The following is another excerpt from the blog “The Shorty Bounce” by Devin Tyler

Here we go again.  Another week, another round has passed in the Blast From the Past tournament.  This week, we get to take on the Punk and Country Connection.  So, basically, we are taking on the most dysfunctional bunch of misfits since me and Evie.  Granted, we figured out how to co-exist, but these two have only been lucky.  Evie and I have been spending more and more time together, and I gotta admit; she’s not as big of a pain in the ass as I originally thought.  Though, to be clear, she is still a pain in the ass.

We got this match in the bag, and those two trophies might as well have our names written on them.  We are the underdog team of the century.  We will continue to move through the competition.  This week will not be any different.  It is just par for the course.  Amy Marshall isn’t a joke.  She’s the goddamn punchline.  And Wyatt?  He’s nothing more than a tagalong to the living, walking self-Roast that is Amy Marshall.  He’s probably been gone too long to realize that underneath all of the awful, cheap warpaint, Amy Marshall is nothing.  She’s a cheap imitation of what a Bombshell is all about.

Is it that he doesn’t realize, or that he’s too goddamn stupid to realize it?  It’s hard to tell.  What with that toothless hillbilly routine of an accent he’s got going on?  If he didn’t at least have decent looks, he would belong in a circus sideshow.  I know, up until fifty years ago, people could have said the same thing about me.  But hey, I don’t carry around the moniker of Dumbest Man Alive.  Of course, for him to actually think that he’s got a chance proves that theory all by itself.

But it should be interesting, right?  The smallest man to step foot inside of an SCW ring versus one of the tallest, biggest, bulkiest men to step foot inside of an SCW ring?  It will be interesting, but only if you are smart enough to put the money on me.  Which, forgive me, but from what I’ve seen in this neck of the woods, people aren’t exactly smart.  That’s why idiots flock to Nevada, to throw all of their money at machines with hypnotizing, pretty little lights, and then once they are just about down, they drop the rest of their money of liquor and hand whores to make them feel better about their lives before they return to the mediocrity of the Midwest.  That’s right, Nevada is the Mecca for bumbling idiots.

And that right there is precisely why Wyatt is perfect for Sin City Wrestling.  Does he have the makings of a World Heavyweight Champion?  Probably not.  Scratch that, definitely not.  He would barely make a good Roulette Champion, but let’s not get too hasty.  Point is, he does not have what it takes to move on to the top of this company, and I do.  But, once again, I get to prove that inside of the ring this week.  I’ll see you losers in the six-sided ring in just a couple of days.  Enjoy your delusions in the meantime.



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We come in to see “Shorty” Devin Tyler sitting poolside with a cold drink in one hand, and a second drink in his other.  He has a pair of shades on as he sits there, watching the pretty girls walk past.  He is wearing a Speedo and nothing else beyond the sunglasses.  He takes a sip from one drink as he looks around once more.

Just then, a pretty blonde approaches him with a smile on her face.  Shorty smiles and sets the extra drink down on the side table as he starts to sit up in his lounge chair.  The woman is dressed in a skin tight pink bikini and white flip flops.  She leans over, practically putting her bosom directly in his face.

Woman:  Excuse me, kiddo, but have you seen this bald, handsome, muscular guy hanging around?  I was supposed to meet my Tinder date here, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere…

Shorty lowers his sunglasses with a smirk on his face, showing off his pearly white teeth.  He clicks his teeth as he winks at her.

Shorty:  This little boy is all grown up from the waist to the chiseled jawline, baby.

Woman:  Ummm… I think I left my oven on in my hotel room. Sorry…

Shorty:  But none of the rooms have ovens!

The woman awkwardly lowers her head and scurries on away from Shorty.  He can’t even react to it as his jaw just hangs wide open.  He can do little more than mutter a simple scoff as he puts his sunglasses back on.  After a moment, he begins speaking under his breath until the anger overrides the shock, and he gets progressively louder.

Shorty: … the actual fucking fuck is that all about?  We chatted for two weeks, and she saw all of my pictures on the fucking app!  Is it not obvious that I’m a little person?  I’m standing next to a high chair for crying out loud!  How dumb could that broad be?!

A young man in Bermuda shorts and a black tank top comes walking up to Shorty with a smile on his face.

Man:  Hey, you’re that short stack that’s in that local wrestling company, Sin City Wrestling, right?

Shorty:  Hey asshole, I might be little, but I am a human being, chapstick dick!  And yes, I am that “short stack” who has blown through every piece of lame ass competition that they have put in front of me in SCW.

Man:  Bro, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to insult you like that. I thought that was your name. I seen you go through all of those big dude, and I’m impressed.  I was wondering if I could get an autograph or something for my girl.  She gets to go to the show while I work.

Shorty looks over as the squealing girl across the pool with blue and white hair, waving at them.  Shorty’s eyes instantly fall to her black bikini top, or rather what is about to pop out of it at any given moment.  Shorty winks at her as he stands up and shows off everything he’s got, which is enough that the camera has to blur it out.  The man suddenly feels insecure as he leans back a little bit.

Shorty:  That’s your girl?  The fine piece of hipster ass over there that’s blushing at the sight of what I got?

Man:  Yeah… We’re in a non-monogamous, poly relationship because it’s the latest trend since Veganism.  But I’m pretty sure that she only wants an autograph.

Shorty:  Bruh, she wants more than an autograph.  She wants my pen shoved so far… Never mind, anything for a fan.

Shorty pulls a pen out of nowhere and a picture of himself.  The man looks around, trying to figure out where it came from, and Shorty instantly signs it. “All the best, you fine piece of hipster ass, -”Shorty” Devin Tyler 510-840-**** Room 208, Your boyfriend can watch as long as he’s not in my line of sight.”  He then smacks the picture into the man’s chest and goes back to his drink. The man looks at the picture and shakes his head as he starts to rip it up.  However, his girlfriend comes up to him, and they bicker as she rips the picture out of his hand.

Shorty watches the fight ensue with a devious smile on his face as the girl storms off.  He walks back over to the bar, drinking the rest of his drink before setting the empty glass on the bar.  He walks inside of the hotel with a towel around his neck.  As soon as he walks in, several hotel patrons stop and stare at him.

Shorty:  What the fuck are you staring at?!  Haven’t any of you seen a little person before?  Oh, why don’t you go ahead and snap some pictures, because they last longer you arrogant regular sized pieces of horse shit!  Un-fucking-believable!  How many of you want to have your kids stand next to me so that you all can laugh at it later?  Huh?  Or why don’t you stick me in a five piece suit and give me an oversized lollipop?!  How about that?!  Oh, you would like that wouldn’t you?  “We represent, the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild.  And in the name of, the Lollipop GUILD!  WE WISH TO WELCOME YOU FUCKERS TO MUNCHKIN LAAAAAAAAAAAND!!!”

Shorty practically has a stroke as everyone blinks and stares in his direction.  The entire hotel falls silent as Shorty looks around to see that there is a cute puppy walking on his hind legs while balancing a ball on his nose.  Shorty purses his lips as he lowers his gaze to the ground.  He sighs as he walks further inside of the lobby.  He goes up to the elevator and presses the “Up” button.  He waits as everyone watches him and shake their heads in disgust as their whispers echo through the room.  Finally, the bell rings and the door opens.  He steps inside, and finds himself alone, with a breath of relief.

Shorty:  Goddamn, that was embarrassing.  Thank God I’m by myself.  I just sang the “Lollipop Guild” song while cussing out children and the elderly.  What the hell is wrong with me?  Am I really that horrible of a human being?

Shorty continues to mutter to himself as the bell rings and the door opens.  He starts to walk out before bumping into the leg of a bellhop.  The bellhop smiles and pats Shorty on top of the head as he coos at him.

Bellhop:  Awww, how sweet.  Where are your parents, little boy?

Shorty grits his teeth and clenches his fists together.  He shakes in anger before losing it and punching the bellhop right in the dick.  The bellhop falls to his knees as he looks at Shorty with a look of pure and utter betrayal.

Shorty:  I’m a grown man, you sack of shit!  I wrestle for Northern Lights Wrestling and I’m doing a showcase here in Sin City Wrestling!  I have a job, I’m not a child!  I’m a man!  I’m a real, living, breathing, eating, shitting fucking man!

Shorty shakes his head as he turns around and pretends to kick dirt up over the bellhop on the ground.  He walks over to room 208 and he pulls his room key out of his Speedo.  He slides the key card and the door pops open.  He walks inside as the hipster chick from poolside comes rushing up, stopping the door from completely closing.  She taps Shorty on the shoulders and he starts to turn around as the woman wraps her leg around him, sinking down to his level.

Shorty:  What the holy-fucking-shit?  Sorry, Winter, I had to steal that one…

Hipster Chick:  I got something else you can steal, baby.  Mommy needs hewr wittle manzy mans.

Shorty looks up into her eyes, confused and shocked at the same time.  He shakes it off and his jaw drops.

Shorty:  Momma! Momma! Yes!

Shorty turns and shoves the door closed behind him, causing the scene to fade out on the door, but not before the sound of several loud banging noises are heard, causing doors to open to stare down the hall toward room 208.


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The cameras return to the live studio audience, many with drinks in their hands as the lights come back on.  They are cheering and laughing from the previous round of “The Roast of… Amy Marshall” as we quickly pan across them.  The camera then focuses in on the set where we see Evie Baang seated in a comfortable chair next to a thin glass podium with a microphone.  Her legs are crossed as she settles in, a smirk coming across her face.  Suddenly, “Shorty Bounce” by Lil Wayne blasts over the speakers and the crowd gives off a mixed reaction, but it is mostly positive as the sign above the stage requests that they cheer and applaud.

“Shorty” Devin Tyler steps out from behind the curtains, dressed in a charcoal grey suit and a blue shirt that is opened half way down to show off his uniquely chiseled physique.  He holds his arms out at his side to wave in the applause, note cards in his right hand as he steps out.  He then sets his arms out in front of him and begins doing the Shorty Bounce as he approaches the podium.  He stands up behind it, and it practically hides him.  Evie gives a toothy grin as she walks over to the curtains and pulls out a step ladder.  She sets it up in front of the podium as Shorty climbs it, much to the laughter of the audience.

Shorty stands up in front of the audience as he adjusts the microphone to a lower point as Evie takes her seat once again.  Shorty sets his cards down on the podium as he leans onto the podium for support.  He stares out into the audience as he sighs into the microphone.

Shorty:  Are you assholes as excited as I am to talk about Amy Marshall?

Again, the crowd gives off a mixed reaction, though the sign above the stage requests a round of boos.  Shorty rolls his eyes as he leans back up to a standing position, adjusting the microphone once again.

Shorty:  I mean, who wouldn’t want to talk about an SCW Hall of Famer, right?  A Grand Slam Champion?  She has all of the makings of a solid opponent… on paper.  Yet, somehow, people aren’t even talking about her in this match… or ever really.

Shorty looks out into the audience as crickets literally chirp.  He shakes his head as he looks to Evie, who is yawning.

Shorty:  Fuck all of you!  Haven’t you ever heard of comedy of truth?  People are talking about her opponent who literally did jack shit in his short time in SCW.  The retarded cowboy.  He was a tag team champion.  Big fucking whoop.  Yet his speech impediment makes him endearing, and people want to hear more about him.  Maybe because he’s not as played out as Amy’s vagina. Heh?

Shorty looks bright eyed out at the audience as he gets a couple quiet chuckles.  He slams his fists against the podium as he snaps at the audience, who only seem to blink and stare in return.

Shorty:  Oh come on now!  That was funny!  You shitheads don’t understand sophisticated comedy!  Let’s be a little more high brow from here on out, okay?

The audience chuckles slightly at Shorty’s little outburst, but this is good enough for him to return to his stiff routine.

Shorty:  Wyatt Peterson, dumb as a box of rocks.  Does he even know what a wristlock is?  Does he realize that wrestling isn’t a bar room brawl at the local dive bar?  Being a giant doesn’t make him better than anyone.  It just means that the bigger cranium makes it easier for me to give him a concussion from that tiny pea brain rolling around inside of his head…  Laugh damn it!  Laugh!

Shorty looks out into the audience and he doesn’t see a single reaction.  He flips the podium over, causing it to shatter, and his cards fly everywhere.  Evie covers her mouth as Shorty jumps down from the step ladder.

Shorty:  Alright, let’s go ahead and stoop to dick and fart humor.  Will that be what gets you going?

The audience looks to one another and they begin to nod their heads.  Shorty shakes his head for a moment before nodding along.

Shorty:  Okay, fine.  Let’s do this.  Wyatt Peterson, the only competitor in this match who has spent more time on his back than Amy Marshall!

The crowd laughs at this one, but Shorty is still on an angry roll as he begins pacing the stage, causing his mind to race.

Shorty:  Wyatt Peterson, putting the “Cunt” in “Country”.  Why?  Because he’s a big, fat cunt!  A pussy.  He doesn’t have what it takes to get past me.  Height is not everything, and that is literally the only thing he’s got on me.  There is absolutely no skill there.  I mean, his only hope, as we’ve seen in the past, is for a partner to come along and carry his ass to a victory.  I’m sorry, but you can’t hide behind Amy and expect her to do that, because Amy is a choke artist.

Shorty grins for a moment as he looks over to Evie who nods her head, urging him to continue on as she practically reads his mind.  The crowd waits for it almost patiently.

Shorty:  Inside of the ring, that is, because we’ve all seen how well she can suppress her gag reflex outside of the ring.

The crowd bursts out into laughter at his low brow quip.  He shrugs his shoulders as he looks out into the audience.

Shorty:  Wyatt Peterson has made a career out of relying on others.  He definitely pulled the wrong card when he got Amy Marshall as a partner.  We all saw what happened last year when one of SCW’s most promising up and comer’s got stranded with Amy as a partner.  He went from a shoe in for the next SCW World Heavyweight Champion, to a Tag Team Champion that faded into obscurity.  Inside of the ring, because the last I checked, his role as “Throbbin’” in Buttman and Throbbin’ earned him a Woody Award at the AFA’s.  Gives a whole new meaning to the term “Up and Cummer” huh?

Without being prompted, the crowd roars with cheers and laughter.  Shorty starts to get into now that the crowd is getting into it.  He puffs out his chest like a beast as Evie even offers him a clap.

Shorty:  Wyatt Peterson probably thinks that he’s got an easy breezy week ahead of him, right?  A Hall of Famer that’s carried him through two matches already has his back.  Unfortunately, what he doesn’t realize, because he’s been gone for so long, is that Amy Marshall played it smart and waited for opportunities to weasel her way into every single accomplishment she’s gotten to her name.  I mean, why wouldn't he question that?  It’s gotten him past two teams.  It’s just unfortunate for him, because Amy has never, and will never, make it past Sugar Tits… I mean, Evie Baang.

Evie pushes her shoulders in, taking pride in her new nickname.  She bounces her shoulders slightly as the crowd gives off a very masculine round of cheers and cat calls.  Evie leans back in her seat as she crosses her legs in the opposite direction, listening intently to Shorty now.

Shorty:  Wyatt Peterson believes he’s destined to win this whole thing.  I would say “thinks he’s destined”, but that would imply that he’s capable of putting together a coherent series of thoughts that doesn’t revolve around Honky Tonks and double wide trailers.  What he doesn’t realize is that the team that everyone thought was going to win 2018’s Blast From the Past Tournament has already been taken out, and they were taken out in the first round… by this Dream Team, motherfuckers!

Shorty walks over to Evie and he poses next to here, rapidly moving his finger between the two of them to emphasize that he’s talking about them.  He then marches back to the center of the stage to take his place.

Shorty:  Roxi Johnson, the superhero on the streets, and the bondage queen freak in the sheets, and the potato-eating, Guinness chugging, piece of shit who tried to exploit his wife’s untimely death to further his career, O’Malley.  Yeah, we took them out.  That was the team that the internet said was going to win this entire thing.  Fuck you, internet!  This tournament belongs to two people, and it definitely isn’t Amy Marshall and Wyatt Peterson.  It belongs to “Shorty” Devin Tyler, and “Sugar Tits” Evie Baang, bitches!

There isn’t so much a round of laughter, but a chorus of cheers, prompted by the board above the stage, of course.  Shorty throws his arms up in the air, drawing it in even louder.  He then waves the audience off as he brings the microphone up to his lips again.

Shorty:  I figured I would slay the beast before I take shots at the easy target, because that’s what a true champion would do, and after we take out these two piece of trash, we will breeze on to those trophies.  Watch out Kristopher Ryans, because I’m coming for you.  I’m going to be the smallest World Champion in SCW history, but I’m going to pack the biggest punch.

Shorty holds his fist up and mimics a Dick Punch that gets the crowd roaring again.  He smiles and nods his head as he looks out across the audience silently for a moment. He then begins speaking again.

Shorty:  Now, let’s get a little less serious when we talk about the reason we’ve all gathered here this evening.  It’s “The Roast of… Amy Marshall” afterall, right?  Let’s bring out the guest of honor.  Without further adieu, fresh from the free clinic on West 5th Street in Reno, Nevada, let’s give it up and hope that the antiviral drugs have had enough time to work… Please welcome, Amy Marshalllllllll!!!

Shorty lightly claps his hands together as the audience seems shocked.  The curtain parts and out steps Amy Marshall… except it’s not.  It appears to be a homeless woman with dirt covering her body.  She is wearing a large purple mohawk wig, a dirty Misfits tank top, black and grey plaid skirt, fishnets, and a studded leather jacket with matching boots.  She stumbles out onto the stage as she sticks her tongue out and throws up the horns.  She nearly falls over and grabs onto Shorty to hold herself up on his bald head.  As we get a closer look at her face, she has “herpes sores” painted onto her face.  The crowd laughs at this display as Shorty and Evie help the woman over to the large leather chair in the center of the stage.  She falls into it and instantly falls asleep.

Shorty:  Classy.  How could someone not wife that, am I right?  She’s off the market, so please pay no attention to her exposed beaver…

Shorty points over to the woman, wearing no undergarments, as a censor bar covers the subject in which Shorty is speaking of.  He shakes his head as he moves a chair out in front of “Amy” that covers her up.

Shorty:  We all know that Amy is never truly off the market.  The ring is just a white mark around her finger when she puts the ring on a stranger’s nightstand.  Her husband is okay with it, so who are we to judge?  It’s a new age, the times they are a’changin’ as one Bob Dylan says.  Then again, with a nose that big, bruh can’t be too picky.  I mean, I could crawl up and hide in that beak!

Shorty mimics climbing up and taking cover as the crowd offers a decent chuckle.  Shorty shrugs his shoulders.

Shorty:  Meh, they can’t all be winners, right?  Amy Marshall surely knows that one.  She has had some impressive wins, but her losses far outweigh her wins.  I mean, the losses are practically twice as heavy.  She should be used to losing, but this renewal of her otherwise dead career has given her hope.  How fucking cruel?  She actually thinks that she can win this match.  Is she stupid?  Sorry, that was a stupid question.  She’s proven time and time again that she’s not the brightest crayon in the box.  She’s an idiot, more of less.  But, yet somehow, she’s the Einstein of her team?  That’s fucking sad…

“Amy” wakes up for a second and flips Shorty off before curling up in the leather chair and falling back asleep.

Shorty:  As if Amy’s wrestling career wasn’t enough of a joke.  Amy Marshall is a well known porn star turned porn director.  She’s starred in such films as Amy Does Atlanta, Ann Arbor, Austin, Albany, Anaheim, Allentown, Amarillo, Ames, Anchorage, and Asbury Park.  And famous director of such cinematic masterpieces as Jurassic Jugs, Long Ranger, Tale of Two Titties, American Hair Pie, Bi-Curious George, Fill Bill, Edward Penishands, and Cum Sluts of New Jersey Vol 4.  That is an impressive resume.  Add that to reigns as Bombshell Internet, Tag Team, Roulette, and World Champions, losing most of them on her first defense, and you’ve got a real talent on your hands. In her hands.  However you like it, because you don’t even have to ask!

The crowd laughs again as Shorty settles back near the chair that “Amy” is seated in.  He brushes her hair out of her face as she moans and turns over to the opposite side.  She puts her ass in the air, and Shorty leans over to nearly barf at the mere suggestion.

Shorty:  Goddamn, please don’t offer that beat up mess between your legs to me!  It looks like you’ve given birth!  Do you even have any children?  Or is that where all good careers crawl up inside to die and fade away into obscurity?  I’m sorry, but I’m just getting mine going, and I’m not ready to peace out just yet.  Besides, you’re a triple bagger.  One for your head, one for my head in case yours falls off, and a third so I can puke into if both bags fall off.  And let’s not forget the double entendre, that I would need at least three rubbers to feel safe!

The crowd groans at this, rather than laughing.

Shorty:  What, too much?

The crowd nods as they agree with his statement.  He shrugs his shoulders as he continues on.

Shorty:  You can’t expect less than that!  Look who we’re talking about!  Everything she touches turns to shit.  Except the Metal and Punk Connection, because that was shit before she even signed her name to the dotted line.  See, my momma raised me to believe that you are as the company that you keep.  And where I come from, Northern Lights Wrestling, a subsidiary of Honor Wrestling, the company that Amy keeps is shit.  Jessie Salco.  Sure, she’s had a few runs herself, and she’s better than Amy, as fucking sad as that is to say, but she couldn’t carry a crowd if her life depended on it.  And let’s not forget, she couldn’t sell a glass of ice water to a man stranded in the desert, let alone a wrestling move.  And Kate Steele?  The woman who will turn on you so fast that your head will spin.

The crowd claps, seeing the truth in Shorty’s words.  He doesn’t even give them the chance to get further as he continues on.

Shorty:  That’s who Amy Marshall is.  She can’t say that she’s too trusting, because she’s been in this business far too long to trust everybody, let alone anybody.  How can Wyatt Peterson trust her?  Is he just blinded by the thought of a title, like every other piece of shit in this business, who takes no pride in their work, and would stoop to any level, including riding Amy’s ass and coattails through this tournament, just to hold a belt for one week before moving on to the next conquest?  Maybe, but he’s also a dumbass, backwoods, inbred cousin fucker, so let’s take that into account.

Shorty pauses for another cheap pop from the crowd who is almost dying at the last comment.  Shorty smiles as he looks over to Evie, who motions for him to wrap it up.  He clears his throat as he looks back out to the center of the audience.

Shorty:  In short… pun intended… damn you, Sugar Tits, now you got me doing it… In short, because everyone seems to need to be reminded of the most obvious facts, every single moment.  Let me remind you, you are looking at the winning team, right here.

Shorty points between himself and Evie.

Shorty:  It’s going to take a lot more than a washed up, beat up ex porn star and a giant who is as quick witted as I am tall, to take us out of the game at this stage.  You are looking at your future champions, and your Blast From the Past 2018 winners, guaranteed or your money back!  Now can we please get security to help this poor homeless woman… I mean “Amy”... off of the stage, and please burn that chair.  Thank you all for coming out tonight!  Now get the fuck outta here, because I refuse to pay extra for the rental of this set!

Shorty waves at the audience as the “Applause” light comes on over the stage.  Shorty is all smiles as a set of security members comes out and fights off the Amy Marshall impersonator, even as she pulls out a switchblade.  With the ruckus going on behind Shorty, he is oblivious to it all as the crowd continues to roar.  Evie and Shorty take a bow at the center of the stage, just as “Amy” throws a chair over their heads and into the audience.  The audience begins to scatter as things continue to fly, unbeknownst to the two roasters of the evening.  The scene fades out.

 The following is an excerpt from the blog “The Shorty Bounce” by Devin Tyler

[font color=red]Blast From the Past is just around the corner and there’s lots of names out there returning for this show and it seems like there’s a lot of hype ahead of them.  I can’t wait to meet some of them.  Call me a fan.  Not a fan of them, but a fan of this sport, and a fan of the opportunity to take them down one by one.

People have been asking me, “Shorty, why are you popping up here for a chance at a title that you have no chance of winning?  It’s a bad bet.”  Fuck you because I can.  Exposure is exposure and right now I need it.  Do you take me seriously?  I didn’t think so.  3’11” and 165lb.  I’m built like a goddamned pit bull and just as vicious.

My entire career I’ve been told that I’m just another little person and I will be nothing more than the butt end of every joke.  I will not accept that.  I am bigger than my height.  I am more than my limitations.  What I lack in size, I make up for with bite.  While you’re laughing at me, I’m going to kick your ass with speed and strength, and you will find yourself on your back for three, bitch.  Lights out.

Back to the question of why I’m here.  I’m here because people don’t expect me to be.  I heard there was an open invite and I figured why not?  If I find myself an audience, I’m going to perform for them.  They might not like what I have to say and they might not like what I’m about to do, but that’s their problem and not mine.

Vegas hasn’t ever seen someone like me.  “Midget wrestling” isn’t new to the city or the promotion.  I looked shit up and it’s happened before, but it wasn’t something serious.  It was the piss break of the night, or the comedy relief after a hardcore Roulette Rules match.  It wasn’t the highlight of the night.

So it looks like I got a little bit lucky when I got teamed up with last years winner.  Let’s see if Lady Luck is on my side, or if it’s a case where lightning won’t strike twice.  It’s Hunger Games out there bitches and as it stands, the odds are forever in my favor.  I look forward to seeing what Sin City is able to throw at me.
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Thursday, April 12th, 2018; Cornerstone Classic Steakhouse - Gold Coast Casino Las Vegas

It’s a cloudy day in Las Vegas, but the city is never dark.  The neon lights shine bright enough for the darkest of nights.  The highlight of it all right now is the Gold Coast Casino, the home to Sin City Wrestling, the site to Climax Control 1 and Climax Control 201.  Fans of the promotion are flocking for the return show and no former star is safe from the mob of flashing cell phone cameras and sharpie pens.

That is where Devin Tyler is safe.  He walks from the elevator and walks to the Cornerstone Classic Steakhouse dressed in a dark grey tailored suit with a blue striped dress shirt that is unbuttoned down to half way down his torso.  He has a smile on his face as he watches returning stars trying to dodge the masses, and others who use it to feed their egos, all while he whistles and walks up to the restaurant.

He steps inside and admires the red, black, and tan tile of the floors and the wooden facade.  The neon blue lighting of the underside of the bar glows across the first few tables, jam packed with people, save for one.  Devin looks over to the hostess, who doesn’t even seem to notice him there.  He clears his throat as he licks his thumb to brush it over his eyebrows and he smiles.

“Oh, sweetie, are you lost?  Should I try to page your parents?”

Devin’s face sours quickly when he hears this and he stomps his foot.

“I’m not a damn child!  I’m a grown ass man, and I have a reservation!”

“Do your parents know that you use such language?”

The hostess asks as she leans over the counter and her top shows off her ample cleavage.

Devin flicks a quarter on there and then rubs at his chin.

“Yo, Milk Bubbles. It's Devin Tyler. Got a reservation for two. Chop chop.”

The hostess opens her mouth at Devin’s comment and he reaches up to lift it to closed. She is stunned but grabs two menus as she leads him to his table. She places the menu down at the bar style table and places the other menu across from him. She starts to walk off when Devin clears his throat again. He looks over at the table and then to her. She is confused for a second.

“Are you freakin’ serious? A bar table for a man that isn't even 4 feet tall?” Devin shrugs his shoulders as he tries to figure out the logic in all of this.

The hostess taps her chin as she tries to figure out a solution.

“Do you need a booster seat?”

Devin’s jaw drops to the floor practically before his eyebrows drop in the middle out of anger and he waves her away. He climbs up the chair, struggling as he tries to gain his footing on the rung of the chair.  He gets up to the seat and his legs kick as he tries to swivel around.

“Goddamn bitch asking me if I need a fucking booster seat?  What do I look like a four year old or something?”

Devin stops himself from moving for a second when he hears footsteps approaching behind him.  He goes limp as he turns around to look at Evie Baang coming up behind him, cameras flashing in the process.

“I guess I should be thankful that our upcoming match isn’t a ladder match because then we would really be fucked.”

Evie flashes a devious smile in his direction as she pulls out her own seat and sits down.  She lifts up the menu as she tries to pretend she is giving Devin the courtesy of trying to hide her laughter, but she gives him a peek.

Devin finally finds the momentum as he swings his legs in front of him and twists to scoot onto the edge of his chair.  

“I could say the same about a math contest, Sugar Tits.  I took the liberty of ordering you a salad when I saw how fat ya ass has gotten since last year.  You’re welcome.”

Evie bites at her bottom lip as she lets a laugh escape.  She reaches across the table and gently pat’s Devin on the top of his head.

“It’s so cute that you are trying to play wrestler right now, but what do you really want to be when you grow up?  A Veterinarian?  Firefighter? Marine Biologist?”

Shorty flips his menu open as he tries to pretend that he’s not paying attention to her, but the vein in the center of his forehead popping out says the exact opposite.  

“Maybe I should have ordered the fish for you.  They say it helps brain function. It must be exhausting repeating the same fucking midget schtick you keep spitting at me, ma.  A real workout for the brain.”

As Evie is about to respond, a set of fans approach and ask for an autograph from Evie.  Evie smiles for the camera as the fan leans in to catch a selfie.  

“Amy look!  It’s Evie Baang, and she’s like having lunch with her baby nephew or something.  It’s so cute.”

Devin slams his fist against the table so hard that it knocks over the empty water glasses sitting out.  

“I’m not a fucking child!  I’m twenty-six years old for crying out loud!  Why don’t you assholes go get a life and stop bothering this has been?”

The fans gasp at the outburst from Devin and they walk off having been offended.  Evie feels a mix of aggravation with the “has been” comment and relief that Devin cleared the pestering fans away from her.  

“I could have handled that myself.”

“And I guess you couldn’t have done it before they pissed me off to the point that I had to.  Damn, I hope we have better chemistry in the ring than we do right now, because you leave a lot to be desired.”

“You are making this too easy and I’m no longer having fun with it, so let’s cut to business, shall we?”

Evie folds the menu down in front of her as the waitress comes over for introductions.  She looks to Evie first. “New York strip, medium rare and a loaded baked potato.”

Evie sets her glass upright as the waitress fills it to the top.  She sets Devin’s up and fills it as she smiles at him.

“One thing that we agree on.  That’s a start.  Let’s make it two baked potatoes because I’m hungry A.F. right now.”

“Honestly, sweetheart, I just don’t know where you put it?  Even with a hollow leg, am I right?”

Evie jests with the waitress, doing only so to upset Devin, and it works.  She shares a laugh with the waitress who takes her leave from the group as Evie looks back to Devin.

“I thought it was getting old, but I was wrong.”

“That’s what you get for thinking, honey bunny.”

Devin takes a few gulps of his water as his cold blue eyes stare at her like a rattlesnake who is waiting for his prey to get just where he wants it.

“I know you think I’m a fucking joke.  That’s not news to me.  Ever since I tried breaking out four years ago, and got laughed out of my promotion, I realized that no one is ever going to take me serious until I made up for my size with an attitude of a seven foot giant.  We can waste all of our time going back and forth with this childish bullshit, or we can try to make ourselves get along and we might actually stand a chance in this tournament.”

Evie listens with an almost absent sparkle in her eye, tuning out most of what Devin is saying until it somehow becomes relevant to her.

“Boo hoo, cry me a fucking river.  People laughed at you so you think you’re a twice your size because of your attitude.  I’m not trying to give you some kind of tough love because I want to see us succeed.  I’m actually offended that they stuck their last years winner with someone like you.  It goes to show that Mark and Christian want me to fail.  I’m not pretending to be pissed off to break the ice.  I’m really pissed off.”

“That’s great, because I am too.  I’m angry that they expect me to get along with someone who already had their fifteen minutes of air time because they know how to sinch their waist to show off their ass, and knows a little more than two moves.  I already feel like an outcast in Sin City, and I’m only here for the tournament, which I’m guessing is just for the week since we’re already settled on losing.”

Devin growls this under his breath so not to cause a scene in the restaurant, due to the growing awareness around them

Evie sips on her water, listening to Devin speak.  She doesn’t know what’s coming over her but she gives him the opportunity to speak.  Once he is finished, she responds in a bitchy sort of way.

“I never said I wanted to lose.  I said that I wanted a different partner.  You are shit, and I even tried to find one way to spin having you as a partner.  I really did try, but all I found was you punching people in the dick and bitching and moaning about not being taken seriously.  I can’t see us winning.  I just can’t.”

“I want to do more than punch people in the dick.  I can do more than that.  Comedy sells, but it doesn’t pay the bills.  I’m not even angry anymore.  I’m kind of depressed that I wasted my time for a cool grand to compete in this thing.  I could have showed more of my skill, but instead, I’m teamed with someone who has just as little faith in me as I do in them.”

Devin draws with his finger on the condensation on the glass.

Evie rolls her eyes as she brings her phone out onto the table, trying not to show any reaction to Devin’s comments.  Devin takes notice and sighs as he takes a drink from his cup.  He looks over toward the ordering station to see if their food is close to coming so that he can escape this miserable meeting. With no such luck, he shakes his head.

“You know it’s a real shame that you are so set on this outcome, because we’re not up against the impossible.  Sure, Roxi Johnson might be able to wipe the floor with you, but O’Malley is an inexperienced hack who won’t get far against me.  He’s arrogant and thinks he knows better than I do when I have years of experience he doesn’t have.  There’s a team strategy.  Why don’t you sit on the outside of the ring and look pretty while I do the grunt work and put that asshole O’Malley on his back for three?”

Devin flashes an arrogant smile across the table at Evie, who doesn’t look the least bit impressed by the shot he threw in at the beginning.

“Roxi Johnson, the Bondage Queen of Twitter?  Right.  While I cannot deny that I look hot outside of the ring, I am twice as hot inside of the ring.  Maybe we can get a little five piece suit, a wig, and a giant lollipop.  ‘We represent the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild.”

Evie pretends to be enthusiastic as she sings the song from the iconic movie, but Devin slams his fist on the table again.  Evie stops and stares at him as he glares back at her.  Soon enough, both of them start laughing.  Devin shakes his head.

“I have to admit, that was good.  Not intelligent, but unexpected.”

“I’m good for that now and then.  At least now we know that you can take a bloody joke.”

Evie puts her phone away as she sighs, trying not to crack a smile once more.  Devin rubs at his face to try to wipe the smile off of his.  Just as he is about to look around once more, their order arrives promptly.  Devin wipes his forehead with relief as the two share a meal.  With the initial animosity aside, they talk and get to know each other a little better, becoming more and more comfortable with each other, sharing a few laughs in the process, and forming a bond that could very well grow to be unbreakable within time, should they be given such an opportunity.

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Friday, April 12th, 2018; Gold Coast Casino Las Vegas Auditorium

The Sin City Wrestling Fan Fest is in full effect this evening as the crowds finally get their chance to get all of the autographs that they could ever want.  Champions with their belts, and their favorite challengers lined up at tables.  It was a wrestling fan’s dream come true.  Sin City Wrestling was gracious enough to allow the non-contracted wrestlers to have their own tables.  For a second, it felt nice to Devin to sit back and receive the star treatment.  That was until hardly anyone came up to his table, and if they did, it was to give him “aww’s” and snapping pictures in his face.  He shakes his head in disappointment as he kicks his feet up on the table and leans back in his chair.

“At least there’s some hot bitches up in here.  Summer must be just around the corner.”

Devin smiles to himself, thinking about it.  However, a crowd of people come up on him, and he is surprised to see these faces.  He leans back down and gets ready to stand up for a fight until he sees the ring leader.

“Hey yo, Shorty what’s happening?”

The tall, muscular “Iranian Crusher” Kader Hasheem, star of Honor Wrestling approaches the table wearing a shirt that looks like it could rip if he moves any of his rippling muscles the wrong way.  Shorty jumps over the table into the arm of his very unlikely friend.

“Motherfucker, what are you doing all the way down here?  Alabama is a far cry from Vegas!”  

Devin laughs as the only person who is allowed to make short jokes to him cradles him like a baby for a second before setting him back down.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t support my little friend like this?  I’m hurt asshole.  Of course I would bring the cheering party, Devin.”

“Hey!  With the audience, it is ‘Shorty’ and only ‘Shorty’.  Do not call me Devin.

Devin looks around at the group in front of him.  The misfits of Northern Lights Wrestling have come along with the Honor star to show support.  The obscure such as Queen of Apathy and Drew Masters are there, and the unlikely faces that are not new to Sin City Wrestling, such as Mz. Holly Wood and Celeste North, who receives some of the darkest stares as she smiles in return.

Hasheem looks around at his surroundings, raising his nose at it before putting down money for an autograph from Shorty.  

“Some of us are your friends and others are your enemies, but Northern Lights stick together, even though I got called up to Honor, we are still brothers. We come out here to Vegas to cheer you on when you take this tournament by storm.”

“That's if I even make it past the first round. You are acting like I have this in the bag.”

Devin says when he looks out to those who are there to support him. They all shake their heads refusing to listen to it.

Celeste moves forward and sits down on the edge of his table folding her arms over her chest as she looks down at him.

“Coming from someone who made a career here in SCW out of being the underdog let me tell you that you can't lose faith in yourself. You just can't. If you lose faith then you won't have anyone believing in you and you will be defeated by yourself. Go out there and win this match, and then the next, and then the next. Take it one step at a time.”

Mz Holly Wood steps up next dressed in her finest drag suitable only for the Las Vegas Strip.

“Baby boy you need to take a look at who you are facing. You got a semi-retired wrestler slash superhero, and a rookie who wants to cling to the tit of his dead wife’s career. You have experience and determination to win this damn match.”

“You know what? You're right. Me and Evie are not the jokes in this match. It's our opponents.”

Devin signs an autograph for a fan who walks up to his table. He shakes hands with them as they pose for a picture. The fan walks off and Devin shakes his head.

“I have spent all this time worrying about embarrassing myself and letting my partner Evie down, but the fact is that I'm not going to let her down. I'm not going to let myself down either. I'm a skilled competitor. I might be short but I can definitely pack a punch. I know what I'm doing inside of the ring. I just finally found a promotion that let me come in to prove that I'm capable of kicking ass.

“Let's talk Roxi Johnson. I have seen a few of her highlights and I did my research on this company. A Grand Slam Bombshell Champion. One of the biggest names to ever set foot in the Sin City Wrestling. I should really be intimidated going up against someone like that right?”

Devin looks right into the camera and he waits a second for someone to respond. However, no one does. Instead, he gets a few strange looks from his fellow wrestlers.

“Maybe, but I'm not. Roxi Johnson is like oh so many before her and even more since. She thinks she is the best. She thinks she went out on her terms and that she could come back at any time and regain her throne. It is too bad that she is delusional because that's not going to happen. Even if I weren't in this match, there is no fucking way that Evie would sit back and let that happen. This is still her time. She really can come back and take the throne. She isn't the champion because she didn't want to be the champion. Well guess what she wants now? What Mikah has. And that means exactly what you think it means, that she is ready, willing, and very able, to storm right through the goodie two-shoes heroine of this tale.  I get the pleasure of having the best seat in the house while she does so.

“Evie and I had a really long talk, and we’ve gotten on the same page about things.  We are ready to take on whatever Roxi and O’Malley want to try to throw our way.  Evie has been spending most of her time in the gym, and I have been no different.  We come correct to this party.  I’m not going to sit here and say that we’re better, because I don’t really need to.  We trained together, and we’ve been keeping in contact about our strategies.  We might actually be the most in sync team that is in this tournament.  Since we’re in Vegas, I’m just going to say it.  A smart man would put their money on Evie and Shorty to win the entire thing.”

Devin won’t apologize for being blunt about this as he signs a few more pictures for fans who are starting to gather around the Northern Lights Wrestling star, and his company that has joined him all the way from Canada to be here.

“Roxi is a thing of the past.  That much is already known by everyone but her, and even I think that she knows it’s the truth somewhere deep down inside of her.  How could she not?  She hasn’t been seen in this company actively in a while.  She has just shown up for the odd appearance for special events.  That’s not the makings of a superstar, but a legend.  I’ll give my respect to Roxi, because she truly is a legend.  Without her, there might not have been some of the greats in Sin City Wrestling.  People like Mikah and Delia Darling and Crystal Hilton would have nothing to come to in order to make this company a better place.  They couldn’t improve something so easily if someone like Roxi had not set down a shitty path for them to follow.  Odette Ryder and Vixen couldn’t hold it all up on their own, and neither could Misty.”

Devin covers his mouth as he looks at the crowd that is shocked that Devin even muttered such words.  They gasp and cry out and some even cheer for the Bombshell who has since gone on to a better place.  However, Devin waves his cooth goodbye and continues on.

“That’s a name we’ve been hearing a lot about, isn’t it?  The great and all powerful Misty.  I can’t say that I’ve had time to look into every aspect of Misty’s career, because there was plenty to look at.  Bombshell Championships galore, and a couple Bombshell Tag Team Championship reigns on top of it.  She was a monster of a competitor.  I’m sorry, a monster of a human being.  From what I can tell, she was probably the most self-centered, conceited, glory hog.  Nobody could ever measure up to her.  She had to be in the middle of everything, and if she wasn’t, she hated it.  She would retire and get our hopes up that finally someone else might have a chance to shine, and we wouldn’t have the same juggernaut shoved down our throats, but then someone hotter would come along, and she had to come back to upstage them.

“It wasn’t until someone actually put her in her place, that she left for good.  She knew it was her time to give up.  She moved on toward Green-er pastures. Drake Green.  Get it?  She started herself a little family since she couldn’t seem to get it right the first time, or the second time, or God knows how many other times.  Then, when she finally thought she got it right, she realized that it wasn’t the family that was ever the problem. It was her.  She wasn’t welcomed back, so what does she do?  She drives into a fucking medium on the highway, with her own daughter in the car, with little to no regard for anyone but herself.  Basically, she went out in her own personalized M.O.  Selfishly, and disgustingly.

“And that’s the “legacy” that O’Malley wants to carry on?  I’m sorry, but that’s more than just a little fucked up.  We already sat through this program once.  Do we really have to see it again?  It’s tired, it’s boring, and it’s so played out that it’s not even funny.  Your recycled, idiotic Irish accent isn’t any better.  We’ve already seen a piece of shit Irish wrestler come through here, and he didn’t fair very well either.  Name me one thing about you that screams “intimidation”?  Please?  Because now that I really think about it, I’m struggling.  The only thing that I can come up with, and seems to be the only thing original about you to separate yourself from your dead wife, is that you are clinging onto the names and past glories of others.

“Your trainer, Gabriel Stevens.  He seems to be a big deal.  First ever World Heavyweight Champion.  Many Tag Team Championship reigns.  Leaves for sabbatical with the wife and kids, and comes back to do it all over again?  That’s more like it.  Why didn’t you just change your name and pretend that you had no relation to your dead wife, because Gabriel Stevens is a name that you can take to the bank, whereas Misty’s name only makes you out to be a whining, sniveling, attention-seeking pussy.  You really need to learn how to brand yourself better, ‘lad’.”

The crowd is in pure and utter shock at this point as Devin doesn’t even blink or shy away from it.  Even as the fans begin to throw trash at him, held off only by the Northern Lights Wrestling stars playing security for crowd control.  Devin just smiles at them.

“Your wife might have accomplished a lot in this company, but guess what?  You won’t.  You will forever be the guy who went down for the three and caught the hands of someone who was 3 foot 11 inches and 165 pounds.  You could go on and take out every motherfucker in this company after that, hold every title in this company, and that will still be your identifier.  “The guy who got taken out by Shorty in his debut match”.  It’s fine, because if you are anything like your wife, then we know that excuses will be your forte.

“You couldn’t get the job done because Shorty punched you in the dick.  You didn’t get the win because Shorty ducked under every one of your punched.  You weren’t able to save yourself from embarrassment because I cheated.  And if you haven’t thought up this excuse already, then I have just hand delivered it to you.  You can thank me later.

“The fact of the matter is that no amount of training from the best in this promotion, or this business, is going to save you from what I have to deliver to you, O’Malley.  I hope that you didn’t actually plan to make a career out of this, because I will forever be the footnote of your career, the one who took you out in the beginning.

“I hope that I’ve lit a fire under your potato and cabbage eating ass, O’Malley.  I hope that I’ve pissed you off to the point that you’re going to bring your very best, because I won’t accept anything less than that.  On Climax Control #201, Sin City Wrestling’s official return, I want to steal the spotlight from the Main Event.  Win or lose, I want to be remembered as more than the “short guy”.  I want to be seen as a wrestler that stacks up to the competition.  Now get the fuck outta my face.  I got a stack of pictures that nobody wants now that I’ve spoken the truth…”

With that, Shorty begins balling up the pictures and tossing them at the audience around him, returning the favor and laughing as he nails someone with each picture.  He flips off a few of them, causing the actual security team to come to his aid as he is about to get rushed.  Kader Hasheem lifts him up and helps to carry him off, even as he tries to fight it.  Shorty kicks his feet as he tries to still get at the fans, almost instantly making the company regret bringing him in at all.