[Dax Beckett]

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That Just Fucking Happened
#NP "Ain’t No Rest For the Wicked” by Cage the Elephant
Locale: Somewhere between Stockton, CA and Chicago, IL


HOLY FUCK, bruh… No one saw that shit coming.  No one saw me ramming Ivan Darrell’s fucking face into the fucking ring steps.  No one saw me getting inside of the ring and dropping Andrew Garcia on his fucking face.  No one saw me diving in for a fucking insane Suicide Headbutt to my own fucking partner, and no one saw me going for the dogpile pin on Andrew Garcia.  No one saw me becoming a Bad Boy.  No one saw it coming, except for Xander Bishop, Mickey Carroll, and Giani Di Luca.  Well, Celeste knew, but that’s a topic for another time.  That shit is money, right there, bruh.

So, it goes without saying that we partied hard to celebrate my homecoming.  We drank our weight in Patron daily, because Giani said that top shelf is where Bad Boys belong.  He caught the tab, so who am I to complain?  We started out at some bar in Stockton near the arena.  I vividly remember going inside, and starting off the celebration of the century.  Celeste was hanging on my arm, and I’m pretty sure Mickey tried to get a body shot on Mercedes.  It was crazy when we got to the table to sit down, our buzz coming on slowly.  Celeste sat on my lap as we made out right in the middle of the bar, while Mickey smacks my arm playfully.

Mickey:  THAT… was proper.  For a second, I wasn’t sure if ye ‘ad changed yer mind, er if ye was with us, bruv.

Giani:  No joke, son.  I was keepin’ an eye on ya the whole fuckin’ time, kid.

Xander:  Nah, bruh… Da’ shi’ righ’ der was how i’ was mean’ to be!

As Celeste tries to distract me from all the talking going on around me with those sexy lips of hers, but I break away to get in a shit eating smile and nod my head.  This arrogant prick thing is really getting Celeste going, which is nice.  I was afraid she was going to see the real me and turn her back on me, but eh… I’d find another piece in a minute or two so it’s all good.  Celeste pulls herself off of me, but the look in her eyes say that I should be in the men’s restroom in two minutes or she’s starting without me and I take notice.  However, as I stand up, getting cheered on by my new crew, some fucko SCW fan comes up to me and shoves my chest.

Fan:  You prick!  You turned your back on the people who got you into SCW.

Me:  Ha, I don’t owe you shit, bruh.  I got into SCW on my without you fuckheads, and I’m going to make my way to the top without you, too.  Now, lay your hands on me one more fucking time, and it will be the last thing you do tonight…

Xander:  Tell ‘em, bruh!

Mickey walks up to the fan, putting his beer down on the table as he puffs out his chest, glaring at the fan emotionlessly.  He has this swag that I never would have expected from someone so… not American?  I don’t know, but he’s fucking on this guy and ready to attack without as much as a warning.  I pat him on the shoulder, and after some kind of psychic conversation, he backs down and takes two steps back to pick up his drink, but his eyes don’t leave this dude.  The fan spits at my shoes, but he knows it’s better to just walk away.

Me:  Mickey, bruh, it ain’t that serious.  This guy is just mad that he dropped his paycheck on a nosebleed ticket to see me knock you guys out, and that didn’t happen.  Instead, he’s gonna get knocked out…

I headbutt him out of nowhere, and I heard the crack of his nose as it begins to bleed everywhere.  It isn’t until then that I look around to laugh, and I see a lot of SCW shirts.  I mean, they are everywhere, and they are pissed… off!  The whole building turns into a battle royal moment.  I’m pretty sure that a bottle was cracked against my head at one point.  We held our own pretty good until the bouncers who I swear were Rage with different toupees on their heads, threw us out onto the sidewalk.  A quick stop by the liquor store, and a few hundred miles in the limousine, and I don’t even know where we are.  Everything is a blur after the Remy kicks in.  I vaguely remember nailing Celeste in Vegas, something about shitting in a pool in Utah, a barn fire in Oklahoma, and a Rocky moment on the steps leading up to the Arch in St. Louis, followed by a trip to the ER where we all had our stomachs pumped together as our first real bro outing.  It was fucking boss.  By the time I came out of it, we were clanking forties together on a bench in Millennium Park.  At this point, it’s me, Giani, and Mickey, who has a note pinned to his shirt from Xander, bowing out for some Poppin’ Off business.  The birds are whistling, and the sun is shining.  We don’t even have to say anything, especially when we look back to see the limousine lightly smoking, dinged up to shit.  Mickey passes me a cigarette, and I slide a match against the concrete to light it.

Me:  Bruh… What the fuck just happened?  How did we even get here?

Mickey:  Eventually, ye learn to just accept it, and hope ye didn’t accidentally kill someone along the way.  Besides, when is ‘e supposed to be here?  This bench is ‘urtin’ me arse.

Me:  Heh?

I don’t even know what he’s talking about, but maybe the headache is just a little too intense to try to decode his kinda Cockney, kinda Irish accent.  He tilts his head back and takes a drag from his cigarette.  I look down at the ground, kicking the empty bottles under the bench as park patrol drives past.  I give him a salute, hoping it will buy us a few minutes to start running, but luckily he just salutes back and I realize exactly where we are.  Midwesterners are so much more chill except when it comes to the whole regressive view on race and sexual orientation, but since Officer Shipman doesn’t see Bishop sitting next to us, he just leaves us the fuck alone.  It’s then when I look over to the right to see Erik Staggs walking toward us with a briefcase in his hand.  Giani laughs loudly as he shakes his head.

Giani:  Oh damn, it’s serious, dawg.  You’re in trouble.

Mickey:  Get used to it, mate.

I shrug my shoulders as I take another drag from my cigarette.  I blow the smoke right at Erik as he walks up to me.  He looks us over, and then his eyebrows get all mangled with anger as he drops his briefcase loosely at the side of his arms.  He grunts in anger as he looks right at me.

Erik:  Where the fuck is Xander Bishop?

Me:  Eye-uh-nuh… Do I look like his fucking keeper, bruh?

Erik:  You millennials are so fucking lazy with your speech.  Look, just don’t talk right now.  I have something for each of you.  It’s a gift from Mark Ward.

Sweet!  A gift from the dude who was the master of heel shit back in the day is like the best thing that’s happened to me today that I remember.  Of course, I don’t remember much, but it’s still winning!  Well, until Erik pulls out pieces of paper from his briefcase.  They’re pink, and sort of slip-like, and it ain’t a cruise ship voucher.

Giani:  Oh for fuckssake, Staggy!  A write-up for conduct on social media?  Is this even a real thin’, or is this some kinda Punk’d stunt?

Mickey:  Nah mate.  Seem’s legit.  It’s just like the collection I got for showin’ up pissed off me face.

Me:  I got three?  Wait, how did I get three and they only got one each?  Oh you gotta be fucking joking.  This doesn’t have anything to do with the Amy Marshall shit, does it?

Erik:  I’m afraid so, “bruh”.

That right there doesn’t settle well with me.  I tighten my fists, and I’m ready to throw down.  See me wit’ dem hands, old man.  I shake my head as Mickey rips his slip in half and burns it.  Erik pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs before looking at all three of us.

Erik:  Look, if you shitheads can keep it together for just a couple more weeks, I might be able to fix all of this.  You’re awesome talents, and I don’t want to see you guys get knocked off of the roster.  You have amazing talent, and I believe you guys will go far.

Mickey:  Yeah, we better after beating the last team to get a one-on-one with the then tag champs.

Giani:  For real, though…

Erik:  My lawyer will get with yours, Giani.  They’ll work out a few details that I think both sides can agree with.  Now, Dax?  Care to walk with me to talk over a more personal matter?

I roll my eyes and laugh at his suggestion.

Me:  The last time I went for a walk with an old man when I was drunk off my ass, I wound up the husband to a wrestling booker in Japan.

Erik:  Well damn, I forgot the ring.  I’ll make you one out of a dandelion… move your ass, kiddo…

I look over at Mickey and Giani who nod their heads, motioning for me to go with him.  The entire time we’re gaining distance, I’m praying that this isn’t some sort of Bad Boys secret initiation hazing thing.  Luckily it wasn’t.  But the conversation mixed with this hangover, I would almost have rather gone through the hazing.

Erik:  I just wanted to make sure that you understood what is ahead of you with this amazing opportunity set before you.

Me:  Look, bruh.  Save your breath, because I already know.  Bad Boys are destined for great things.  We’re the team that’s rocking SCW’s very foundation.  We just gotta behave.

Erik:  Oh, fuck no… I mean, that’s true, but that’s so small time compared to the bigger picture.  You could win this Blast From the Past tournament and Main Event at Summer XXXTreme 5.  That’s big time, kid.  Bad Boys are already the whisper going around the locker room and the office.  If you can win this thing, you could put them on the map the way Delia Darling put Mean Girls on the map.  Do you hear me?  Big… Time…

I nod my head, pretending to care, but all I really want is a fucking aspirin.  Plus, who is even doubting that I’m going to win?  I take the last drag from my cigarette and then put it out on my tongue as I stare at Erik to let him know I gives no fucks.

Me:  Thanks for making me get up and walk all the way over here to tell me what I already fucking know.  It was a great move, bruh.

Erik:  No, that’s not all I wanted to talk about.  And please, don’t try to show me crazy.  My family practically invented it   I respect your tenacity though.

Me:  Thanks… I been working it out with mad crunches.

I flex my arms to take Staggs to the gun show.  He just raises his eyebrow at me like I’m an idiot, but I just don’t think he understands like technical names for body parts or something.  It’s cool, I’ll give him a pass.

Erik:  You got what it takes to be a star, and you proved it by fighting week in and week out to get your contract.  Then, when you got in the ring and showed us how you elevate for a sold out audience, we knew you were headed to the top.  You could fast track it with this tournament, but there’s a certain level of… discipline… required to handle such a jump.

Me:  Fuck, here it comes.  Look, I appreciate it.  I really do.  But, like I told your nephew Timmy, I’m not really into that kind of thing.  Spankings and stuff is cool, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not really into penis, especially old penis.  But I think I’ll just work my way to the top, and not in the Amy Marshall production kind of way.  Flattered though.

Erik:  Ew, no!  Not even close to what I’m saying.  Look, I normally give this pep talk sort of thing to talk smart people into doing what I want them to do to better their career, but clearly you aren’t following.  Let me just get to the point.  If you want to get to the top over the next six weeks, you have to get along with Amy.

Me:  Nope…

I hold my hand up in his face.  Not to stop him from talking because I’m trying to be a Mean Girl, but because I just really don’t want to hear him talk, especially about the one thing that’s had my chi a total mess lately.  He reaches out his hand, and I shrug it off.

Erik:  Now hear me out.  Amy is a close friend of mine.

Me:  Well, I’m sorry but that’s your problem, not mine.

Erik:  She’s a Hall of Famer, a Grand Slam Champion who constantly gains accomplishment after accomplishment.  You couldn’t have picked a better partner.

I shake my head.  Is he seriously saying this shit to me right now?  He’s lucky that I know how to control my breathing, or else I’d be in the unemployment line for knocking him the fuch down to the ground.  I put my hands together as I look up at him, trying to put it the best way I can.

Me:  I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but I understand metaphors.  It couldn’t have been more perfect.  The pick that I got was literally the bottom of the barrel.  She was the fat kid in gym class who got picked last.  There was nothing left, and I gotta tell you that I would rather have picked just about any other broad in this tournament, because any and all of them are more qualified to be my partner than Amy fucking Marshall.  I know that she’s your friend, bruh… but that don’t make her the be all and end all of this tournament.  If anything, she got lucky by picking me.  I got stuck with a fucking handicap.  If I win, they should just hand me the fucking World Heavyweight Championship, because I’ll have to work harder than any other winner in the history of this tournament.  I get that she’s touched your dick during a Netflix ‘n chill Walking Dead Binge sesh, but that don’t make her the greatest thing in this tournament.  That makes you pussy blinded, bruh.  Truth.

In a way, I hope that he hits me so that I can put him on the concrete. Chalk outline.  Justified homicide.  I must have a smile from ear to ear right now because he look pissed, bruh!  But he doesn’t hit me.  He just looks away from me, letting me know that I’m right.

Erik:  Just because she’s repulsed by your dick doesn’t mean that you have to be so jealous.  Look, you will continue to be the joke to the blind people chirping around that you’re nothing and will be nothing because you’re the only one in your stable to get his ass kicked by Jeremiah Hardin.  You will be the lesser of the Bad Boys for the next three months at least, if you don’t ground that fucking ego and listen to reason.  I had this same, exact conversation with Amy Marshall four years ago, and look where she’s at.

Me:  Worst… Argument… Ever… For real, you suck at this. I feel like I need to call Ripley’s Believe It Or Not to figure out how she pulled off all those accomplishments that you’re talking about, but it sure as fuck wasn’t skill.

Erik:  She was a World Bombshell Champion.

Me:  What of it?  She lost it in her first defense, pretty much like any title she’s ever touched.  You know what else she hasn’t done?  Won a Blast From the Past tournament.

Erik:  But that can change this year with the right partner.  One who trusts that she will do what she always does and pulls off that upset that makes the crowd go wild.  You could help her get the one and only thing that she has left to accomplish here, while getting yourself to the top.

Me:  No you didn’t hahaha… You are a smart guy though.  You just solved the greatest mystery in SCW history.  Amy Marshall is only as strong as the company that she keeps.  She better step it up to keep up with me because I’m like on a whole new level.  Don’t you know that I am a shooting star, shining bright like a diamond.

I’m feeling a little thug right now, living that fantasy for a minute, until Erik laughs at it.  It’s cool.  I’m gonna reel it in a little and just do me.

Erik:  Did you just quote Bad Company and Rihanna in the same breath?  Fail…  But you do bring up a good point.  You’re not going to believe me until you see it for yourself.  You should sit down with her face to face and work out whatever problem it is that you two have with one another.

Me:  Why?  There’s no reason to talk with her.  All she has to do is show up to do work and stay the hell outta my way.  I’ll do right by her and stay out of her way.

Erik:  Great, I’ll see you after the show on Sunday to tell you that I told you so.  At least I got to get out of the hotel room from behind the workload to get some fresh air, so it wasn’t a total waste.

Erik picks his briefcase up as he starts to walk away, wasting no time in getting away from me.  He probably couldn’t stand up to this hairy tatted Adonis, so I get it.  But I gotta say that his lack of trust just doesn’t pop off with me very well.  I lick at my bottom lip as I think it over for a second.

Me:  Alright, bruh… if you think it will help, then maybe I should do it.  You’re old as fucking Moses, so you been around this business a while.  Maybe I should listen to you a little.  It wouldn’t hurt, right?

Erik turns around with a kinda scary smile on his face as I make a Crystal Millar worthy stink face of confusion.  He walks closer, and basically says a bunch of unimportant shit about how he’s right and I’m not gonna regret it, but I didn’t say anything, so this chapter is basically over…


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Bitch, I Clean Up Nice
#NP "Party Monster” by Krewella
Locale:  Westwood Village Theater; Westwood, California


Right, so everybody and they brother showed up for this thing.  Bad Boys rolling up four deep, with Mean Girls at their side.  I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an actual red carpet event, but it was in our minds.  The cameras were flashing as our limousine pulled up and the driver opens up our door.  Mickey Carroll and Mercedes Vargas step out first, and the fans cheer until they realize it’s just Mickey, but Mercedes gets several honorable mentions because she’s a freaking badass.  Mickey flips off the crowd and waves it at them like a celebrity, so he gets props from me.  Next up, Giani and Veronica step out, and they act like nobody is even watching.  This is their kind of thing.  Like a boss, Giani looks right at the door and doesn’t even react to a thing they have to say, good or bad.  However, he pauses right in front of one of the cameras and pulls Veronica in for a tasteful Hollywood style kiss before continuing on.  Gabrielle and Celeste walk out next, holding hands as the driver helps them out like they were frail human beings incapable of doing it themselves.  The crowd goes wild for Gabrielle, but Celeste is punk rock as always, shielding her face from the pictures.  Now, it’s time for me and my real date to step out.  I’m comfortable enough with who I am to admit that me and XB got a bromance going on.  I literally paid some guy to carry a boombox for our entrance.  â€œParty Monster” by Krewella blasts as Xander and I step outside of the limo, bottle of Jack in my hand, a Philly in his, and the crowd goes wild.  The wrestling fans hate us, but this is a whole new level of fandom.  I knock back a swig of the Jack and XB puffs that fatty, and then we trade.  We hook arms for a second as a male reporter approaches us.

Reporter:  Xander Bishop, Poppin’ Off Records recording artist, hitting the red carpet in support of his new boyfriend, Dax Beckett…

I don’t even think about it before I take my arm from under Xander’s, and I use that very arm to sock the reporter.  It felt fucking amazing and I tilt my head back, arms out at the side as I let out a roar of pure testosterone as XB nods his head, shouting out a “Tha’s wha’ I’s talkin’ ‘bout, bruh!”  He turns around and punches a random fan right in the face and then we chest bump as he roll around in the publicity like a couple of pigs in their own filth.  Celeste giggles as she prances up to me, staking her claim as she kisses me on the lips.  I lean her back as I claim her right back.  I look out as the cameras almost seem to blind me.  I take a step forward as I lift the back of my jacket up briefly.  I begin to unbuckle my belt for a second before undoing the button of my suit pants.  The crowd roars in approval, because they heard about my ass many times before.  I push down the back end of my suit pants a couple inches, bending over, but just as fast as I do this, I pop back up and button back up.  The crowd boos me and I point to the door of the theater as I shout out, spit flying.

Me:  YOU FUCKOS GOTTA PAY TO SEE MY FINE ASS!!!

I join up with my crew at the door, as they argue with the bouncer.  It’s like one big fucking shout fest, until I step up to the bouncer, who is a pretty shitty bouncer for a movie packed with wrestlers.  He’s like 5’10” and 190lb.  I look down at him as I take another drag of the Philly, handing it back to XB.

Me:  What’s the problem, bruh?

Bouncer:  Dax Beckett… all of these people claim to be your plus one.

Me:  Yeah, I’m the name on the fucking marquee right next to Kenzi Grey and Sarah Lacklan!  So, we’ll just be going inside now…

The bouncer places his arm in front of me, on top of the velvet rope.  I look up at the gigantic fucking poster with my face on it, and then I look back at him.  My eyes go wide, because I’m not totally sober right now, plus I’m feeling the rock star fantasy right now.

Bouncer:  B movies are in right now, so we are set to capacity as is.

Me:  B movie?!  Excuse me?!  Dax B don’t do B-rated.  

Bouncer:  Yeah right, who are you anyway?  Look, it’s a fire safety thing, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t…

Fire safety?  Did he just say fire safety?  I got you, bruh.  I got you.  I pull my Zippo out my pocket and I strike it up.  I put my hand out to the side as Celeste nearly faints, panties dripping from my masculinity right now.  XB hands me the Jack, and then I reach over and rip the top off of some fan standing nearby.  I stuff it into the bottle and hold the flame just inches from the cloth.

Me:  I’ll give you a fucking fire safety thing to really worry about, motherfucker!

Man, is this fuck lucky that Kenzi Grey comes out and whispers to the bouncer when she does.  I don’t know what she said, but, it worked.  She takes the Zippo out of my hand and closes it with force, sliding it back into my pocket.  She glares at me like she’s gonna rip me a new asshole for a second, but then she takes a sip from the bottle and smirks, leading me inside.  She pulls me to the side as my crew walks in after me.

Kenzi:  There’s a hundred other theaters in town.  You could set any damn one of them on fire.  But this one?  Only getting set on fire by our performances.  Got it?

Me:  I can’t make no promises, Kenz, but I’ll try to be extra good, just for you.

She pats my cheek and then hands the bottle back to me as she goes to welcome the rest of the cast as they appear, taking photo ops with the few fans who paid top dollar to get into this shit early.  I smirk as I look at the screening room.  This is it.  This is one of the biggest moments of my life.  This is where I become a star…


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I just gotta say this… I’m a great actor.  I walk out of the theater and the crowd is cheering.  I nod my head as I peel off my jacket and vest and shirt in one motion, showing off my tats, as the girls scream and shout, and a couple even faint at the tingling that starts between their legs, and moves up their bodies until their brains just can’t take it no longer.  I do a badass kind of wink thing as I point at them.  Celeste isn’t too happy as she stands next to me, pouting her lips out at all the attention that I’m getting.

Fan:  Dax!  Did you have to use male enhancements or prosthetics for the nude scenes?

Me:  Nope… All natural, baby.  Right C?

Celeste just rolls her eyes, but I know by the look in her eyes that she is just trying to find a way to get that D right now.  We continue to walk into the lobby as another female fan reaches out and rubs my chest.  I’m a nice guy, so I let her.

Fan 2:  I heard that you couldn’t remember your character’s name, because you kept calling yourself Xander Bishop, even though your character’s name was Damien Xander.  Is that true?

Me:  Nah…  Okay, yeah… But it’s not my fault that Xander is bae.

Me and Xander fist bump and then bring it in for a bro hug to end all bro hugs.  All for show, of course, because people love subtly homophobic mockery, so I get my Daniel Tosh on for the B-rated red carpet.

Fan 3:  Can we see a kiss?

Me:  No.

I could have gotten mad and screamed at the dude, but instead, I just pretty much ignore what he has to say.  We continue to walk along as the fans continue with their questions for the fun facts pages just waiting to go on IMDb.

Fan 4:  Are the rumors true that there is already a sequel being talked about?

Me:  I wouldn’t know… If so, it would probably involve some useless fuck head who acts as good as he wrestles, like Joshua Aquin or something like that.  And it wouldn’t be directed by Kenzi Grey.  That’s a fact.

Fan 5:  In the director’s cut, will there be more Dax Beckett?

Me:  All my scenes were good enough to make it on screen, but hey… if you want more, go to Twitter @Kenzi_Grey and demand more.  I could make time on the off week of the Blast From the Past Tournament in SCW.  Not for you, but because the camera fucking loves me, bruh…

I smile like a nice guy, even though I know I’m not fooling anyone.  I continue to wave as the cameras flash in my face.  I take the shades off of XB’s face and use them to shield my eyes from the bright lights as Xander playfully shoves me.  We get into a little scuffle, laughing as we prepare to box it out.  Fans reach out to touch us, and we both respond by turning around and cold-cocking those big motherfuckers.  Xander reaches into his pocket and dials a number.

Bishop:  Nah, i’s all good, bruh.  Lemme ge’ Ren on da phone, bruh…

The security team walks up to me and my crew as they escort us out of the theater, while everyone stares at us, just stunned by it all.  Well, everyone except Kenzi who gives me two thumbs up for my performance in and out of the movie.  Mickey and Giani shake their heads, embarrassed, as XB and I laugh it up, going punk rock on this bitch.


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Shots Fired
#NP "Bat Country” by Avenged Sevenfold
Locale:  Joseph J. Gentile Arena; Chicago, Illinois


FUCK!  I thought it got cold in Cali when it hit 50 degrees, but this is on a whole other level, bruh.  I’m legit sitting here in a parka, gloves, and a scarf, two layers of clothes, looking like a homeless person as I do my pre-match ritual.  Two nights leading up to a match, I stand outside of the arena and get a feel for the energy so that I can sync up.  This match should be no different.  I mean, I got so much to gain, and everything to lose.  This match is make or break, and the worst part is that there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about my partner.  All I can do is try my best, and pray to god the “Punk Whore” can carry her own weight through this thing.  I stare up at the building as I learn the true meaning of the city’s nickname of “The Windy City”.  I shiver in the cold, rainy weather as I see the darkness inside of the building.

Kazuhiro Watanabe… my… ex-husband… Yeah, that whole thing is still weird for me to say.  Even more weird that it took me almost two years to realize we were married, let alone in a relationship of any kind other than that of strictly business.  Though, now I do know it is not Japanese culture for manager and his client to sleep in the same bed, but you live and learn, right?  Anyway, he taught me the importance of getting in touch with the energy and the spirits around you at all times.  However, this doesn’t seem relevant any longer.  The second I joined the Bad Boys, I threw all of that away.  But, tradition is something I’ve always held onto, so here I am, freezing my ass off in front of nothing but a camera and a tripod, and an empty, lifeless building.  I can’t help but think about it for a moment before I start talking to the camera.

“The last few weeks have been crazy.  I knew what I was doing for a while now.  I really thought that I would feel guilty about it.  I thought I would have a hard time pretending to be something that I’m not, throwing everything aside that made me the man that I was.  I was so nervous about it.  The truth is that I should have been more nervous than I was, because what I found out was far more unexpected to me…”

I look at the building for a minute longer before my eyes focus on the blinking red light.  I take a few steps closer to it as I lean down to let the light catch my face better.  I put my lips together and bring them in a little, trying to hide the smile that’s coming on, but I can’t hide it for very long.  I laugh.

“I fucking love this feeling.  There are no rules anymore.  There is no code to live by.  The only thing is that I won’t cheat.  I don’t need to cheat, because I’m that fucking good.  I’m going to prove it each and every week.  But otherwise?  I’m a brand new man.  I’m not the guy to give you a good laugh.  I’m not the guy who is going to beg for your approval.  I’m not the guy that wants to hold my arms up in the air so that you might adore me.  I’m the guy that puts fear in your hearts.  I’m the guy who says ‘Fuck your approval, bruh!’  I’m the guy who will hold my arms up in the air because, as much as you hate it… you WILL adore me.  Because I’m DAX FREAKING BECKETT!!!”

I hold my arms up in the air so that they can get used to seeing them held up in victory again.  I pause so that anyone watching this video will know that I’m back in the game, and I’m the only real contender besides my crew.

“I slipped up because I got so involved in the cheers of the fans, and wanting to get over with the crowd.  That’s what messed up my perfect streak against Jeremiah Hardin.  That’s what got me at Inception II.  It was your fault, not mine.  You are all to blame.  My skills are flawless, and I proved it every other time I stepped into the ring and wound up victorious, no matter how much doubt anyone had.

“Now, Sunday night, I’m going to return to my winning ways.  I step into the ring with Joshua Acquin, as he teams with Kate Steele.  Of course, you got my partner, who is sucking Joshua’s dick, pretending that they are *air quotes* just friends.  From what I hear, that whole thing has been going on for years.  All while Amy and Kate are almost like fucking besties.  Metal and Punk Connection is alive and well in his one, but sadly, this friendship club doesn’t involve me.  I find myself once again being the odd man out.  It’s cool though.  I would never associate myself with Joshua Acquin, because I’m better than that.  I deserve friends who have accomplished something in this business.  I deserve the best, because I am the best, and that is something that Josh just isn’t, and even more, will never be.”

I shrug my shoulders, because… well, just because.  I got nothing to hide.  I accepted that this is who I really am the second I signed on the dotted line with my crew.

“I detest just about everyone in SCW, because they are all worthless, whiny, vindictive pieces of shit who don’t give this business their full attention.  To people like Acquin and Hardin, this is just a platform for advertisement.  They don’t show up to work unless they need an extra buck for some other kind of venture.  Acquin hasn’t done shit on his own.  I mean, has he ever won a one on one match?  Has he ever won a title that didn’t involve his tag team partner being the man who turned on his former partner to get the surprise victory?  How long has he been in SCW?  The answers to these questions are as follows: No, no, and which fucking time?”

I shake my head, because now I’m seriously getting pissed off about the whole situation.  I lick at my bottom lip before I stroke my beard.

“Joshua… Josh… Meaningless piece of shit curtain jerker… whatever you prefer to go by… You’re fucking worthless.  You have about as much focus as Melody Grace in a puppies, rainbows, sparkles, and candy store.  I mean, let’s get serious here bro.  You disappear and reappear as much as Gabriel Stevens on a Vegas Strip tour.  Look, I make it my mission any time I go into a match to study my opponent.  The last several days, I did nothing but try to comb through the SCW archives for anything on you, but all I found was footnotes of what could have been if you applied yourself.  You’re weak, and you have no fucking backbone.  The fact that you are more respected than me is just beyond me.  It doesn’t make a lick of fucking sense.”

I’m legit pissed off now.  I take a deep breath of frosty air through my nostrils as I look away from the camera, running my hand down my face, and through my Zeus like beard before looking back with anger in my eyes.

“I gotta admit… I’m pissed off about this whole match, and I’m not just talking about how unfuckingfair it is that I am being unjustly punished by having my crew banned from ringside.  Like I did something to deserve that, when no one else has that same stipulation added.  Jessie and Amy used their influence to get the bosses to let them play hot potato with the Bombshell Roulette Championship while my girl Veronica was robbed of her rematch clause.  If anyone was going to try to get involved, it would be Jessie Salco!  But, is she banned from ringside?  No, she’s not.  Oh, but she’s friends with Amy AND Kate, so she’s going to root them both on equally…”

Eye roll here.  Watch those hazel waves crash, bruh, cause this is serious.

“Horse shit!  Amy Marshall and Jessie Salco are thick as Kate’s leaking pustules , so what makes Kate think that Jessie wouldn’t just as quickly turn on her to help Amy out?  I mean, she did rob her of the Bombshell Roulette Championship, so she kinda owes her something.  Now that’s logic, bruh.  But… heh… apparently the bosses don’t wanna look at logic, because they are too busy measuring their fucking cocks to pay attention to what is actually going on.  When it comes to booking, they just reach into hats and pull out names and say ‘That’s a match!’  Mark and Christian don’t see what’s happening right before their very eyes, and it’s pissing a few people off.  Then, just to prove that they aren’t neglecting business, they lash out at fucking me, and make an example out of Bad Boys.  But it’s cool… I got you, bosses.  While it’s total horse shit, I’m gonna just go out there and do what I do and prove why I belong to be in the Main Event match… because who really gives a shit about Steve Ramone versus Ryan Keys?  The fans will just leave after Amy and I win anyway…

“Shit man, I got way off topic there.  It happens when I get really passionate about something.  I’m pissed off at the bosses for not paying attention to business, and treating me with such disrespect.  Banning my friends is one thing, but putting me again Joshua Acquin is downright insulting, bruh!  What did I do to deserve that draw?  I appreciate that you see enough promise in me to put me in the real Main Event of Climax Control, but it’s clear that you are punishing me here.  I’ve come to accept that I have to go to the finish line of this tournament while carrying Amy Marshall on my back like one hundred and twenty-eight pound of worthless, overglorified shit.  I’ve even come to accept the fact that you don’t trust me and my crew enough to be professional during the biggest match of my career to date.  But what I haven’t come to accept is the fact that you have so little faith in me that you thought it was okay to put me in the same ring, at the same time as Joshua Acquin!  That is unfuckingacceptable, bruh!  No… No… I can’t do this right now…”

I take a deep breath, because I’m getting uncontrollably angry right now.  I clench and unclench my fists at my side, the same way that I did during my award winning performance with Sarah Lacklan in All That Glitters, playing in a theater near you now.  Except this time, channeling my inner Damien X doesn’t help me.  I don’t keep my cool, but instead I start kicking and punching at the air, as a huge assortment of “fuck” and “goddamn grandpa cocksucking bitch licker” curses come out of my mouth.  After a minute of this, and kicking over a trashcan, I shake my leg off a little as I almost kind of dance back over to the camera and I look right at it as I bounce up and down to shake it off.

“There is a difference between proving my worth, and being made into a joke.  What do I gain from beating Acquin?  Hm?  I advance in a tournament.  I can’t even look at this as a stepping stone across the pond of greatness, because Acquin is a floating toad turd.  I have to step over him to get to the next stepping stone.  Calvin Harris, Chris Shipman, Andrew Garcia, and Ivan Darrell where stepping stones.  Acquin is nothing but a bottom-feeder in this company and in this industry, and I fucking refuse to even acknowledge him as my opponent.  He’s not even going to be there as far as I’m concerned.  He isn’t a threat, and he isn’t a target.  He’s not on my radar.  As far as I’m concerned, this match has already come and gone, and I won.  Me, myself, and I.  Amy just kept Kate out of my beautiful beard while I made us both look good.  We celebrated, and she got a good look at me in my wrestling trunks, and realized her big, crooked nosed bean pole fiancee is no Daxton Oliver Beckett.  Yeah, that’s already happened, and I’m looking forward to an actual challenge in round two…

“That pretty much wraps up what I want to say, but I guess I have to give some attention to the other participant in the match, other than essentially calling her a dick thirsty cum whore… and no, for once I’m not referring to Amy Marshall.  I’m referring to the part of the Metal and Punk Connection that sort of matters…. Ugh, not Jessie Salco either… The one that no one ever remembers is part of that little pissed off Avril Lavigne wrist slitting PMS wannabes.  Kate Steele.  You are terrible.  You look like a hentai character come to life, except your tits are horrible, and you have a flat ass.  Whenever I think that Amy looks used up, I just have to look at you and realize that aside from Crystal Millar, you make her look like a prim and proper lady as pure as white lace.  I mean, I don’t know if your hubby just goes at it like a jackrabbit, or if he gets his kicks from passing you around like a Swisher at a Cypress Hill concert, but you should learn the secret of wearing a bra.  You’re probably going to knock yourself out one of these days, or at least give yourself another black eye… I say another, because Amy is surely going to give you one on Sunday.  I just felt the need to clarify that, because I don’t want you thinking I meant I’d knock you right on your flat ass if you come at me, because I can’t get another pink slip right now.  I’ll likely molotov something for real…  Not a threat…. Nope, not at all… Josh, Kitty, Amy… I’ll see all three of you on Sunday, and anyone else who stands in the way of the Bad Boys, on Sunday.  Cash me ousside…”

I look around, and see that I’m outside, and I kinda chuckle a little bit before I shove the camera down to the ground, making the lens shatter.  The camera is still rolling as I start walking around the building, getting a good feel for what it has to say, but all I’m hearing is that, come Sunday, my future is looking hella bright.  That’s when, much to my surprise, I see Amy Marshall walking around the corner.  I glare at her for a minute as she approaches me.

Amy:  As much as I hate this, we are partners.

Not knowing that the camera is still rolling, I nod my head and quietly say to her…

Me:  I know, and I agree.  We gotta push all the bullshit aside for now, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, if we want this to be over after Sunday.  But don’t you dare tell anyone that I was nice to you, and I’ll do the same for you.  Deal?

Amy tries not to, but she kinda smiles as she shakes my hand.  She then reaches up and slaps me.

Amy:  That was for stealing my croissant, you dick…

We both laugh as the tape of the camera runs out…


Word Count (Without this disclaimer included): 7818