bubble Top Chevy Impala, were there not dandelions blooming in the once-dead grass surrounding this old tomb? And if that was the best it could ever be for Gertrude Lippy, couldn't that be enough?

He kissed her sloppy, and left remnants of saliva around her lips like sketti sauce. But on this night, the full moon staring at them from their parking spot on the edge of a highland, he was, for some reason, a little neater with his kisses. He didn’t play with her “boobles,” as he'd called them, or smacked her “ace” very much at all.

“Is something bothering you, deary?” She asked. Admittedly, she had been worried in the past that he was considering leaving her.

In the old days, in the ancient past, a woman like Gertrude could skin a man alive and boil him for leaving her – and no one would dare say much about it, much less find the remnants of their bodies. So she had given him the Sketti Bucket sponsorship, a deal far more lucrative than he deserved – a deal that had cut into the bonuses of Sketti Bucket store managers, hoping he would find no incentive to walk away from this… This magic that he had brought her.

“Well, if I'm bein' honest,” Fred began as Gertrude held her breath. “I'm in this thang at work, right? The Almasy Tournament. Prestigious-er than hell, right? Yew could say that it's the most important moment in my career.”

Fred continued, wiping some of his own spit off his chin. “Yew could say that, somehow, I have made it further than anyone would expect a mothafugger like me to make it. I ain't like damn near any of ‘em. And the one I'm up against? Not only is he French, which–” Fred spat. “Disgustin’. But he's totes obsessed with like, takin’ people's necks by like, chokin’ em all half to death and whatnot.”

“Wow,” Gertrude said, petting Fred's cheek. “I'm sorry, that sounds very scary.”

Fred's eyes drifted out towards the moon, and glazed over as he recalled. “He done it to me once before – bastard wanted my neck so muhfuggin’ bad, that he got disquallerfied and I won, even though he choked ME out. And that's got me in my head. Been thankin’, what the hell can I do to stop this French fuggin’ reptile from takin’ my neck? And the only thang I can thank of is totally impossible.”

At the word “impossible,” Gertrude's ears perked up. Her eyes found a light they hadn't held in decades. Her brain began calculating at a higher speed. Her heart raced.

But she showed none of that to Fred.

“Maybe it's not… so impossible,” Gertrude said, playing with his hair. “What did you have in mind?”

Without a hesitation, Fred replied, “Thick neck.”

“...What?”

“Thick neck,” Fred reiterated. “I need a fuggin' thhhhhiiiiiick muhfuggin’ neck. It's almost too thick for him to choke already – last time I wouldn't tap, and it pissed his crazy ace off so bad, that he lost just to take my neck from me. So I'm thankin’, like, if I could add some mo’ density to my head-root, y'know, my skull-trunk, I could possibly like… keep my neck instead.”

Gertrude Lippy loved this uniquely stupid man, but she would not forego an opportunity this grand just because she loved him. Besides, she did not love the way most women did. She loved Fred the way a spider loves receiving compliments about their web.

Did you know that spiders loved compliments? Gertrude knew that quite well.

“I could…” Gertrude began. “Nah, forget it.”

Would he?

“What? You could what, my love?”

He did. He was in her web now.

“Nothing deary,” she replied. “It would require too much of a sacrifice.”

“Look at me you sexy bench,” Fred said, taking his fingers and pushing her chin towards him. “You know I smash my lasagna into yo’ cat on account of me choppin’ my pecker off just to prove somethin’ to my boss’ kid on the internet. Obviously, I'm willin' to sacrifice. Question is, can you really make my neck thicker?”

“Thicker than a Sketti Bucket,” Gertrude replied. “But… it would require so much blood Fred. So, so much blood. And a lot of pain. A whole mess of it. And you'd have to endure it willingly. Volunteered on your own. And sober.”

“Sober? Sheeeid…” Fred said. “Why I gotta be sober?”

“Consent can't be given without sobriety, Fred,” she replied.

Even Fred's dumb ass knew that was true. He sighed. “Okay. If that will give me a thick neck, let's do it.”

Suddenly, there was a banging from inside the trunk.

“Daddy Sagna,” Miguel shouted from inside the trunk. “We are getting really cramped in here!”

“I don't remember askin' yew how yew was feelin’ Miguel!” Fred screamed back. “Uh, hello, I'm on a fuggin’ date, dude!”

Fred shook his head, looked at Gertrude. “Dem thralls do be ungrateful from time to time, hehe.”

“Tell me about it,” Gertrude said, as if speaking from experience. “Well, shall we go back to my place and do a thick neck ritual?”

“Baby,” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I'm gonna give yew so much of my fuggin’ blood, that my neck gon’ look like Jerome Bettis’ thigh.”

Gertrude smiled, rolled down the window, wanting to feel the kiss of the night air. Fred threw the old Impala in reverse, backed out, and then into first gear.

Fred didn't know it, but he had already wrapped himself for the spider, and was driving straight for its mouth.

🧙‍♀️

I'm not supposed to be here.

Everyone knows it.

They thought, “He may win one or two,” but they didn't have me as a semifinalist.

No one did.

You're FLAMBERGE. You've held every title worth holdin’ here in PRIME. Your hall of fame resume don't need this tournament to justify its status, but it would certainly be a feather in your beret.

This ain't just a feather for a guy like me, FLAMBERGE.

It's the whole muhfuggin’ bird.

It's all there is.

I got one shot at this fuggin’ thang. I'm not gonna be here again.

So yew KNOW I gots ta make it count. 

And I will.

Because I'd give anythang, sacrifice anythang, to be the winner of the Almasy. To have another shot at the Universal Title. To have my name in books that will outlive me.

I'd give all the blood in my body for it.

So I can't let you take my neck, bud. I can't. 

But I tell ya what, I'd take it off myself and give it to ya, wrapped in a fuggin’ gift box, if it meant bein’ a Finalist in the Almasy.

🧙‍♀️

Gertrude's Cottage

“Witches do not need to fix problems.Witches fix the energy AROUND problems.Then the problems fix themselves.”

- Dacha Avelin

My name is Toddrick. I am a Lasagna Boy. And I just watched the man whose absolute will I am merely a physical expression of become the victim of some kinda…

Some kinda… terrifying, completely fucked up, demonic sacrifice!

When the car finally stopped and the trunk opened up, we saw a small cottage in front of a cobblestone pathway. It looked like something straight from a fairytale. I almost believed I could bite into the exterior of it, and it'd taste like gingerbread. Fireflies floated aimlessly around the outside of it – hovered in place. It was magical-looking, like what you'd think David Blaine's house probably looks like, or even Criss Angel.

Daddy Sagna led us to our kennels. Yes, he had kennels at Gertrude's for us as well. He had kennels for us everywhere. Daddy Sagna thought of everything so that we didn't have to.

And from our kennels, we watched her.

The evil biznitch pulled up her rug, and laid Fred down on a PENTAGRAM that was CARVED into her FUCKING CHERRY WOOD FLOOR.

She tied him down at the ankles and wrists. He looked like a fat drawing by Leonardo da Vinci, spread out like that.

Then, she withdrew a long, curved dagger, bedecked with rubies.

“Are you ready?” She asked Fred.

He nodded, repeating the words, “Thick neck” over and over and over again, as if the result would soothe him.

She said a bunch of crazy shit in Latin, or what I believe is Latin, and I swear on the grave of my mama, who I don't even remember on account of my brain being washed and sanitized, that the weather changed outside. We could hear thunder roll. Lightning strike.

And then?

“EEEEEEEEEEYO MY GAWD!!! OH MY GAWD!!! AH!!! AH!!! AH!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!! HOLY SHIT, YEW SURE ARE CUTTIN’ ME UP, BABY!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! MY LIVER AREA??? YOU SURE??? YOU COULD ALWAYS NOT CUT THE LIVER AREAHHHHHHHH!!!! OH SHID, OH SHID, OH SHID, YEW PUTTIN A SATANIC SYMBOL ON MY CHEST WITH DAT DAGGER!?!?! OH FUUUUUUUG JESUS CHRIST GON’ BE MAD AT ME!!! ….okay, okay, I think I'm startin' to get used to the feeling… God bless it, it hurts though… NOOOOOPE!!! NOOOOOOOOPE I AIN'T USED TO SHID!!! AHHHH!!! AHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! …AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

That's what Daddy Sagna sounds like when you tie him up and carve his body like a fucking turkey, in case you were wondering.

Us Lasagna Boys watched on in horror as pints of blood trickled into the grooves of the cherry wood floor, rolling slowly down the grooves, taking the path of least resistance, towards a small trough that funneled Daddy Sagna's life essence into a bottle.

When she was finally finished, Fred had passed out from blood loss.

At least, that's what Miguel said happened. I passed out from the screams. The horrid screams.

The awful, harrowing screams.

🧙‍♀️

Seymour's

The more the Shid Gremlin fought, and squirmed, and scratched, and threw wild punches?

The tighter the Lizard cinched that tail around the Shid Gremlin's neck.

“Ooh, la la!” The Lizard proclaimed. “Ah, oui oui! You should give up now, Gremlin! Your neck is as good as taken!”

“N-N-NO!” The Shid Gremlin cried through grit teeth, his face turning purple, the oxygen slowly leaving his body.

The Shid Gremlin's run, it appeared, was over.

Luck, which had favored him thus far, had abandoned him.

The Old Bear and the A-Lister had anticipated this result. It was all but over now, and they knew in their heart of hearts that whoever won their fight, would end up fighting the Lizard before it was all said and done.

The life was only squeezed further from the Shid Gremlin's neck.

The light in his eyes had begun to dim.

He lifted his hand in the air.

He was about to tap Seymour's floor.

He was about to surrender.

🧙‍♀️

Gertrude's Cottage

When Fred Dick awoke three days later in a lavish bed with silk sheets, the smell of lavender and honey in his nostrils, and his beautiful woman by his side, the first thing he did was feel his neck.

There was… something sticking out of it, it felt like. He jumped up and ran to the bathroom, looked in a vanity mirror.

Right there, sticking out of the right side of his neck.

A large lump, like he'd swallowed a meme-sized jawbreaker and it had gotten stuck in the side of his throat.

For most people, that would be one of the scariest things to ever happen to them. They'd be worried about whether it was a tumor, whether it was malignant, or that it was a goiter, and they were sick with something they didn't understand.

But Fred?

He loved it.

He rubbed it, at first. Just to make sure it was real. Then, he pressed on it with his fingers. Pushing on it didn't hurt. That was good. He admired his new lump in the mirror.

“I'm gonna call you my Grumpus,” Fred said, grinning ear to ear and petting it affectionately.

He ran back into the bedroom, jumped on the bed, and began bouncing on it like a little kid.

“Baby! Baby! It worked!” Fred replied. ‘Not only is my neck thicker, but its thicker on account of a brand new Grumpus!!!”

Gertrude Lippy opened her eyes and saw Fred's boyish excitement as more proof that he was the one to make her young again.

“I told you, deary,” She replied, reaching out and petting his ankle as he stopped jumping. “Stick with me. Nothing is impossible.”

Fred smiled. He noticed something about her. Her skin glowed more, had more life to it. It was also tighter to her body, far less wrinkles than she had when she was cutting his ace up and down and left and right, like he was a damn Playstation cheat code.

“Baby,” Fred said, falling onto the bed beside her, running his fingers through her hair which, somehow, had dark a few dark strands that weren't there before. “You look invigorated!”

“Really?” She said with a coy grin.

“I'm serious,” Fred said. “You don't look a day over sixty-five!”

He was so excited. “I gotta go show off my new Grumpus to my thralls!”

He ran out into the living room area. The rug was down, hiding the Pentagram that he had been laid on and bled onto, the very same shape that had been carved into his chest which he hid with a jersey. People didn't make a habit of proudly displaying Pentagrams once they no longer shopped at Hot Topic.

“Boys!” He shouted. “Check out my grumpus!”

Fred pointed to his grumpus. The Lasagna Boys clapped like robots in unison.

“Looks cool,” Miguel said.

“Totally cool,” Sebagna said.

“So that devil woman cut you to pieces and gave you a tumor, and you're happy about it?” Toddrick said.

“Toddrick,” Fred said, holding his hand out as if to say, ‘Stop.’ “I don't need that negativity right now. My grumpus is gonna make it even harder to choke me out! Will buy me some time, nawmean? And you over here talgin’ dat Negative Nancy shid?”

“You’re right, Daddy Sagna. It's just, I care about you.”

“Laaaaaaaame,” Fred replied. “So, yall got any ideas for how I can take advantage of whatever time my Grumpus buys me?”

Toddrick and Miguel turned to Sebastian Gold.

Sebastian said, “I believe so. See Daddy Sagna, that guillotine choke FLAMBERGE does… especially with that… well, that obvious tumor on your neck that you appear to enjoy, its gonna take both of his arms to squeeze you tight enough to make you tap, right? Thats going to leave at least one arm free for you. And that's when you're going to give him the purple nurple.”

Fred looked at Sebagna Gold like he was a god damn genius.

“God damn it, Sebagna. You're a god damn genius.”

Sebagna Gold nodded sagely. “Indeed, besides the dick twist, the purple nurple is perhaps the most savage counter to any hold, so long as one within reach of the tit itself – which you will be.”

“That's it,” Fred said, excitedly. ‘That's the move right dere! Lawd yes, he gets to squeezin’, and I get to twistin’! Then, I go from first time quarterfinalist, to first time semifinalist, to first time FINALIST in the Almasy. God DAYUM dis a good plan. Lawd yes.”

The Lasagna Boys looked satisfied with themselves.

“Sebagna,” Fred said.

“Yes, Daddy ‘Sagna?”

“Don't tell the others, but you're my favorite Lasagna Boy.”

Sebagna beamed upon receiving that praise.

Miguel and Toddrick looked at him with extreme jealousy in their eyes.

🧙‍♀️

Seymour's

No one could believe what had just happened.

The Shid Gremlin had vanquished the Lizard with one of the most devastating counters that Seymour's had ever seen.

Three things prevented the Shid Gremlin from getting his neck taken that night.

One, his neck was thicker than it used to be.

Two, his will was even thicker than his neck.

Three, the second most calamitous counter to a choke that had ever been devised.

The Shid Gremlin twisted the Lizard's titties right off his body, and tossed him out of Seymour's.

It was closing time.

There was one fight left.

One fight, for a shot at the Universe itself.

And the Shid Gremlin was right in the thick (neck) of it.

🧙‍♀️

I'm not supposed to be here.

Me, my grumpus, my Lasagna Boys, we were never supposed to make it this far.

If you had polled the PRIME faithful and asked which Glueboy is gonna make it to the semis, you would've won the overwhelming majority, thanks to your in ring ability and pedigree.

But me?

Daytona Diamonds, one of the best wrestlers PRIME has ever had.

Anna Daniels, who knows so much about rasslin’ she's teaching me, a dipshid, how to do moves.

Rob Williams, a Five Star Champion and a man who had been wrestling his entire life.

Any of them would be more likely to have made it through the gauntlet to this point.

Any of them should have.

But they didn't. 

I did.

I'm not supposed to be here.

But since I am? I'm fuggin’ takin’ the whole thing, FLAMBERGE.

This Almasy shid? I fuggin’ live for it.

I'd fuggin’ die for it.

My Lizard brain don't work against me. It works for me. 

And my Grumpus?

Well, I hear it whisperin’ to me. It says, 

“Nyahh, see. Twist his titties off, see.”

And I will.

I'll twist them titties CLEAN OFF!!!

Welcome to the shidshow, FLAMBERGE.

It's a re-run, but it's one of my favorite episodes. 

It's the one where Fred Dick beats FLAMBERGE.