“Hello out there, friends. Your old pal President Evil here, having a nice glass of egg nog next to a roaring fire, soon to settle down for a long winter’s nap. And let’s be honest, I know what you’re all thinking out there: ‘Gee Mister Prez, this seems out of character for an irredeemable monster.’ to which I say this is absolute piffle! Look, I know my reputation, and I realize that as the cervical collar may indicate, the Administration has had a run of bad luck lately, but It’s Christmas! The best, holly-est, jolliest time of the year! It’s a celebration of family and togetherness, as well as the birth of our lord and savior, Christ Jesus, through which all or redeemed. You know, all of that bullshit. But most of all, it’s time to celebrate the spirit of giving! And that’s why I’ve put together a selection of the finest gifts for my pals at STRUGGLE and beyond!”
The first big news item for you people is that yes, we are indeed running another show soon. It’s a shock, I know, but seriously, it’s happened before, and it may even happen again. Now, a preview:
DARK MATCHES: So dark, very match-like.
MATCH 1: Patience Halliburton-Vanzetti vs. Twilight Princess Zelda: The official debut of Zelda Lucabrasi going through a phase most people go through in junior high. Whoever wins, I’m sure Patience will be very upset, and I’ll have to hear about it.
MATCH 2: The Turd Boyz vs. The Rockin’ Rocksmen – Because sometimes, you just gotta add a random match. Also, there was no First Class Family representation on the card, and Johnny San Diego bitched at me all week after the initial announcement, which I guess is a good argument for wrestlers getting managers.
MATCH 3: Junior Grim vs. Agent Bulldog – With the Pac vs. Fang title match as the co-main, we went with an Evil Administration vs. B.A.R.S. theme for a couple of the undercard matches. So it’s a match between the EA member that First Lady Evil considers dead weight, versus the BARS member that President Evil considers to the the same. It’s Dead Weight Bowl 2022! Yeah!
MATCH 4: Uno Muerte vs. Captain STRUGGLE: Major title implications here, in this match between the two guys Pac beat for his shot. High probability of this being the best match on the card.
MATCH 5: Agent 35 vs. Black Panther Mask – Huh. On one hand, you’ve got a guy who’s emerged as a major main event-level player against a guy who seemingly never wins. But on the other hand, the never-winning guy is a staple-slinging deathmatch ghoul, which is always a wild card in any situation.
MATCH 6: Zippity Duda vs. Screaming Rage Man – This was added at the last minute, like it’s not even listed on most of the posters around town. And it’s such a bad idea. So very, very bad.
HAVE YOU EVER WANTED TO BE A PRO WRESTLER? DO YOU HAVE THE GUTS TO STEP IN THE RING WITH A LIVING LEGEND? CAN YOU GET $1500 TOGETHER BY FRIDAY? THEN YOU MIGHT HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO BECOME A SUPERSTAR OF TOMORROW IN OL’ ROSS GRACIE’S INFAMOUS HOSS DOJO!
A large group of trainees gathered in front of the Hoss Dojo at dawn, just as they were instructed to do, but of course, no one let them in the building for another three hours. There were murmurings from a few new hopefuls that this was one of those old school wrestling tests; an attempt to weed out the weak by making them stand in freezing temperatures. The established trainees all knew what the deal was, though: Ol’ Ross Gracie and the day’s assistant trainers always parked out back and went through the rear entrance, Hoss had forgotten they were going to be there that early, and as such had also forgotten to unlock the door. Meanwhile, this was a day where Ace La Grange and Donita Zapata were his assistant trainers, and while Ace had genuinely forgotten about the locked front door, Donita more than likely remembered, but just didn’t care. In the meantime, Ace expressed concern for Donita and the broken neck she had suffered in a match just days earlier.
“Donita… Brother… Should you even be here?”
“What? It’s not like I’m gonna be one of the ones that gets thrown around today.”
“I know, I know… Brother, it’s just that shit’s no joke, you know?”
“Yeah, well…. I’m about to be out of work for a fuckin’ year, Ace. I’m not passing up an opportunity for a hundred bucks.”
Ace sighed sadly. “Yeah, I been there before, brother. I guess it should be okay today, though. Supposedly, we’re just going over some social media policy nonsense for most of today, anyway. I guess Nate and those guys don’t want people embarrassing the company over the Myspaces or whatever.”
(THE SCENE: After a STRUGGLE house show, (we have shows y’all don’t know about, honest) ZIPPITY DUDA is alone in the locker room, and he has taken great pains to assure himself that this is truly the case. He’s looked around every corner and inspected every nook and cranny, and when he’s made absolutely sure that no one else is anywhere nearby, he pulls out a Zip-Loc bag, which contains a small vial of liquid and a hypodermic needle.)
ZIP: (nervously) Okay… It’s okay, you can do this. Okay… Just one quick poke, and you’re on your way… Muscles, money, girls… Your mother will stop yelling at you… You can do this…
(Not having any idea what the hell he’s doing, ZIP starts to tie off his arm like a heroin addict, then slowly inserts the needle into the steroid vial, his hands shaking the entire time. Shaking so hard, in fact, that he ends up dropping it, and upon hitting the floor, it shatters, and its contents are immediately soaked into the indoor/outdoor carpet.)
ZIP: (With the despairing tone of a dude who just lost something he had to sell his XBox to buy, because that’s exactly what just happened) Noooo!
(ZIP drops down to his hands and knees and starts trying in vain to salvage whatever he can, when – to his horror – he starts to hear the sounds of an elderly German filmmaker bickering with a maniacal burnout pseudo-journalist; it’s COBRA HIGHWAY!)
REINHOLD KINSKI: Mein Gott… How is it zat you have come to arrive here?
ZIP: Look, this is -I mean, I-I-I
RAOUL KEMP: Better keep your distance from that one, Adolf. A junkie without his shit is liable to turn on you like a rabid dog. Give him ten minutes and that boy will become a wild-eyed, slavering brute who’d be thrown into a ditch and poked with sharp sticks if this was a decent society.
ZIP: Junkie!? No, no, no, this is-
KINSKI: It is truly an accursed thing we bear vitness to on zis day. His soul screams in agony. God himself looks down upon zis young man, and he gazes upward toward ze heavens, and he knows. Knows zat he has been chosen by the divine Himself. Chosen to be abandoned.
ZIP: No, seriously, you’ve got it all wrong! This isn’t-
KEMP: C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to be the nearest potential victim when this freak’s eyes roll over white and he starts thirsting for blood.
KINSKI: Ve should get some chili dogs.
(KEMP and KINSKI disappear in a cloud of grizzly bear fur and amyl nitrate caplets, and ZIP is very confused. He then sadly starts trying to pick the broken pieces of glass out of the carpet, in order o destroy the evidence before anyone else shows up. As with most things in his life, he fails, as he suddenly smells the telltale scent of Icy Hot and regret – It’s disgraced former world’s champion ACE LA GRANGE!)
ACE: God damn, brother! How is it that you have come to arrive here!?
ZIP: Oh no…
ACE: I mean, things got pretty dark back in the day, but even I never messed around with that shit, brother.
ZIP: (sighing defeatedly) Look… It’s not what you think. That was… I was doing steroids.
(ACE pauses for a moment, as though the hamster wheel in his brain cannot process this information, then can’t help but laugh)
ACE: Ha ha ha ha ha, bullshit, brother! You ain’t on the gas! Look, I spent the entire 2000s on enough gas to fuel a fleet of buses, and that ain’t the body of someone who’s juiced up.
ZIP: It was my first time! Or.. You know… It would’ve been.
ACE: Then why’s your arm tied up like that, brother? You just stick yourself in the butt, or, you know, wherever.
ZIP: What, really? Son of a…
(ACE reaches down and picks up the piece of the vial with the label, then looks shocked.)
ACE: I’ll be damned, you weren’t lying. Brother, what the hell are you doing this for, anyway?
ZIP: Well, you know… To get bigger.
ACE: Brother, you’re a cruiserweight. You’re like four feet tall.
ZIP: i know, I know, it’s just, you know…. My mom…
ACE: (in a very serious tone) Brother, be honest with me… Are you trying to bulk up to beat up your mom?
ZIP: No! It’s just, you know, she just doesn’t respect me, and I thought that if I could win more matches…
ACE: Really? Hell, brother, you don’t need muscles to kick ass. Well, I mean, you do, but not asses as small as the ones you’re trying to kick. Come on, brother, I’m taking you under my wing.
ZIP: Do what now?
ACE: Look, brother, I’m a former world’s champion. If there’s one thing I know, it’s kicking asses professionally. And trust me brother, taking the kinda shortcuts you were gonna take is no good. Sooner or later, you’re gonna end up all messed up, like I did, or like Rockin’ Roland or Alex Kane or Damien Nova.
ZIP: Who’s Damien Nova?
ACE: Aw, brother. Probably the biggest “never was” in the history of Tri-State Area Wrestling. Huh… Heard he just got outta prison, come to think of it. Wonder what he’s up to…
(THE SCENE: The Hoss Dojo training facility, out on the edge of town, right past where the old Walmart (the one full of feral dogs) is located. The makeshift tag team of SKIP LEGDAY and CAPTAIN STRUGGLE have come here seeking advice on their upcoming WAR PARTY 2021 match from veteran OL’ ROSS GRACIE, but he is nowhere to be found. Extremely loud snoring can be heard from behind the door to Hoss’s office, and it is extremely awkward.)
SKIP: Soooo… Uhh… Do you think we should leave, or…?
STRUGGLE: Five more minutes.
SKIP: Bro, you said that five minutes ago.
STRUGGLE: I drive fifteen minutes to get here, we wait another five.
SKIP: I dunno, maybe we could just leave for a while and come back or something. It’s a thousand degrees in here.
STRUGGLE: Hoss say it build character. Allegedly.
SKIP: Well, I’m at least gonna go outside for a minute.
STRUGGLE: Hm. Probably a good idea.
(The two turn around and start to leave, when all of a sudden, the office doors fly open, and OL’ ROSS GRACIE appears, brandishing a double barreled shotgun.)
HOSS: ALRIGHT YA GODDAMN BUSHWACKIN’ RATTLESNAKE MOTHERFUCKERS! TRYIN’ TO ROB OL’ HOSS ARE YA? I’M GONNA FILL YOUR HIDES SO FULL O’ LEAD, YOU’RE GONNA SHIT PELLETS FOR A WEEK!
SKIP: HOSS! Stop, it’s us!
STRUGGLE: (Yells something in Japanese that I couldn’t decipher, due to being extremely monolingual, but based on my knowledge of body language and tonality, it was just filled to the brim with cusses)
HOSS: What? Aw hell, sorry boys. Ol’ Hoss ain’t got his glasses on. I remember y’all. Scoop Lindsey and his young son, Colonel SANDERS, right?
PICTURED: Colonel Harlan Sanders.
SKIP: Bro! You could’ve killed us both!
HOSS: What? Aw bullshit, this thing ain’t even loaded!
(HOSS pumps his shotgun several times, ejecting a shell onto the dojo’s dirt floor every time.)
HOSS: Huh. Well whaddaya know? Anyways, important part is that it ain’t loaded now, at least. I think. Anywho, what brings you two here?
This was a thing we used to do back when we still had TV, where we’d hype up the next show by getting the talent to stand in front of a big STRUGGLE logo backdrop thing (or a brick wall with an inexplicably-placed chain link fence in front of it, or just going to their home unannounced) and talk shit about each other. It did good business and looked good on TV, so when someone found the backdrop out back, (and cleaned the bird shit off of it) we decided to make a new edition of the the STRUGGLE Session for the upcoming SHELTER IN PLACE TOUR #4 show. Of course, as always, the camera that got used was the one that Buddy From the Ring Crew had put a big Post-It note on saying “BROKEN – DO NOT USE,” and since everyone here is an idiot, the footage ended up being a bunch of purple blobs. So as always, there’s nothing but a transcript we managed to put together. Anyway, I know the average wrestling fan can’t read, but maybe someone will get something out of what we salvaged – Abdul
