Sometimes You Wanna Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name (2 Patrons Remain)

Seymour's

It was finally closing time.

Four patrons had become two.

The A-Lister got his long awaited revenge on the Old Bear and threw him out of the bar.

And the Lizard…

He took the Shid Gremlin's neck and made him tap the floor.

The Shid Gremlin had lost.

Outside of Seymour's was a permanent winter. Cold, lonely, the weather complimented the overwhelming sense of failure.

The Crown of the Universe was no longer in reach.

All that lied within reach anymore was despair.

The worst part of the whole thing was he couldn't even say the Lizard cheated him.

The Lizard got his ace. Fair and square. Choked him. Made him quit.

Before leaving Seymour's, the Shid Gremlin reached in his pocket and removed its contents. His dreams, his ambitions, his belief in himself – and handed them to the Lizard.

“Kill ‘im,” he told the Lizard, before walking out into the cold despair that awaited him outside of Seymour's.

He took a look around.

Nothing. As far as the eye could see.

Nothing.

The Shid Gremlin, with nowhere to go, and nothing to do, made a snow angel in the desolate winter.

Then he pissed all over it.

"Winning is great, sure, but if you are really going to do something in life, the secret is learning how to lose. Nobody goes undefeated all the time. If you can pick up after a crushing defeat, and go on to win again, you are going to be a champion someday."  – Wilma Rudolph Hours after ReVival 74 came to its conclusion, Fred Dick stood on the roof of Nationwide Center, looking down at the parking deck stationed below.

On a boom box, he played “White Room” by Cream. In a white room with black curtains in the station Black roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings Silver horses ran down moonbeams in your dark eyes Dawn light smiles on you leaving, my contentment At his feet were four cans of four lokos, and four cans of gold spray paint. In Honor of Sebagna Gold, he'd say, if anyone asked.

He looked out at the Columbus skyline. It wasn't much of a skyline, if he were being honest. He'd have preferred for this to happen somewhere with something pretty to look at one last time, but alas.

“Daddy Sagna…”

Fred didn't turn his head.

He knew who it was. I'll wait in this place, where the sun never shines Wait in this place, where the shadows run from themselves “We got your note on the doo doo paper. You always spell ‘come’ like jizz. Is that sonething you do on purpose?”

Fred said nothing. It was a fine thing to just look up at the stars, ignoring his thralls, moments before he surrendered in his war against Reality.

“Why are you up here, anyway?”

Fred slowly turned his head. There they stood. Toddrick, Miguel, Sebagna.

“I'm gonna jump off the roof of Nationwide Arena,” Fred said solemnly.

“But, Daddy Sagna,” Sebastian said. “That… that will kill you.”

“Yeah, no shid,” Fred said. “And guess what? It's gonna kill yew too, because I'm makin' y'all jump with my ace.”

A silence befell the Lasagna Quartet. You said no strings could secure you at the station Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows I walked into, such a sad time, at the station As I walked out, felt my own need, just beginning “Daddy Sagna,” Miguel said. “I… I don't think I have that in me, man.”

“Yeah,” Sebagna said. “You're a little over-emotional, don't you think?”

Fred shook his head. “Actually, this is the most unemotional I've ever been in my life.”

That was a lie.

“Anyway, I figured, hey, we get up here, listen to Cream, drank some dranks, do some drugs – y'know, party! One last time. Just me and my boys, my precious, sweet boys.”

He reached down to grab the Four Lokos and the spray paint.

Only, they weren't there.

“What the…”

And suddenly, everyone turned around to see...

Toddrick. He had gold paint all over his face, and was chugging the last Four Loko.

He belched.

Hard.

Powerful.

Then, with wild eyes that suggested he was, in fact, fucked up and riled up at the same time, and in the most beautiful, operatic and serene falsetto any of the gentlemen ever heard, he sang: “I'll waaaaaait in the queue, when the traaaaains cooooome back. Liiiieee with you where the shaaaaaadows ruuuuuun from themselves!!!” “Oh my gawd he did all my drugs,” Fred said.

Then, Toddrick ran.

Past Miguel.

Past Sebagna.

Past Fred.

“Make sure you go headfirst Toddrick or you won't die you'll just fug yourself up real bad!”

But Toddrick did not go headfirst.

Instead, when he jumped, he straighted his body out, pointed his toes down, and fell straight down like a fucking pencil.

Crunch.

Now, had you been on the ground when Toddrick landed feet first on the parking deck, straight up like a soldier, you'd have understood why he said nothing at first.

Like a child with the breath knocked out of him, he simply sprawled out on the ground and held his mouth open, a shocked and wide-eyed expression on his face.

Then, he gasped.

Then, he unloaded.

“BWAH!!! BWAH!!! OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD!!! DYAGGGGGGGGGFUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKK MY ASS!!! FUCK MY ASS!!! FUCK MY ASS!!! MY LEGS!!! MY LEGS ARE SHATTERED OH MY GOD GUYS I CAN SEE MY BONES FROM MY LEGS!!! MULTIPLE BONES!!! SO MANY OF MY PRECIOUS BONES!!!! DAAAAKKK!!! DAAAKKKKK!!!! BLEEEEHHHHH OH FUCK YOU GUYS, I JUST THREW UP!!! THE PAIN!!! THE PAIN MADE ME THROW UH-BLEEEEHHH!!! JUST DID IT AGAIN!!! I AM IN A SEVERE, SEVERE AMOUNT OF PAIN!!! AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH SO MUCH GOD DAMN FUCKING PAIN!!!! PAAAAAAAIIIIIINNNNNN!!! HAVE YOU CALLED 911 YET???”

“Not yet! We workin' on it!”

“HURRY THE FUCK UP DADDY SAGNA GOD DAMN IT MY BONES!!! CAN YOU NOT SEE MY BONES!?!?! LOOK AT ‘EM!!! LOOK AT ‘EM!!!”

“We see ‘em Toddrick!”

As Toddrick continued to scream about the pain and the bones and the various whathaveyous, and would indeed never stop screaming, Fred turned to Sebagna.

“You know what? I'm startin' to reconsider this whole thang.”

“You don't fucking say.”

Just then, Fred's phone rang.

“Who tha fug callin’ me?”

It's important to note that Toddrick is still screaming for someone to call 911.

“Hello? Who dis?”

“Mr. Dick?” A mysterious voice on the other end said.

“Speakin’,” Fred replied, not very impressed. What's this call regardin'?”

(CALL 911 GOD DAMN IT!!! DADDY SAGNA!!! DADDYYYY SAGNAAAAAAA!!!)

“I'm speaking with Fred Dick? The Lesagna Man?”

“Did I stutter? Whatchu want?”

(BLEEEEEEHHHHHH!!! BLEEEEH-HEHHHHH-HEEEHHHHH!!!)

“TODDRICK SHUT THE FUGGUP I'M ON THE DAMN PHONE TALGIN’ TO THE 911, QUITCHER BENCHIN! …Sorry, that was my Lasagna Boy. He's stupid as hell. Just jumped off the roof of a fuggin’ arena, totally unprompted. No one suggested it. No one even implied it. Guess that's what happens when a dumb ace gets a wild hair trapped in the calamari ring, nawmean?”

“I do not, Mr. Dick. I don't care about any of that, actually. I only called to ask you a question – a life changing question, my friend.”

“Inchrestinnnnn’,” Fred said, scratching his chin. “Yeah, I'm inchrested.”

(TELL THEM TO HURRY UP!!! TELL THEM I'M FUCKING DYING OR SOMETHING, MAN!!! PLEASE!!!)

Then, the voice on the other end said something that would make Fred's ears perk up, his ghost wiener to grow chubby and full, and his eyes to widen, replacing his pupils with dollar signs.

“How would you like to make a bajillion fucking dollars?”

Outside of Seymour's 

The Desolate Winter

There was a bit of history between the Shid Gremlin, the Old Bear, and the Old Bear's Pet Weasel. They'd crossed paths a few times, and thought none of them would say that their lives had been enriched by each other – there was something there. A soft alliance of sorts.

So it was no surprise to the Shid Gremlin as he took a piss on the snow angel he'd made that the Old Bear and the Pet Weasel showed up and pissed on it with him.

No one said a word.

The sound of urine streams and melting snow.

Finally, after pants were pulled up, the Pet Weasel said, “This is your fault, Shid Gremlin.”

“How the fug is it my fault?” The Shid Gremlin replied.

“Well,” the Pet Weasel said. “It has to be. Because it isn't my fault the Old Bear has been… removed from Seymour's. It's not the Old Bear's fault, either. And by the way, it never is.”

“Yeah,” the Shid Gremlin said, rolling his eyes. "We know."

“So,” the Pet Weasel said, ignoring the Shid Gremlin. “Since it's not our fault, it must be yours.”

The Old Bear took those massive paws of his, and grabbed the Shid Gremlin by the throat.

The Shid Gremlin chuckled.

"What funny, Gremlin?" The Bear asked.

"Well," the Shid Gremlin said. "Nothing's my fault, either."

Dearest Ivan Stanislav aka Starsky aka Ivey Bo Bivey aka Big Red aka Hammer with da Big Sickle,

I hope this letter finds you sick, and bitter, and drunk – because that's what the fuck I am.

My name is Miguel. I'm a Lasagna Boy.

And I'm begging you… I'm begging you, please… Please…

Rescue me.

You don't know what this guy has been doing to us, Ivan. Keeping us locked in dog kennels for 18+ hours a day. And then, after ReVival 74, he basically coerced my fellow Lasagna Boy, Toddrick, aka T-man aka T-Rick aka Trick, into jumping off the roof of the arena.

I'm sitting in his hospital room right now. He's gonna be fucked up for years with the various fractures he has in his legs probably.

They got him in surgery now.

I would pray, but God can't save me from this Hell, Ivan.

If there is a God at all, he has clearly forsaken me.

You know…

Lots of people say you're the most evil and selfish man in PRIME, Ivan.

But you can't be.

I know you can't be, because I am merely a physical expression of the most evil and selfish man in PRIME's absolute will.

I am enthralled by Fred Dick.

He is inescapable. He is inevitable.

I feel like a loop of the last sixteen frames of the John F Kennedy assassination, played on repeat.

Just… He continuously one-shots my brain.

And every time he detects that I'm recovering, he reinforces his work.

I am trapped.

Now Fred has told me about you. He's spent time in Russia with you. He says you're a secret softy. He says you were scared to see your mama on her death bed. So, I know you have a heart.

And I've seen the way Arina looks at you.

Like a savior.

Like you're a big ol’ Russian Jesus Christ.

And your country? A country that abandoned the ideals you so sharply represent but never abandoned the mascot for those ideals.

That shows what kind of man you are.

They'd have wiped you out a long time ago if you weren't you.

But you are you.

Save me, Ivan.

Beat the fuck out of Fred and save me please.

I know you're a hero.

I can tell.

Be my hero, Ivan.

Be my her

EVAN STANISLAV,

PAY KNOW ATTENSION 2 WHUT THIS LEDDER SED B4 THESE WURDS.

I C WE R RASSLIN AT A SENSHIN.

LEMME JUST SAY, I RESPECK U.

N I LOVE U.

BUT IF U EVEN THANK BOUT TRYNA RESKEW MY LASAGNA BOYS – I WHEEL FUG. U. UP.

AND SUMPM ELSE U NED 2 NO?

WIN IT CUMS THYME 4 A SENSHIN?

I M GOIN TO SUPLEX U.

DATS RITE.

I M GOIN 2 SUPLEX U SKR8 TO RUSHIN HELL, WEAR ALL THE VODKA TASTE LIKE TENNISEA WHISKEY, AND THERES NO SUCH THANG AS SHARIN

N AFTUR I SUPLEX U?

I M GOIN TO PEN U.

I M GOIN TO BEET U FOR THA 1

THA 2

N THA 3

AND THEIR AINT A DAMN THANG U CAN DO ABOUT IT, BAYYBEEEEE!!!

Since Yearly,

Frodeward H. Dick

10 Days After ReVival 74

Randi Dick, 7 months pregnant and ready to get this damn STRONK baby out of her body, drove her car to yet another birthing class she didn't need.

But, there were hot, married men at those things, supporting their pregnant wives, which made them even hotter.

Fred Dick didn't know a damn thing about that, about supporting somebody.

Sometimes, she wished she had gaslit Ivan Stanislav into sleeping with her instead.

He was a real man.

She bet his semen was incredibly fertile and robust, too.

Regardless, hot, married DILFs? Yeah, she'd go to pregnancy classes. Why not?

What's the harm in looking a married man in the eye while he's holding his wife's pregnant belly, and sign-languaging with your fist that you'll give him a blowie?

But as she drove…

She heard a commercial on the radio that damn near caused her to drive off the road.

We hear a freezer door creak open. Heavenly chimes fill the car speakers, then –

ANNOUNCER: Hungry? Lonely? Craving… something hot, cheesy, and just a little bit… naughty?

A microwave dings.

ANNOUNCER: Fred’s Frozen Lasagna is here to fill you up. Layer after layer of tender pasta. Juicy beef. Creamy ricotta. Oh yeah, you're gonna wanna fuck on these creamy, juicy, tender layers.

FRED DICK: I'm Fred Dick. Come fug on my frozen lasagna!

We hear a fork scraping a plate, someone moaning softly with delight.

ANNOUNCER: From the makers of Kidz R Cool Dinners – you loved us as a kid… Now, we’re ready to satisfy your grown-up needs.

Italian folk music plays.

ANNOUNCER: Fred’s Frozen Lasagna. Heat it up… and let it go all night long.

Then, Fred Dick whispers:

“My name is Fred Dick and come fug on my lasagna.”

ANNOUNCER: A Bon Appo-Treat Product.

Randi Dick seethed.

She decided to pull over and write a god damn letter to Ivan Stanislav.

Ivan,

When's the last time you banged a hot piece of ass that just wouldn't quit and made you feel like the BEAR everyone says you were before you got really old and even slower than you already were and an even thicker, unattractive accent?

I could be that for you.

I'll do anything Ivan.

I mean, I'll do anything.

And all you have to do…

Is to send some money to Citizens Against Fred Dick.

Since the tornado back in December, our anti-Fred Dick mission, which includes giving the public valuable information towards things like Fred Dick awareness, what to do once one is within ten yards of a Fred Dick, tactics for defending oneself against a Fred Dick, and financing a campaign to reopen several cold cases he was a suspect in, has been severely underfunded. Couple that with the politics around charity work and targeting bastard men right now, and yeah – you could say we are in dire straights as an organization.

A year ago, I would've wrote you a letter just begging you to defeat him, and to kill him.

But you aren't the only one who has gotten older, Ivan. And softer. And wiser.

Besides, in my heart of hearts, I know better than to think that beating him will make him stop.

If he didn’t try to end his existence after that tournament loss, he's not going to – and let's face it, you're way too old to kill him now. You're honestly so old that it's a little gross, but, let's not think about that.

Let's think about all the things I’m gonna do to that big, red hog in your pants instead.

Hee-hee.

Anyway, I know you got the resources. And we got the willpower.

See, you think he's just a dumb ass who occasionally experiences intellectual luck and says something smart at the right time – like his brain is a roulette wheel and sometimes you win.

But he's not. At least, that's not all he is.

He's also a blight.

A plague.

And a capitalist.

Sketti Bucket? Fred's Frozen Lasagna?

Have you heard about this?

The man's trying to create a god damn cheap Italian food empire.

Help us stop him you old fucking bitch.

Help us stop him, and I'll fuck you.

I might even let you get me preggyyyyyy!

Warmly (as in my vajayjay gonna feel real warmly around that molotov COCKtail),

Randi Dick

The Morning of Ascension, Night 1.

“Well, what do you guys think?”

Toddrick stood in the Boiler Room, crutches keeping him upright. Old, rickety metal braces on his legs with leather straps for his knees and calves. A just as janky metal back brace that went straight up his back and clamped to his head, so that he could not turn any part of his upper body left or right without also turning his lower body.

“You look like a fuggin’ can opener,” Fred said, tossing him a four loko.

He could not catch it.

Of course he couldn't. He couldn't do hardly anything except stand and kinda walk on crutches and lay flat on his back.

“I think you look cool,” Miguel said. “Like a super hero. Like Iron Man.”

“I'd cast you as Tony Stark right now,” Sebagna said.

“Y'all stop gassin’ dat boy up,” Fred said. “Now look here. We going up against a real tough customer. Ivan Stanislav. And if I ain't careful, I'm gonna end up lookin’ like T-Rick over here. Like some kinda… fugged up, dipshidded Frankenstein.”

“Know what,” Toddrick said. “Say what you will about how I look in this fine ass metal suit that keeps my body straight as an arrow and hard as a big ol’ porn dick, but that rolls right off my incredibly upright shoulders.”

Fred respected that. He respected that a lot.

“Bottom line is, I'm resilient. Hell, I've made a case that I might be the most resilient physical expression of your absolute will,” Toddrick said. “And you wanna know who I thought of when I was clawing, tooth and nail, through the pain, the absolute god awful pain I've been in and, largely remain in?”

“Me, obviously,” Fred said. “Like it's even a quesh–”

“No,” Toddrick said.

Fred gasped.

“Ivan Stanislav,” Todddick said.

Fred gasped, a little harder.

“Let's face it Fred,” Toddrick said. “Besides being the most physically imposing man on the entire PRIME roster, he might be the most resilient. Even YOU have regaled us with tales of his legendary ‘almosts.’ Almost a Universal Champion several times, right? Even the times he got it, they were so short-lived he didn't have time to enjoy it. All the way back to the old days. At another event called Ascension. He almost won that weird fucking pyramid match. So, YOU have to make it another ‘almost’ for him at THIS Ascension.”

Fred's feelings were hurt. “How the fug is he more resilient than me?”

“OH, I DON'T KNOW DADDY SAGNA!!!” Toddrick screamed. “MAYBE BECAUSE HE ALSO LOST IN THE SEMI FINALS, AND DIDN'T CLIMB UP TO THE TOP OF THE NATIONWIDE ARENA AND DEMAND PEOPLE JUMP OFF AND END THEIR EXISTENCE IN SOLIDARITY WITH HIM!!!”

“That's diff'rent god damnit!!!” Fred screamed back. “Ivan ain't got no thralls!!!”

“OH, HE HAS THRALLS!!!” Toddrick screamed. “YOU THINK THAT UGLY GIRL AND THAT MUSTACHED MAN WEREN'T EMOTIONALLY MANIPULATED AND BRAINWASHED JUST LIKE ME???”

Toddrick takes a deep breath, calms down. “He's you, Daddy Sagna. Just deeper, and more sophisticated. And also, twice your fucking size.”

Fred had to do a breathing exercise. His jealousy, anger, it all boiled in his cauldron heart. But he turned the temperature down just long enough to say through grit teeth, “Den how tha fug do I beat ‘im?”

Toddrick frowned. He looked at Miguel and Sebagna for emotional support.

They both gave him a big thumbs up.

“You're a popular guy right now Fred. You got the baffroom fights thing, the Sketti Bucket deal, a new frozen food product line, I think I even heard a few people cheering for you recently.”

“My undeniable charisma coupled with my naturally precocious nature makes me a delight that tests well with multiple demographics,” Fred replied.

“Well, if you want to beat Ivan, you're going to have to surrender all of that. You're gonna have to go back to those Paxton Ray days you told us about, when you were so hated the fans started cheering for HIM of all people.”

Fred's eyes widened.

“A guy as resilient as Ivan? You can't attack his pride. A guy as physical as Ivan? You can't defeat his body. Even if you pull off that suplex you were talking about. You think he's never been suplexed? Wrong. No. To defeat Ivan… you'll have to attack him in the only soft spot he has. That's the only thing that might distract him well enough to lose to a guy like you.”

Todd took a breath. “You're gonna have to attack his heart, Daddy Sagna.”

Fred's eyes widened even more.

“You're gonna have to attack the girl.”