Exodus RP: Born To Be Wild

Notes on formatting:
Frank: Spoken words by the person in bold
Narrative or descriptive text
Frank’s inner thoughts


Frank Lynn and Mike Jette, the Thunderbirds, the new #1 contenders to the WFWF Tag Team championships, make their way backstage laughing and high fiving each other over what just happened. The challenge for the tag titles was made and accepted by an irate and out of control Franchise Joshua Dean, obviously feeling the pressure of having to reassert himself after his loss to Trace Demon at Black Hole Sun.

Frank: Holy sh*t! He was pissed! He didn’t really expect us to take him on while he had that barbwire bat, did he?

Mike: I hope not. There was no point to it. We got what we wanted and more. A title match at Exodus!

Frank: I told you that fake match would get us noticed. I didn’t expect this much but I’m not going to complain. Now we get the chance to exchange these toy belts for the real thing.

Mike: Hell yeah! But maybe we should get out of here before Dean brings his bat backstage. No point in us beating the hell out of him when nothing is on the line.

Frank: Yep, better to save it for Exodus when it means something. I wonder if we should go to Lila and ask for a special stip: title changes hands if there is a DQ finish. That might discourage Josh from bringing his toy to the title match… and stop Drakz from inviting any of his friends to the ring.

Mike: Maybe. Or maybe we should show up a little early and stash some toys of our own under the ring just in case things get ugly.

The Thunderbirds go their separate ways, Mike to change and head home, Frank to pay the fake Drakz & Dean, two wrestlers from the Boston based indie promotion Legacy Pro Wrestling. Joshua Dean does not show up with his baseball bat and bad intentions showing that on this night he is all bark and no bite. Only time will tell if that is the case at Exodus when the belts are on the line.


Early morning on a beautiful Spring Saturday, a silver SUV pulls into an empty gravel parking lot. Five people, four athletic looking men and one attractive redheaded woman, get out and stretch away two hours of road trip aches and stiff joints. They mill around taking in the scenery. It is a perfect day for their outdoor adventuring.

Becky: I know you are here to train but I am looking forward to having some fun this weekend.

Frank: No reason training can’t be fun. Right Mike?

Mike: Yep. I haven’t always enjoyed my training before but this looks to be different.

Frank can’t help but wonder what kind of training Hank Hansen put Mike through. He doubts that it was any good because Mike didn’t win a match until he fired Hank and stepped out on his own. Mike is a good guy and deserves a lot more victories so Frank was happy he agreed to come along for this weekend trip.

Ricky: I’m not sure Paulie agrees. Didn’t he describe your weekend plan as a stupid walk in the woods?

Frank: That he did. He’s a great trainer but a little old school. Anything that deviates from his gym routine of cardio, weights, and ring work isn’t training to him. He’s never been rock climbing so he doesn’t know how much of a workout it really is.

Becky: I guess he’s never seen Isaac Caldero or the other mountain climbers on American Ninja Warrior. Caldero ate the course up last year to win it all.

Frank: I’d love to give that a try. Those obstacle courses look fun. Too bad there is no time off in the WFWF.

Ricky: Enough chit chat. Time to see who is the unlucky one. Becky? Jimmy? Ready for rock-paper-scissors?

Becky & Jimmy: Yes.

Frank Lynn and Mike Jette are excluded from the game because this is part of their training for the big match. There is no way either is going to sit out. One of the other three will have to pass on the hiking and climbing so they can drive the SUV to the other end of the trail, about 10 miles west and a thousand feet up, to set up camp for the night.

Becky, Ricky, and Jimmy do a quick round robin tournament of rock-paper-scissors while Frank unloads the gear and divides it up between Mike and himself. The disadvantage of being there to train was that they would carry all the gear the entire trek.

Ten minutes later, Frank and Mike have all the gear stuffed into their backpacks and are ready to go. The other three have finished their game of chance. They all gather together on the driver side of the SUV.

Frank: Who gets to drive and set up camp?

Jimmy: That would be me. It won’t take too long so I guess I get to spend most of the day sitting on my ass and enjoying a little of this.

Jimmy pats a pocket in his vest which contains several cigarettes of a variety that if found during a search by the police would get him in trouble, not that there would be any police this far off the beaten track. Everybody but Mike smiles at Jimmy knowing what he means and knowing that Jimmy would probably prefer to spend his afternoon doing that than making the long trek. Jimmy was more into the instant gratification adventures like skydiving or bungee jumping than the slow laborious ones like hiking and climbing. Mike was kind of lost, not knowing anybody in the group as well as they knew each other but they did their best to make him feel comfortable.

Jimmy gets into the drivers seat. Before he can close the door and start his drive to the top, Becky comes over to him.

Becky: You sure you don’t mind?

Jimmy: Nah, it’s no problem. I will miss my chance to get a nice view of Mr. Jette’s too perfect to be believed derriere, particularly during the climbs but my radar isn’t pinging so it would be like shopping with no money.

Becky: That’s the spirit. I’ll sneak some pictures for you so you don’t completely miss out.

Becky gives Jimmy a malicious wink that told Jimmy exactly what he would be seeing pictures of later. That brought a smile to his face. Becky walks back over to the other three men. Jimmy closes the SUV door, starts the motor, rolls up the windows, cranks the radio, and fires up the AC. If he had to drive he might as well take full advantage of the perks that came with the SUV. He gives a final wave to the others before heading back to the main road.

Everybody’s spirits are high, lots of smiling and joking as they start their trek through the woods. The path starts fairly level but after just 15 minutes they all notice the gradient getting steeper. They slow down a little to pace themselves. It may be 10 miles as the crow flies but they weren’t crows and wouldn’t be flying. Their actual distance traveled would be more like 15 miles. They get settled in a steady pace that allows for conversation.

Ricky: Just how hyped are you two for your match at Exodus?

Too damn psyched for words. I am in shock that I am in a championship in just my third WFWF match. I wanted success and was willing to work hard for it but this is unbelievable. I’m having a hard time keeping my cool but I don’t want my nervousness to infect Mike. He is getting his first taste of the winning side after some hard losses. Play it cool, Frank.

Frank: On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d put it at 11.

Mike: More like 100 if you ask me. I have to hand it to you Frank, that whole fake title match idea you came up with for New Nebula worked better than anyone could have imagined. I thought it might get us noticed and lead to some higher profile matches but I never expected the champions to take us up on our challenge immediately.

Frank: I took advantage of that one quality all the WFWF stars have in common: ego. Ego is why all of us hate to lose and why any of us can be goaded into a match that might not otherwise happen. It worked beyond expectations in this case. I still can’t believe how pissed Joshua Dean was, coming to the ring with a barbwire baseball bat. He was ready to kill somebody. (laughter)

Mike: He sure was. You totally played him. Like I said, that fake title match was a great idea.

Ricky: Don’t give Frank all the credit. He was channeling his inner Ricky when he came up with the idea. I say that makes me responsible for your sudden and rapid rise.

Frank: Thank you Ricky. It is somewhat true, I don’t think I could have done it without you. You are one of a kind. Thank God because more than one of you is too much for this world to handle.

Ricky stops to take an exaggerated bow.

Ricky: Tricky Ricky, manager extraordinaire at your service…if you’d stop with the training and let me do the job.

Mike: Manager? I hope you’re better than my last manager. We all know how that turned out.

Mike’s mood changes as he thinks about Hank Hansen. Frank notices and takes quick action to keep Mike from panicking. He hadn’t mentioned Ricky’s managerial aspirations to Mike and now was not the time to discuss it.

Frank: Ricky likes to think he is my manager but he is still in training. I won’t give him the job until he masters the basics of wrestling so I don’t have to bail his ass out of all the trouble his overactive mouth will get him into.

Mike’s expression immediately relaxes. Potential situation avoided. Ricky, completely out of character, lets it drop. Perhaps he too senses Mike’s reluctance to take on a manager so soon after firing Hank. Mike turns his thoughts back to the big match at Exodus and he gets hyped again

Mike: Number one contenders to the Tag Team Champions! It still doesn’t sound real to me. We could be champions within a week.

Frank: We sure could. Did you see any of this happening when we shook hands after the street fight?

Mike: No way. I was so frustrated that I had just lost my third straight match. I knew some of it was my fault, but some of it wasn’t too. Fatal 4ways are too chaotic and unpredictable. And then Hank messed things up for me against you.

Frank: Yeah, I am sorry I went ape sh*t crazy on you at the end like I did. What can I say? I would fight to the death to protect my mother. At least now that we are partners you’ve tasted the other side of the 1-2-3. Winning is very therapeutic.

Mike: It sure is. The Thunderbirds versus Joshua Dean and Drakz for the WFWF World Tag Team championships!

And now is the time to bring him back to Earth a little. Yes, it’s great to be number one contenders and have a title match but it is serious business given who the current champions are. We have to keep our emotions in check.

Frank: Think about it, Mike. The Thunderbirds versus Joshua Dean and Drakz, two of the best to ever walk into a WFWF ring.

The mood definitely drops a little after Frank makes his statement in such a serious tone. The high fives and jokes are done for now. The real work is about to begin. They continue on, alternating between discussing and silently contemplating the upcoming match.

Some time later, they reach the base of the first climb on their path. They are at the foot of an almost vertical rocky hill about 200 feet high. It is a beginner’s climb but not without dangers if someone slips up.

Becky: Okay boys, enough shop talk. Time to climb. Frank leads, followed by Mike, then Ricky, and last is me. (She looks directly at Mike) We have all done this without safety lines. Do you feel comfortable with that? The climb looks worse than it is. There is a winding path of foot wide ledges we can follow all the way up but you can’t really see them from here.

Come on Mike, be up to the challenge. This should be easy for someone in your shape who likes to fly off the top rope and crash down onto another person.

Mike: Sure, I’ll give it a try. If things get hairy, you can set up a safety line later, right?

Good man! I like that you are not afraid of a challenge. Taking on Drakz and Dean so soon in our careers is certainly a challenge that we can’t be afraid of.

Becky: Sure, if we have to we can do it any time. I think you’ll be fine without it.

Ricky: Just in case, can you write me into your will now. A video editor for a local TV station needs all the help he can get.

Mike: Consider it done, Ricky. Just one thing, you better give me a kickass funeral. Don’t forget the wake either. None of that cheap boxed wine, only top of the line name brands.

Ha, I love it. Mike is taking Ricky’s crap and throwing it right back at him.

The chatter stops and Frank leads the foursome up the climb. It goes as Becky said, pretty easy because of the ample ledges they could follow up the rocks in a zig zag pattern. This is a training day so Frank sets a fast pace causing everyone to work up a good sweat, particularly Frank and Mike with their backpacks full of food and gear.

About halfway up, they come to a wide gap between two ledges. Frank knows that there is slightly easier route but he picked this way specifically to get to this gap. It is a foot or two too far to safely jump which means it is perfect for a special exercise in trust and teamwork.

Frank: Come up closer Mike. We’re going to need a lot of teamwork to win our match so lets start working on it now. We could rig a piton and swing across this gap but not today. Instead, you’re going to get right up to the edge. Get a firm grip with one hand so you aren’t going anywhere. You’re going to grab each of us with your other hand around the wrist…like a handshake you see gladiators give each other in the movies. We will jump off and you will give us that extra oomph we need by swinging us over to the next ledge.

Mike nods at the instructions. He doesn’t seem nervous so Frank goes first. Mike gets himself locked in and grabs Frank’s arm in the gladiator handshake.

Frank: Okay bud. I’m trusting you to toss me nice and hard, like Gimli gets tossed in Lord of the Rings during the Battle of Helmsgate. On three. One…two…three…

Frank jumps out and forward, gaining extra momentum from Mike. He clears the gap easily and lands safely. Frank gives Mike a thumbs up. Becky goes next. She is considerably lighter and Mike damn near throws her past Frank’s waiting arms. Becky moves further down the ledge and it is Ricky’s turn.

Ricky: A kiss for luck, Skywalker?

Mike smiles at Ricky and unexpectedly throws him as hard as he can. Despite Ricky not being ready, Mike tosses him well over the gap and he lands safely.

Mike: Maybe next time princess. So how do I get across? I assume you have a plan for that.

Ricky: Nope. You’ve been punked. Enjoy your stay on that tiny, lonely ledge while we enjoy a night of camping up top.

Mike: F*ck you Ricky.

Frank: That’s my line. F*ck you Ricky. Yes we have a plan Mike. First toss your pack over. You can hit Ricky in the face with it if you want.

Mike declines the offer and gently tosses his pack. Ricky catches it and then makes his way further along the ledge to join Becky.

Frank: Its time for more trust and teamwork. I know I wasn’t there for a tag during the match at New Nebula. Sure I had a good reason - a face full of donkey sh*t - but it still wasn’t good for establishing trust between us. I’m going to show you now that you can trust me to be there. Get as much of a running start as you can and jump straight at me with your arms out in front of you. You might make it to this ledge but if you don’t you will still get close enough for me to grab your arms and pull you the rest of the way. Count it down when you’re ready.

Frank knew that the jump wasn’t that hard and without the heavy pack to weigh him down Mike might make it across on his own. It was more a mental than physical exercise. Mike hesitated for a few seconds, then counted 1…2…3…jump. Mike almost made it across, getting one foot on the ledge. Frank grabs his outstretched arms and pulls him to safety. Mike lets out a sigh of relief.

Mike: You really didn’t have to go through all of that. I already trust you in the ring as my partner. I have to admit that it was fun, more fun than I thought it would be.

Frank: Glad to hear it. That means you won’t mind going through it all again when we reach the second big gap between us and the top.

Mike: I didn’t realize you had an evil side. It could come in handy against the champs.

Frank: Blame Ricky. I get all my bad traits from him. Let’s move people, we still have a long way to go before we get to Jimmy and our cozy camp.

Frank continues to set a fast pace and the four of them make their zig zagging way up to the top. The second gap crossing goes faster and easier than the first. Mike is getting the hang of the rock climbing so they make good time getting to the top of this section.

Now back on a path, they each take a bottle of water and a protein bar to refuel while they continue their hike. After each finishes eating and drinking, they are able to converse again. Frank picks up where he left off before the climb.

Frank: The Thunderbirds versus Drakz and Joshua Dean. We got the match. Now we have to win it.

Becky: HAVE to win? That’s a very testosterone influenced way of putting it.

Frank: We’re professional wrestlers. You need that attitude going into every match or you are doomed to a short career in the WFWF, then back to the indies working in front of 200 people for chump change. Or worse, back to MMA. That is not an option.

Mike: Getting to the WFWF isn’t easy. Now that we’re here I’m not leaving. So yes, we have to win.

Ricky: Then you two better make a plan. I think you should bring someone to the ring with you to watch your backs.

Frank: Like you, our manager? Not yet Ricky. Lucas Crowe, the Wreckers, Trace Demon…they would all eat you alive. They’d probably spit you out because you taste bad but you wouldn’t be worth anything to us at that point.

Ricky: Spoilsport. Mark my words. One day you will come to me on your knees begging me to be your manager.

Mike: He does have a point Frank. Drakz almost always comes with friends. Did you see how Crowe won the cage match against Ahriman for him?

Yes and no. I saw it but the next day when I watched the replay. You beat me up so bad in the street fight that I passed out in front of my locker.

Frank: I saw. But I don’t want to place Ricky in that kind of danger. We need to take a different approach.

Becky: Is that why…

Becky’s voice trails off without completing her question as Frank gives her a look that says please don’t. She realizes that Frank hasn’t told them about his plans for the night. He was going to take a risk but he thought it would be worth it. That meant Becky thought that it was worth it too so she would help him and not let on to the others.

Mike: Is that why…what?

Frank: Is that why we are going through all this training and the teamwork exercises? Yes. If we’re going to beat the champions, our biggest advantage is that we can work together while they can’t or won’t because they hate each other.

Mike: I get that. But there has to be more. We really need to account for the inevitable interference from Drakz’ thugs.

Frank: Yes we do. I’m still thinking about that.

And not coming up with anything yet. If I can’t conjure up a brainstorm we will lose. I hope tonight gives me that breakthrough.

Frank: If you have any ideas Mike, let me know. Same for you Ricky, as long as it doesn’t involve Tricky Ricky putting himself in the path of destruction.

Mike: We could try to divide and conquer. Drive an even bigger wedge between them so that possibly one will walk out on the other and we end up in a handicap match. Doesn’t matter which one is left in the ring, I like our chances in a two on one fight.

Ricky: That’s good! But what can you do or say to create a wedge between them that becomes more important than retaining the tag titles?

Mike: I don’t know…at least not yet.

Everyone goes silent for a while as Becky increases the overall pace of the group. She had checked her watch and their location on the map. They were running behind schedule because of all the talking. Taking the lead and pushing the pace served the dual purpose of getting caught up and making people work too hard to talk.

After an hour or so of hiking at her fast pace, they were back on schedule. They slowed to a more comfortable pace while taking in some more water and protein bars. Frank and Becky were in the lead while Ricky and Mike followed ten yards behind them.

Mike: They make a good couple.

Ricky: They do. Took them a long time to actually get together though.

Mike: Whaddya mean? They act like they’ve been together forever.

Ricky: They’ve been friends forever. They’ve been a couple for a few weeks, since a few days after your street fight at Black Hole Sun. We had a party to celebrate his win, sorry to bring that up, and that’s when Becky made her move. Becky had to make the first move because sometimes Frank is as slow as a glacier.

Mike: Well well well. I’m still trying to figure Frank out. He makes a great tag partner but he is very serious about it. Sometimes too serious. Single-minded laser focus.

Ricky: You hit that nail right on the head. Here’s some free advice to help your partnership with him go smoothly. Carry a brick.

Mike: Carry a brick?

Ricky: Yep. You’ll need to hit him over the head with it every so often to make him see what is right in front of him. He is getting better, or as he puts it he is slowly getting the stick out of his butt, but he needs us to help show him the way.

Mike: Thanks, Ricky. I’ll keep that in mind.

The hike continues for a bit longer and the conversations continue, but the topics move away from the match. They spend time talking about everything from nature, animals, personal stories, anything as long as it isn’t the match. Nobody is able to come up with any amazing ideas to help them gain victory at Exodus so they are all afraid to bring the match up at all.

At 5 pm, right on schedule to Becky’s credit, they reach the foot of another climb. They are 250 feet away from their final destination. At the top, Jimmy is relaxing at the camp awaiting their arrival.

The first 225 feet are relatively easy. As at the first climb, there are ample ledges for them to follow a zig zag path almost to the top. Frank went first followed by Mike, Ricky, and Becky bringing up the rear.

Several times during their ascent, Becky pulled out her phone and took some of those pictures she promised Jimmy. She hoped Mike and Frank didn’t notice. It would definitely be an interesting conversation explaining to them why she was taking pictures of Mike’s butt. It was not a conversation she wanted to have so she tried to be discreet.

Too bad for her that Ricky did notice. The third time she pulled out her phone, he stopped on the ledge and pointed at her phone.

Ricky: I’m hoping those are for Jimmy and not you.

Becky: Yes, they are for Jimmy. Please don’t tell. I know how bad you want to but I’m asking you: don’t.

Ricky: Make it worth my while.

Becky: Bastard! Okay, what do you want?

Ricky: Nothing too hard. Just help me convince Frank to take me on as his manager.

Becky: Is that all? You must want in on his wrestling career pretty bad.

Ricky: Don’t you see? Frank is onto something special here. He loves what he is doing. He is very good at it, both the physical and mental sides. He is going places.

Becky: And you want to go to those places with him?

Ricky: Yes. I’m a lowly video editor. That’s all I’ll ever be. I’m not going to be the next great director no matter how much I try. My stuff is bad to putrid. But Frank is going to be the next great wrestler. I can be a good manager, maybe a great one. I just need a chance.

Becky is surprised by Ricky’s sincerity. Ricky doesn’t have to joke all the time but it is rare when he doesn’t. When he stops joking it is because he is talking about something that he just can’t deal with. It was usually something bad like a death in the family. He must really want to be Frank’s manager if he was having a hard time dealing with Frank’s refusal to give him the job.

Becky: You’re serious.

Ricky: I can be serious if I want to. And yes, I am serious about being Frank’s manager. Look at what he’s done on his own in the past month or two. Imagine how much more he could do with me at his side.

Becky: Okay Ricky, I’ll do it. Not because you’re blackmailing me either but because you really want to help Frank. I think where he is going he will need all the help he can get.

Ricky: Thanks Becky.

Ricky and Becky resume their ascent, quickly catching up to Frank and Mike because they had reached the final stage of the climb and the last of Frank’s trust and teamwork exercises.

The four of them stand on a good sized ledge, almost 3 feet wide so they had plenty of room to stretch and get the kinks out of their aching muscles. 25 feet above them was the summit and all that separated them from the summit was a 6 to 7 foot wide gap that ran vertically from the ledge to the top.

Frank: Mike, welcome to the Chimney. You and I are going to spider climb our way up this in tandem as our final test of trust and teamwork. But first…JIMMY!!!

Becky and Ricky join Frank in yelling for Jimmy, who is somewhere on the summit hopefully hearing them. Mike joins in once he figures out what everyone is doing. It takes a minute or two for Jimmy to stick his head out for them to see. He smiles and waves to them.

Jimmy: Hey dudes and dudette! You made it!

Frank: Of course we made it. How’s about you throw down a rope for us?

Jimmy: Will do buckaroo! Be back in a flash!

Mike: Is he stoned? He sounds high as a kite. Only a stoned person would say Will do buckaroo.

Ricky: Absolutely. Jimmy loves to get high in the woods. He says it makes him feel more connected to nature. I hope that doesn’t mean he is taking the term tree hugger to the next level.

Mike: Can we trust him? I mean…he’s stoned!

Frank: Relax Mike. I’d trust a stoned Jimmy more than I would trust most people sober. He used to be an eagle scout so he can tie knots in his sleep. I guarantee you he will have that rope properly secured for us.

Mike: If you say so.

Frank: Trust, Mike, it’s all about trust. Even when it looks like I am doing something stupid or dangerous, you have to trust that I know what I am doing and good will come of it. And I have to trust you the same way.

Mike: I do trust you so if you say Jimmy’s good then that works for me. Unless I plummet to my death. If that happens I am definitely holding you responsible.

Frank: Glad to hear it… I think. So this is how we make our way up the Chimney. First off, we need to take off our backpacks. We’ll pull them up with a rope once we reach the top.

They remove the two backpacks and pass them to Ricky who carefully places them on the ledge. It wouldn’t do to have them fall off and end up falling 225 feet where someone would have to rappel down to retrieve them.

As they did this, Jimmy dropped the rope down the Chimney. Everyone’s faith in Jimmy was well founded as the other end was tied very securely to a tree trunk and wasn’t going anywhere.

Frank: Stand back to back. Ricky’s going to tie the rope around our wastes but that is just a safety precaution. Jimmy will keep enough tension so that if we slip, we will only fall a few feet. Once Ricky finishes, we lock arms at the elbows. That’s what is going to keep us together. Got it…good. Now, we walk up the Chimney. Start with your left foot and I’ll do the same. Keep your steps even, about a foot each time so we stay level. And away we go…

Frank and Mike walk their way up the Chimney slowly at first until they get in sync and then quite a bit faster getting to the top in no time at all. Once they reach the top, Jimmy helps them onto the summit. A few minutes later they have hoisted the backpacks up followed by Becky and Ricky.

Everyone takes a moment to stand at the edge off the plateau to look out over the sloping forest beneath them. It is a breathtaking sight, particularly for Jimmy who has lit up another joint and is taking huge drags off it. He offers the joint to the others. Ricky takes a few hits and passes it on to Becky. She takes a few hits as well. She offers it to Frank.

I’d like to, my body is aching from a long day on the trail, but I don’t know how Mike feels about it. Better to keep him feeling comfortable until I know for sure.

Frank: No thanks. I’m in training.

Becky offers it to Mike

Mike: None for me either. Training. Big Match.

Jimmy, Becky, and Ricky head over to the camp to finish the joint and get dinner started. They had worked up a serious appetite and protein bars weren’t enough to satisfy them.

Frank and Mike stayed at the edge.

Frank: We’ve done it bud. We’ve reached the top of the mountain.

Mike: It’s quite a view.

Frank: Yep…but that’s not what I meant. You. Me. The Thunderbirds. We’ve reached the top of the mountain. We are in a match for the tag team championships. Win and we’re legit. We stop being rookies and start being champions. Major players in the WFWF.

Mike: Ah, that’s what you meant. Yeah. I want this bad. I want to make people forget my early losses.

Frank: It’s a safe bet we’ve done that already. You looked great in the street fight. No sane person will hold that loss against you. You were even better against Toboggan and Richardson. I can’t wait to take on the champs.

Mike has a moment of doubt. Frank says all the right things but does he really mean them? It is so easy to be confident when all you do is win. What would Frank do after a loss?

Mike: Do you really want this as bad as I do? You haven’t tasted defeat yet. One singles match win, one tag match win, and suddenly you’re a number one contender. You’ve had it easy compared to most rookies.

Frank: Trust me, I want this every bit as much as you do. I know what it is like to lose a big match. In my short MMA career I started off slow losing two of my first four fights. I know how losing feels and I do not like it.

Mike: I didn’t know that. I’ve only ever seen you win. I didn’t even think about what happened before you came to the WFWF.

Frank: I have a simple philosophy: anything worth doing is worth doing right. Being a professional wrestler is only done right if you win and get your hands on some gold.

Mike: Then let’s do this right. What have we come up with so far? First, stash some toys under the ring before the show just in case.

Frank: Agreed. We don’t have to use them unless the champs force our hand. Second, take a sledgehammer to that wedge between the two of them until they break. Maybe we can get one of them to walk out on the other before the match is over.

Mike: We just need to find the right sledgehammer. I still haven’t come up with anything. Third, we need to keep it as a tag match. How do we stop Demon, Crowe, the Wreckers, or anybody else from interfering?

Frank: Another good idea but one that I don’t know just yet how we can do it. I kind of wish Ricky was ready to come to ringside but he isn’t. He would be a liability and we can’t afford that. So far all we have is ideas but no actual plan.

Mike: What about your friends from LPW? Could we pay some to be our bodyguards for the match?

Frank: No can do. There is a LPW show in Cambridge the same night as Exodus so my friends aren’t available.

Mike: That’s too bad. We still have all night to come up with a plan. We can drink a few beers, hash it out with Ricky, Jimmy, and Becky. The five of us should be able to come up with something.

Frank: That’s one of the reasons I asked them along on this weekend trip. They’re all smart people with very different ways of looking at this match. We will come up with something that will lead to a win over Drakz and Dean.

Mike: Then let’s get to it, make a plan, and go to Exodus where will show the old timers that the rookies are ready to take over.

Frank: Hell yeah, Mike. But first we eat. I don’t know about you but I can’t think on an empty stomach.

And by the end of the night I hope that I figure out the key to beating two of the most dangerous men in the WFWF.

Frank and Mike join the group around the campfire. Dinner is hot dogs and hamburgers. The hot dogs are cooked in the classic style, stuck on a stick and held over the fire. Jimmy had half a day to get things ready so he rigged up a sort of grill over the fire to cook the burgers on and toast all the buns; non-toasted buns would be barbaric. All five were soon enjoying their dinner along with cold beer and another joint for the non-wrestlers.

After dinner, Frank took a walk. The weight of the title match was bearing down on him. Working on tag team trust and teamwork was great, something any successful duo had to do in order to succeed, but was it enough? Harping on the tension between Drakz and Dean was great but they had to come up with an idea for capitalizing on it and as of now they had nothing. They had to get inside the heads of the champions to really figure out what made them tick, what buttons were waiting to be pushed. Frank needed to go above and beyond his normal match preparations.

He continued his walk until he found a secluded spot away from the campsite, a clear area circled by trees that felt right.

This is a good. Far enough from the camp that I won’t be interrupted by their noise. Clear view of the sky should help. Yep, this will work. It better work. I need ideas.


Frank sits in front a campfire, actually more like a small bonfire, that he started some 25 yards from the campsite. This would be his personal space for the night, an isolated spot away from the rest of the group where he could do what he needed to get ready for the biggest night of his life: a match for the WFWF tag team championships.

Becky: You sure you want to do this? Last chance to back out.

Frank: I’m sure. I don’t just want to do it, I need to do it. Drakz and Dean are serious competition. I need to get inside their heads.

Becky: It’s your brain. We will be awake for a while. Yell if things go badly.

Frank: You’ll cover for me? Tell them I need to be alone so I can meditate.

Becky: Sure, as long as things don’t go wrong. Mike won’t find out what you’re really doing out here from me if thats what you’re worried about.

Frank: Thanks Becky, you’re the best.

Becky: Don’t you forget it. Be safe.

Becky hands a thermos to Frank, then leans in to give him a passionate kiss. She walks back to the campsite to rejoin the group for a night of smores, beer, and ghost stories. She won’t have quite as good a time as everyone else though because she will have one eye and one ear open for any trouble from Frank. Frank looks at the thermos for a few seconds, then opens it.

Frank: Hello old friend. We haven’t been together in years. I hope you are ready to get re-acquainted.

Frank takes a long swig from the thermos. The shroom tea tastes slightly bitter as it flows past his taste buds but the aftertaste is pleasantly sweet with just a touch of lemon. Despite the several years since her last brew, Becky hasn’t lost her touch.

Frank sits in front of his fire and slowly empties the thermos. He alternates between staring into the fire getting lost in the sounds of the burning wood crackling and looking to the sky getting lost in all the stars. The sheer number of stars that were visible in the night sky once you got away from all the lights of Boston never ceased to amaze and humble him. In a way, being reminded how insignificant he was provided good motivation. Becoming a WFWF Tag Team champion would make him slightly more significant in the grand scheme of things.

Frank removes two WFWF collector cards from his pocket. Frank had paid $5 apiece for them at Comicazi in Somerville. In his left hand is Drakz’ card, a head shot surrounded by gold foil with the text Grand Slam Champion. In his right hand is Joshua Dean’s card, an action shot from one of his many matches with the words WFWF’s Greatest Matches in silver foil. He stares at the cards long enough to burn the images into his mind. Once he is satisfied that he can close his eyes and recall each image clearly he throws the cards into the fire.

It takes twenty minutes for the shroom tea to kick in. Frank starts to lose visual focus. The tiny embers that leap from the wood in the fire dance against the backdrop of swirling orange flames. More embers join the dance until there are hundreds of tiny yellow sprites performing an intricate three dimensional ballet. Patterns start to form: Becky’s face smiling at him; Mike Jette looking determined, the red streak in his hair standing out even more than usual; the WFWF tag team championship belts; and finally the faces of the reigning tag team champions: Drakz and Joshua Dean.

The silence of the night is broken by two visitors Frank hoped he could make appear.

Drakz: All the stars in the sky that you could use to make my image and you choose some crappy embers in a campfire. I’m insulted.

Joshua Dean: I think you look good on fire. Got any lighter fluid around?

Frank looks up from the fire to see the champions standing there. Drakz is wearing a black suit and Dean a white suit.

Damn, that is so cliche. At least they don’t have cowboy hats and horses to match.

Drakz: Wrong, Frankie. You don’t think I walked out here to the middle of f*cking nowhere. No way. My ass rode in on the biggest baddest blackest horse you can imagine wearing a jet black fifteen gallon hat that would make the Duke jealous.

Joshua Dean: That seems right, after all you are a cliche. Me? I rode in on a Harley wearing a helmet. They were both white but that isn’t cliche. White is easier to see at night. Safety first.

Frank: Be quiet. It’s my trip and there are ground rules. Rule #1: no mind reading. If I don’t speak it you don’t know it. Sit your asses down and enjoy the ambience. We have all night to get to know each other better.

Drakz and Joshua Dean look around but are not pleased with the lack of so much as a log to sit on. It is obvious that neither wants to soil their suits by sitting on the grass.

Joshua Dean: No thanks. I’d rather stand and bitch about it.

You sure do like bitching about stuff. That’s how we played you at New Nebula to get the title match. You couldn’t let our little fake title match slide. You had to come to the ring and bitch about it. We put the bait on the hook, cast our line, and you went straight for it.

Drakz: (laughs) You’ll do anything as long as you can bitch while you do it. I won’t sit either but its because I am a class act. This back to nature crap doesn’t work for me. We’re just passengers on the bus, Frank. You’re driving. So drive us to somewhere f*cking nice or I’m outta’ here.

Frank stands up to look Drakz eye to eye. Drakz’ eyes show a steely resolve. He may be a mushroom induced hallucination but in typical Drakz fashion he refuses to play by the rules. Frank decides to give in because he needs both Drakz and Dean here for this trip to be worth it. Frank closes his eyes and envisions a different venue for the meeting.

Drakz: Whoa! Nice job Mr. Lynn. This is much better. I’m impressed.

Joshua Dean: For once I agree with my partner. Very nice.

Frank: I thought you might like it. At least your fancy suits fit in better here.

All three are seated at a table draped in a white table cloth and set for a five star dining experience. The chairs are plush red velvet with ample padding to support even the most out of shape backsides. The room has several dozen more tables set up the same way, all empty of diners. The lighting is dim but not dark. Good food should not be hidden by bad lighting because a good eating experience starts with that first look. The atmosphere is completed by piped in music, a string quartet playing the best of Soundgarden.

Drakz: About the suits. I don’t mind the cliche black and white color schemes. I look good in black. But poor little Joshie in a white suit? If you chopped him off at the knees he would be ready to look to the sky and yell Hey Boss! De Plane! De Plane!

Dean looks for something to throw at Drakz. He picks up one of the smaller forks, quite possibly the shrimp fork but who knows for sure and who really cares what fork is for what food? With a quick flick of his wrist he sends the fork flying straight into one of Drakz’ eyes.

Drakz: Damn it Joshua! Is this how you treat your tag team partner? How am I supposed to watch your back with just one eye?

Joshua is reaching for another fork, perhaps the salad fork or the entree fork or even the fork in the road… who the hell cares… a fork is a fork and nothing can change the fact that you don’t want one stuck in your eye. (Don’t even get me started on sporks! All mutant eating utensils should be hunted down and destroyed.) Frank stops Joshua from throwing a second fork into Drakz' remaining good eye.

Josh is out of control, no doubt due to losing that cage match against Trace Demon and taking the title from Drakz only to lose it back minutes later. I think he is a getting desperate to re-establish himself as a major player and will do anything to make it happen. How do I use that against him?

Frank: Both of you chill out. We’re all friends here tonight.

Drakz is swiveling his head back and forth between Frank and Dean causing the shrimp fork stuck in his eye to bobble and make his eye rotate crazily. Josh laughs one of those hearty from the belly laughs that makes your eyes water. Frank watches for a bit before deciding enough is enough. He grabs Drakz by the hair on top of his head with one hand and grasps the shrimp fork with his other hand. One swift yank later and the fork is no longer attached to Drakz’ face. Unfortunately, neither is the eyeball that now sits stuck on the end of the shrimp fork like a pale meatball dripping runny tomato sauce onto the no longer perfectly clean white table cloth.

Drakz: Oh this just keeps getting better. What’s next, an eyepatch and an uncontrollable urge to end every sentence in Arrr?

Frank: Don’t be such a crybaby. It is, as you said, my trip and I can fix it. Besides, who could eat with your empty eye socket oozing at them during the entire meal?

Frank removes the eyeball from the end of the fork. He tosses it at Drakz’ face where it makes a perfect landing accompanied by a wet plop sound filling the empty socket in Drakz’ face. The eye looks off lazily in a distinctly different direction from the undamaged eye. Drakz gives his head a vigorous shake to get both of eyes looking in the same direction once again.

Joshua Dean: No more jokes about the white suit or I go to work on other body parts. I didn’t even choose the color, Frank did.

He has a point. I’m not even sure why my brain put Josh in white. A man who brings a barbwire bat to the ring isn’t exactly a good guy.

Frank: True. It is a cliche to put you in black and white suits but hey, I’m tripping and cliches were the best my brain could do. I have to make things simple so I can keep up.

Drakz: Whatever. I look good in black and you both know it. Jealousy suits the pair of you.

Ha, I’m not jealous of you Drakz. I just want your belt.

A waitress who bears a strong resemblance to Lila Sleater makes her way to the table. She is accompanied by a busboy who puts some fresh garlic bread on the table and then goes around the table filling the water glasses.

Waitress: Good evening gentlemen. Here are your menus. Would you like to order some drinks while you decide what you want?

Joshua Dean: (looking angrily at Frank) Really, the head booker of the WFWF is nothing more than a waitress to you? Tell her what you want and she gets it for you with a smile and swish of her hips?

Frank: In an ideal world, yes. I’d love to walk into Lila’s office, say I want a world heavyweight championship match right now!, and have her give it to me. Isn’t that what you do all the time Drakz?

Drakz: Leave me out of this. I AM the champ so I don’t have to ask for a title match. Every match I am in IS a title match.

All hail our once and future king, the mighty Drakz. I think I’m going to puke.

The waitress is waiting impatiently for drink orders from the three of them. She coughs loudly to get their attention.

Drakz: Uppity waitress. Its not like you have other customers waiting. This place is empty except for us. But hey, if it makes you happy then why don’t you scurry back into the kitchen and find us the most expensive bottle of wine in the place?

The waitress gives Drakz a dirty look that anyone in the restaurant business would recognize immediately as a warning that she will be spitting in your food. She makes her way back to the kitchen to find the wine and plot her revenge.

Joshua Dean: You should probably call her our server. Its that whole 21st century political correctness thing. Mailmen are mail carriers, stewardesses are flight attendants, the only females you can call bitches are actual dogs, etcetera.

Frank: F*ck political correctness. I find that political correctness can get in the way of the truth. I want the truth tonight.

Drakz: Ooh, who should be wearing the black hat now?

White hat? Black hat? I don’t think I care what color my hat is if my belt is gold. I’ll wear a purple hat with yellow polka dots if that means I get to be champion.

Frank: We’ve established that your colors are just a cliche to keep things simple for my melting brain. In the real world there are no black hats and white hats, just many different shades of gray. You of all people should know that.

Drakz: Almost sounds like you like me. Do you Frank? Is that what this whole thing is about? Are you trying to wine and dine me? Maybe you want to take Dean’s place as my partner. That is the only way you are getting the tag belts. Who knows? If you swallow maybe I’ll consider it.

Frank: That’s a definite no thank you. Keep it in your pants. Mike Jette is all the partner I need to beat you two.

Joshua Dean: Oh yeah, your brother in blood, the man who earned your respect, blah blah blah. Tell me, how did it feel to carry him to his first win in your tag match?

Hmmm, is that something the champs would do, try to play mind games on Mike and me to cause tension between us? Sorry champs but that isn’t going to work on the Thunderbirds!

Frank: Mike didn’t need carrying. He just needed to be in the right place at the right time. Just like both of us will be at Exodus when we beat you and take those belts.

Drakz: Takes more than brave talk to beat the champs. I really want to know, when you two f*ck are you or Mike on top? Inquiring minds and all that sh*t.

Frank: Crude bastard. Stop obsessing over blow jobs and butt sex. If you’re so desperate you should go hire one of Toboggan’s hookers. Or maybe you’d prefer one of the donkeys?

Drakz: That’s a low blow. I may be the man in black in this fantasy of yours but bestiality is too low even for me. How about we bring this discussion back up to the classy level this fine restaurant deserves?

At that moment, the waitress appears with wine glasses and a bottle of wine.

Waitress: Here is your wine gentlemen. As you requested it is our most expensive bottle, a highly rated ’67 chianti.

She pours a glass for Frank, Drakz, and Dean who have gone quiet while finally bothering to read the menu and decide what they want to order.

Joshua Dean: Chianti, eh? If anyone orders liver I am leaving.

Frank: Won’t be me. I can’t stand liver. I’ll take the shrimp scampi.

Drakz: Liver actually sounds pretty damn good but not tonight. I’ll have the spaghetti and meatballs.

Joshua Dean: Spaghetti and meatballs? You do realize there is an adult menu you could order from? I’ll have the largest steak your chef can fit on the stove, a twice baked potato with cheese, onions, bacon, and some asparagus sautéed in garlic butter.

Frank: And how about some fried mozzarella sticks for an appetizer?

The waitress goes back to the kitchen. Frank isn’t sure if mozzarella sticks are a genuine Italian dish or something TGIFridays came up with but he doesn’t care. He loves mozzarella covered in a herb and bread crumb coating, deep fried, and dipped in marinara sauce. If it offended true connoisseurs of Italian cuisine they could suck it.

Suddenly, a dog comes running into the restaurant and sits between Drakz and Dean.

dog: Hey boss, did you order enough for a doggy bag? I love Italian food. And Italian cars. And Italian women.

Drakz: What are you doing here? (looks at Frank) What is Dog doing in your trip?

Did he just say Dog with a capital D? He couldn’t even be bothered to name the flea bitten drool factory, not even something generic like Spot or Rover? I should be learning something from that but what?

How the hell do I even know about Drakz' dog? Oh yeah, I remember. I overheard Sammy Ahriman mention the dog before Black Hole Sun. Funny what obscure sh*t comes to the surface when your neurons are misfiring.

Frank: Hey, the talking dog isn’t my hallucination. I’m a cat person. Cats don’t eat their own puke. (looks at the dog) What are you doing here?

dog: I’m the surprise cameo. Didn’t you read your own script? Don’t forget to pay me or I’ll be in your every dream humping your leg from now to eternity. I hope you have a few special dreams about that hot redhead girlfriend of yours. I’d hump more than her leg.

In your dreams maybe but for damn sure not in mine.

Frank: F*ck off mutt. Go back to where you belong. This is my trip and you’re not welcome here. LEFTIE! RIGHTY! Get in here and take care of this dog.

A pair of black high heel shoes come marching into the room heading straight for the dog. The dog attempts to bite one shoe but the other circles behind him and kicks his ass. The dog circles quickly to bite that shoe but the other one starts to kick his ass. The dog smartens up and tries to run but these shoes are fast. They almost knock over a busboy as he brings the mozzarella appetizers to the table. While the busboy puts the appetizers on the table and tops off the water glasses the sound of a thump of shoe against dog butt followed by a high pitched whelp of pain is heard several times. The shoes manage to chase the dog out the front door.

Drakz: Damn! Somebody is definitely peaking now. Best floor show I’ve seen in a long time even if Dog is getting his ass kicked.

Joshua Dean: The mutt deserves worse. Deadpool aside, breaking the fourth wall is becoming such a tired cliche. Please tell me that is the last cliche for a while Frank.

Frank: I’m trying but I can’t make any promises. I’m not exactly in my right mind at the moment. Have at the mozzarella sticks before they cool off.

Surprisingly, neither Dean nor Drakz offer any resistance. Frank takes this as proof that fried mozzarella sticks really are that damn good, possibly the secret to world peace if only the United Nations would serve them at negotiations. In no time the platter is emptied of deep fried cheesy goodness. Drakz picks up the half empty bowl of marinara sauce and drinks it down.

Joshua Dean: Hey, maybe one of us would have liked some of that for our garlic bread?

Drakz: Boo f*cking hoo. Cry me a river.

Frank: Seems like you don’t like to share.

Drakz: What’s mine is mine and you can’t have it.

Joshua Dean: Is that Confucius?

Drakz: He who goes to bed with itchy ass wakes up with smelly fingers is f*cking Confucius. What’s mine is mine is all mine and you can’t have it.

The bickering between these two is getting really tiresome and pointless. Come on brain, let’s get this train back on the tracks.

Frank: Can’t? We’ll see about that at Exodus, won’t we?

Drakz: Still stuck on the match? Let’s get down to it then. You and Mike Jette, the Thunderbirds, are green ass rookies. Jette couldn’t even win a match without you.

Frank: We covered that. Mike is very talented and just needed to be in the right place at the right time. Don’t dis him. It is pissing me off.

Joshua Dean: Don’t piss you off? Why? Do you turn green and get super-sized?

Frank: Nope. The legal department warned me about copyright infringement. But I can do this.

Frank snaps his fingers and Joshua Dean morphs into a koala bear. *Snap* A giant cupcake covered in pink frosting. *Snap* A tree. (A Joshua tree, get it?) *Snap* Pornstar Jenna Jameson. Drakz lets out a gut busting laugh, then takes a long moment to fully check out Jenna Dean.

Drakz: Can you leave him like that? I much prefer to team with Jenna Dean than Joshua Dean.

Jenna Dean flips off Drakz and glares at Frank. Frank waits a few seconds and then snaps his fingers again, returning Josh to his normal appearance. Almost normal. His face is still covered in Jenna’s makeup. Joshua tries to rub it off with his napkin but it just smears the makeup around so that he looks like a trashy hooker at the end of a long and busy night.

Drakz: You would be great at a kids birthday party. But enough with the distractions. The point I was making is that you and Jette are so far beneath us that it is laughable.

Joshua Dean: I have to agree with the assh*le. (pauses to pull a handful of fur out of his ear) Look at all the titles we’ve held, all the great matches we’ve been part of. (Another pause as Josh removes some leaves covered in pink buttercream frosting from his coat pocket.) We are the cream of the WFWF crop. You are the fertilizer.

Drakz: Dumbass Dean is right. You wouldn’t be getting this match for six months, a year, maybe longer if not for that bullsh*t you pulled at New Nebula. I have to give you credit for pushing all the right buttons but it won’t be enough. You got the match but you are not ready for it.

Joshua Dean: Nowhere near ready. You think because we don’t like each other that we can’t beat you. I don’t need Drakz to beat the Thunderbirds.

Drakz' ego won’t let that remark slip by.

Drakz: I don’t need Joshua Dean to beat the Thunderbirds.

How do these two fit into the same arena with egos as large as theirs? Their heads are so big they generate their own gravity fields.

Frank: And therein lies the reason you won’t beat the Thunderbirds. Tag teams are about teamwork and trust. You don’t have either.

Frank realizes that he is just repeating what he has been telling himself and everyone who will listen for the past month. The more times he says it, the more he is actually believing it but it is still more blustery bravado than actual strategy. He needs to know how to capitalize on the tensions between Drakz and Dean. This trip is part of figuring out how to do that.

The waitress appears once again, carrying two dinners. She places the shrimp scampi in front of Frank, the spaghetti and meatballs in front of Drakz. She whistles loudly and the busboy strains to carry out an oversized tray with Dean’s dinner. He drops the platter onto the table with a loud thud. The largest steak in the kitchen was a 50 lb. hunk of meat that took up half the table. Dean’s eyes light up with delight at the mere sight of it.

The dog comes running back into the restaurant and goes straight to Dean, drooling uncontrollably at the sight of his huge steak.

dog: Looks like I gave those damn shoes the slip just in time. Now that’s what I call a steak! No way you can finish it all Joshie baby so how about you cut off a slice for me?

Frank: Damn it! You were here for a f*cking cameo! Go away! Potted Plant! Please get rid of the damn dog!

A potted plant hops from a corner of the restaurant towards the dog. How does a potted plant hop you ask. Rather clumsily.

Drakz: I think you should run Dog. I’ll buy you a steak later.

dog: Run from a potted plant? Ha. I piss on potted plants.

Apparently, the dog doesn’t pay close attention to potted plants though because this one gets close enough to slam down on his head. The potted plant falls onto its side and struggles to get upright. The dazed dog gets up and runs circles around the plant pausing every so often to lift a rear leg threateningly. If a potted plant could show frustration, that is what this one would do. There’s no way around it, four legs are better than none. Luckily for the potted plant, a very angry pair of shoes makes their way back into the restaurant and joins in the fight against the dog. Don’t ask me how you tell that a pair of shoes is angry. Just trust me on this, they are very pissed off at a certain scene stealing talking dog.

Joshua Dean: Damn this is one long cameo.

Drakz: Talking dogs are money. Ask Samael Ahriman if you don’t believe me.

That was a slip by Drakz. He knows he couldn’t beat Ahriman without help. But I’ve had enough of his stupid dog. Time to call in the big guns.

Frank: Sorry gents, Becky makes damn strong shroom tea. I’ll take care of this so we can get back to our conversation. Doctor Claw!

A very ordinary looking orange tabby saunters into the restaurant.

Drakz: That cat has the same chance against Dog as you and Jette have against us.

Keep on underestimating us. We know what you two are capable of but you have no idea what the Thunderbirds can do. We don’t even know everything we can do yet. Every time we work together our teamwork gets better.

Frank: You forget that I’m driving this bus.

Frank snaps his fingers and Doctor Claw transforms into a 500 lb. tiger. The dog empties his bladder in an eruption of piss that somehow misses the shoes, the potted plant, and all three WFWF stars sitting at the table but not the unfortunate busboy who was trying to refill the water glasses. Doctor Claw wastes no time in pouncing on the dog and snapping his neck, the audible cracking of bones making Drakz cringe in his seat. Doctor Claw settles down and enjoys a meal of fresh dog. If he could talk he would say that at least the dog had good taste but we all know animals can’t talk so he is content to enjoy his meal in silence like a proper animal. The shoes and the potted plant find a cozy spot in the corner to snuggle.

Drakz: You son of a bitch! Dog is not food!

Joshua Dean: Doctor Claw would disagree with you.

As if acknowledging Dean, Doctor Claw makes a low rumbling sound that would have been a purr were he still a 12 lb. tabby and not a 500 lb. tiger. It elicits another cringe from Drakz. Man’s best friend was also a cat’s best meal.

Frank: My trip, my cat, my rules. Rule #2: don’t break the fourth wall. Rule #3: if you get a cameo, don’t overstay your welcome. Rule #4: break any rules and you get eaten by Doctor Claw.

Drakz: Do your rules include a pair of shoes and a potted plant getting it on while we eat because I think that is happening right now.

Indeed, a quick glance towards a shadowy corner reveals that the pair of shoes are hanging on the branches of the potted plant while the plant vibrates those branches. It’s quite beautiful in an arboreal shoe fetishist kind of way.

Joshua Dean: Technically, isn’t that a menage a trois? That’s one lucky potted plant.

Frank: Ignore them. They are a symbol of my relationship with Becky and that is off limits. Drop it or I sic Doctor Claw on you.

Drakz and Dean eye the big tiger warily and decide discretion is the better part of valor. They turn their attention back to their food. Drakz arranges his meatballs so that they form a face on top of the spaghetti while mumbling about wanting to eat somebody’s face. Dean does his best to cut bite sized chunks off the huge slab of meat in front of him.

A crow with gold feathers flies into the restaurant and lands on Drakz’ shoulder. Drakz pets the crow and offers it a meatball.

Frank: Oh hell no! No more cameos! There’s no more money in the budget after the dog gets paid.

What f*cking budget? Why did I say that? This is turning into a very bizarre trip. I need to maintain some control if I am to get anything useful out if it.

Frank points at the crow, cocks his thumb, and shoots the crow which disappears in a puff of black and gold smoke. Then he turns towards the door and snaps his fingers. Sam and Dean Winchester enter the restaurant, draw some runes on the walls, and stand guard in case a certain demon decides to make an appearance. For those of you worried about too many cameos breaking the budget, Sam and Dean are actually two cosplayers who work for free so they can get the publicity.

Drakz: That wasn’t nice. Crowe was just here to help.

Frank: I’ve noticed that. You like having all the toys but you can’t keep them all to yourself without help. You think the Thunderbirds aren’t making plans for that?

Drakz: Of course you are. I never said you were stupid. I said you were green ass rookies. Rookies who think they are prepared but really you’re not. Any plan you can come up with we can counter. I have lots of friends.

Frank: Yes, you do. Crowe, Trace, the Wreckers, whoever else’s ass you have your lips firmly attached to. You should try winning on your own or cut up your belts and give a piece to each of your friends.

Drakz: The belts are mine. I’m not sharing them with anybody. As far as having friends help, what about mister dressed in white over there? He has plenty of friends who have helped him too.

Frank: What do you say Josh?

Joshua had given up on his utensils and was burying his head into the giant steak biting it and ripping off chunks of meat. He takes a moment to chew and swallow his last bite. The grease from the steak turned his beard a disconcerting shade of red evoking images of a vampire sucking a victim dry of their blood. Frank can’t help but hear Josh speaking in a bad Transylvanian accent.

Joshua Dean: Friends are good. Getting help from friends is sometimes a necessary evil in the WFWF.

Josh stops speaking but Frank hears more in his head: How many friends do I have? Let me count them for you. I have one friend. I have two friends. I have three friends. How many friends do you have? Blah blah de blah. Frank forces himself to concentrate and lose the vampire Josh image in his head. It may be entertaining but it is not helping Frank when he is so close to a breakthrough.

Frank: But your friends don’t show up when the chips are down. Where were they for your match against Trace Demon at Black Hole Sun? Trace’s friends showed up and beat the hell out of you. But your friends? Call the police and send out an APB ‘cuz they were missing.

Joshua Dean: I wanted to do it on my own. Isn’t that a mantra of yours?

Frank: It’s my philosophy but its not written in stone. As you said, getting help from your friends is a necessary evil. An example of the shades of gray I mentioned earlier.

Drakz: Now this is getting interesting. Go at it boys. Justify your fake morals while crapping on mine.

Joshua Dean: Your morals aren't fake, they’re nonexistent. Big difference.

Frank: Morals can be ambiguous anyway. Sometimes three left turns are better than one right turn and both get you to the same destination. But enough about that. I’ve learned what I needed from each of you.

Joshua Dean: Fine. Tell us oh wise and f*cked up one. What have you come up with thanks to your enlightening mind f*ck trip full of talking dogs, self-propelled shoes, pissed off potted plants, dog eating cats, and gratuitous cameos?

Frank takes a moment to lean back and look at both Drakz and Joshua. They have stopped eating and wait unmoving as if they were in a movie that someone pushed the pause button so they could go take a piss. This is the moment the whole trip has been building to. What insights has his shroom enhanced subconscious brought to light and how can he use those insights to his, to the Thunderbirds advantage? New thoughts form in his head not unlike a lightbulb switching on. Surprisingly, an actual lightbulb does not appear above Frank’s head given how many other cliches his melting brain has produced so far.

Frank: Okay, Joshua Dean first. You have set your sites extremely high but I think you have bitten off more than you can chew. Your reach exceeds your grasp. You rely on friends who don’t help when you really need it. That’s why your greatest friend in the WFWF may actually be this guy. (points at Drakz) He’s the one who got you the tag belts. He’s the one who will be in the ring with you at Exodus. You hate yourself because Drakz is the one making you the champion you are right now. Without Drakz, you are nothing.

Drakz: HA! Nailed it! I made you Josh and I can break you whenever I want.

Joshua Dean: Drug induced bullsh*t. You don’t know anything.

Oh my God! Is Josh pouting like some kid who just got told he can’t have any ice cream if he doesn’t eat his lima beans? He must hate owing Drakz and will do anything to get out of that debt. He is so close to cracking.

Frank: Now for you Drakz. You look like a man, but you are child inside. An insecure little boy who has to have all the toys, a little boy who hates to share. You surround yourself with so called friends but they are more like sycophants that you have inducted into the cult of Drakz. Share in my glory and bask in the glow of my greatness. Kiss my ass and some of that greatness will rub off on you. One day they will stop drinking the Kool-Aid and realize what a piece of sh*t you really are. They will realize what I know: you are nothing without them.

Joshua Dean: Now who got nailed?

Drakz: More drug induced bullsh*t.

Drug induced? Yes. Bullsh*t? Not so much. There is no way he can deny that he owes most if not all of his success to others.

Frank is pleased. The more Drakz and Dean protest, the more likely it is that he has found his way inside their heads and figured them out. The champs are vulnerable. Frank starts to piece together a plan.

Drakz: What I want to know is what you want to know because this is your trip after all and we are just hallucinations in your extremely f*cked up fantasy world. Try saying that three times fast.

Frank squints at Drakz and his last two sentences appear as floating text hovering over the table (Helvetica, size 18, bold because these are Drakz’ words so they share in his self-importance). He reaches out to grab the first sentence, stretching it so that it duplicates itself once, then twice. He balls up the three sentences of text, sticks them in his mouth, and then spits them back out as audible speech.

Frank: What I want to know is what you want to know because this is your trip after all and we are just hallucinations in your extremely f*cked up fantasy world. What I want to know is what you want to know because this is your trip after all and we are just hallucinations in your extremely f*cked up fantasy world. What I want to know is what you want to know because this is your trip after all and we are just hallucinations in your extremely f*cked up fantasy world.

Drakz: You cheated. We saw you cut and paste my text as your own three times. Is that how babyfaces do things now?

Joshua Dean: I thought it was an impressive trick. You’ll have to teach me how to do it.

Frank: Once again, I remind that I am driving this bus. If I want to cut and paste to show you that I know a few shortcuts too, then I will. Keep that in mind when you prepare for our match. Now get back to your question.

Drakz: You mean your question. How are you going to use any of this to beat us at Exodus?

Here we go. Time to see if my subconscious mind agrees with what my conscious mind has come up with.

Frank: Even though I know none of this is real, I feel like telling you would be telling the enemy. Oh well, the scene needs a big payoff so here goes. Don’t count on too much help from your friends Drakz. All I have to do is offer them something more than you do, like perhaps a shot at the tag belts after the Thunderbirds win. You think Trace or Crowe will help you keep the belt if not helping you means they get a shot at the titles? Would they prefer to share in your championship glory or celebrate their own championship glory?

Drakz: You just try it. I’ll kick your ass, then kick the ass of anyone who turns on me.

Frank shrugs, completely indifferent to Drakz' meaningless threats here in his trip. He knows that at Exodus he won’t be able to treat them so lightly.

Frank: Joshua, I just have to ask you a few simple questions. Can you trust Drakz? Thats easy. No. So you enter the match doubting your own partner. Can you trust your friends? Based on what I saw at Black Hole Sun, the answer to that is also no. Based on what happened when you won the title only to lose it a few minutes later, the answer is yet again no. At least Drakz’ friends come through for him. Your friends have a nasty habit of leaving you high and dry. Will they be there when you really need them? Last question: Can you trust yourself? Because in the end that’s all you have. If I can make you lose trust in yourself then you are done.

Joshua Dean: You make it all sound so easy. Say a few magic words and we crumble. That’s not how this is going to play out.

Drakz: None of this will be easy. You and Jette are in for an uphill battle. I hope you are into war re-enactments because the Thunderbirds have been cast as Custer at Little Big Horn. At Exodus neither of you is getting out alive.

Frank: We know this won’t be easy but I have faith in myself and my partner. The Thunderbirds can and will beat you for the titles. Do you want to see why I know this?

Drakz and Dean look at each other and shrug their shoulders. Even though they are hallucinations they realize that anything Frank shows them isn’t for their benefit. The bus ride has one last stop and Frank has decided it is time to go there. Drakz and Dean are just along for the ride.

Frank closes his eyes and envisions another change of setting. He opens his eyes. He is now a 17 year old high school senior sitting in a locker room. He is wearing a wrestling singlet and boots. His headgear is sitting on the bench next to him. In his hands he is holding a trophy that says Massachusetts State Wrestling Champion.

Joshua Dean: Is this it? A nostalgia trip back through your high school memories?

Drakz: If high school was the best years of your life, then you have led a pretty pathetic life. Please shoot yourself in the head and stop wasting oxygen the rest of us can use.

I actually agree with you Drakz. No way I’m going to let you know that though. If you knew that we had something in common you could use it against me.

Frank: I know you’re speaking but all I hear is the annoying buzzing of two gnats I can’t wait to squash. I brought you here to see this. The state wrestling championship I won in my senior year. It wasn’t easy. I had to beat the champion from the previous year. I had to beat the undefeated number one ranked wrestler in the state. I had to beat a future Olympic medalist. Before you ask, they were three different people in I beat in three very difficult matches. If Vegas gave odds on high school tournaments, mine would have been a billion to one.

Frank stands up and waves the trophy in Drakz and Dean’s faces.

Frank: Take a good look. Despite everything being stacked against me, I won. I was surrounded by friends and family who had my back. I was well trained both physically and mentally. I was hungry. I wanted to be a champion more than my opponents did. And I won. I became champion.

Drakz: So what? The WFWF isn’t high school. You’re fighting against real men who have been doing this for a long time. How is any of this going to help you against us?

Frank: Because I am surrounded by friends and family who have my back. Because I am in peak physical and mental shape. Because I AM HUNGRY! Hungrier than I have been in almost a decade. I haven’t won any championships since the high school state championship. It’s time to end that. I want to be a champion more than either of you, more than both of you put together. All the dominoes have been set up in the same pattern and it is my time, the Thunderbirds time to knock them down just like I did back then.

That did not sound very convincing. How do I explain that the last time I felt this ready was when I won the state championship? How do I explain that I’ve spent the last eight years spinning my wheels until this moment? Ever since my arrival in the WFWF it has felt right. Look how fast I’ve shot to the top. Sixteen MMA fights in four years and I didn’t even sniff a championship match. Three matches into my WFWF career and I could be a champion. I WILL be a champion. How do I explain that to two veterans who have forgotten what it feels like to have nothing and want it all?

There is a long silence as Drakz and Joshua Dean look at Frank with blank expressions.

Joshua Dean: That’s it? I’m not impressed. I was hoping for better.

Drakz: Yeah, very Hollywood underdog sports movie cliche. I thought we were done with cliches but you close out with this. That’s sad.

Joshua Dean: I was almost worried about the match but not anymore. You’re no threat to our titles.

Damn it! Is that the truth or mind games? I cannot go into this title match with any doubts.

Drakz: Let’s get out of here. I can’t believe you wasted a thermos of perfectly good shroom tea on this. You could have watched Wizard of Oz while listening to Dark Side of the Moon.

Joshua Dean: See you at Exodus, Frankie. Don’t get your hopes up because we will be walking out the same way we walk in…as WFWF tag team champions.

Joshua Dean and Drakz walk out of the locker room and out of the trip, having served their purpose.

Frank closes his eyes. When he opens them he is back in the woods. His bonfire has shrunk to almost nothing.

It’s not a cliche. I’m not a bad Hollywood underdog story hoping for a happy ending. I have never wanted anything more than I want this right now. I have done everything in my power to make it happen. I am ready to be a champion. It’s not a cliche…I am not a cliche…

The phrase I am not a cliche keeps repeating in his head until he falls into a deep dreamless sleep. Becky has been checking up on Frank every half hour or so. She sees Frank slump to the ground so she brings a blanket over. She adds some wood to the fire, lays down next to Frank, and wraps the blanket around both of them. As she falls asleep beside him, she whispers in Frank’s ear.

Becky: I hope you found what you needed. I hope it was worth it.


The silver SUV almost flies down the empty highway at speeds that would make a state policemen behind on his ticket quota drool like a dog eyeing up Jenna Dean’s 50 lb. steak. Ricky wasn’t in a particular rush, he just liked to drive fast. Nobody seemed to mind. The less time spent in the SUV the better as far as they were concerned. The only person with something to do was the driver. Everybody else had to pass the time arguing over what to play on the car stereo and threaten anyone who would dare to break out in “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”.

They were heading back to Boston after a successful weekend of training for Frank and Mike. Even Frank’s special trip had worked out for the best, or so he had assured Becky earlier in the day. Becky couldn’t help worrying about Frank going back to hallucinogenics but she had to admit that he seemed to have achieved his goal without damaging his mental capacities. He had a plan and his focus was razor sharp heading into the Exodus showdown.

The miles drifted away in chunks of conversation and comfortable silences as per the 20 minute rule. (Next time you are in a group setting, check your watch. It has been theorized that conversation will happen in bursts of spirited conversation broken by a group silence every 20 minutes while brains reset for the next topic.)

Frank: Hey Ricky, pull over at the next convenient stop with a bathroom. I need to piss.

Ricky: Like right now so find a tree for you to hide behind or it can wait until the next gas station?

Frank: It can wait a bit. I’ve had enough pissing behind trees for the weekend. I want a toilet to flush and a sink to wash my hands in afterwards.

Ricky: Gotcha’.

Five minutes later Ricky spots a rundown bar called The Rusty Nail and pulls in. The parking lot is already filled by a dozen motorcycles. These aren’t those Japanese cycles that make a high pitched whine that sounds like they are in pain. These are all American Harley-Davidsons that make a bone shaking low bass rumble when they go by. They are the kind of motorcycles that can turn a 98 lb. geek into a badass just because he is sitting astride one while wearing a worn leather vest with no shirt, ripped jeans tucked into black leather boots, and aviator sunglasses; a bandana covered in road dust is optional but wouldn’t hurt the overall look.

The group gets out of the SUV and makes their way inside The Rusty Nail taking a moment to admire the collection of motorcycles while at the same being sure not to disturb them. Stereotypes aren’t a good thing unless it is the one that motorcycle owners are very sensitive about their rides and you should leave them alone unless invited by the owner to admire it up close.

The group approaches the bar and checks out the interior of The Rusty Nail. A grizzled old man in a well worn bowling shirt is behind the bar half-heartedly washing some glasses. There are a dozen bikers scattered around the bar, a few wobbly tables, and a beat up pool table. A too skinny scantily clad blonde woman with a few too many rose tattoos dances by a jukebox that is playing some vintage surf music (Dick Dale if it matters to you). Two of the bikers sitting at a table stop talking and take notice of Frank and friends.

Frank: (to the bartender) Hi, where is the bathroom?

The bartender looks up from the dirty glass he is washing and points to his left.

Frank: Thanks.

Frank starts to walk towards the bathroom when the bartender speaks. His voice is a barely audible raspy growl.

Lippy: Not for free buddy. I got bills to pay.

Ricky: Go ahead Frank, I got this. We’ll take four of whatever is on tap and one ginger ale…somebody has to be the unlucky designated driver.

The bartender makes a noise that Ricky takes as a grunt of approval but turns out it isn’t. He makes no move to fill Ricky’s order. Instead he glances to his right. The two bikers at the closest table stand up and approach Ricky. They make a show of looking at him from top to bottom and back, then do the same to Mike, Jimmy, and lastly Becky. Ricky takes note of their matching vests. This is a real biker gang, the Road Hogz, according to the patch on the back of one of the bikers playing pool.

The older, gray haired man has a Pres patch as well as a name patch that identifies him as Lemmy. The man next to him is Skunk. He is a tall lanky man with scraggly hair and weather worn skin from long hours of riding that has a wrinkled leather quality to it. Skunk takes particular interest in checking out Becky taking long pauses to appreciate her lady parts. To her credit, Becky doesn’t react to Skunk’s lecherous behavior.

The other Road Hogz stop whatever they were doing to watch. Even Lizzie stops dancing to observe.

Lemmy: This is a private party, Road Hogz only boy. A bunch of beers for you and your friends may help Lippy pay his bills but what about the Hogz?

Ricky: Sorry, we didn’t mean to crash your party. Frank needed to piss.

Skunk: Frank can go find a f*cking bush. Hell, Frank can piss in his pants for all I care. You interrupted our party sh*thead. Lizzie stopped dancing so there goes our entertainment. How you gonna’ fix this?

Mike: Chill out. How about we buy a round for the house, two for the prez? By the time you finish it we’ll be gone and you’ll be back in the party mood, right?

Frank has finished his business and makes his way back to his friends at the bar. He steps in between Mike and Lemmy, finding himself stuck in the middle of a tense situation.

Frank: Hey…what’s up? Did I miss something?

Lemmy: We were discussing how you and your friends interrupted our private party. That’s a problem. You gotta’ show us the proper respect.

So it’s a pissing contest they want. Maybe letting them puff out their chests so we run away with our tails between our legs will satisfy them.

Frank: From the looks of it you take your partying seriously so I can see how you wouldn’t want it interrupted. I’m done so we can split like we were never here. We really don’t want any trouble.

Skunk: Another freaking politician. Stop trying to talk your way out of this.

Mike: I offered to buy all of you a round of beers. Isn’t that enough to pay for one trip to the bathroom?

Skunk: Watch it punk. I’m starting to dislike you.

Lemmy: Ease off Skunk. A free round is a good. Go ahead Lippy, get to pouring a dozen of your best on tap for us.

That’s better. Take the beer and call it even. Despite appearances, you don’t want any trouble.

Lippy gets to pouring the beers. He runs out of clean glasses so the last three go into dirty glasses, not that anyone in the bar seems to mind. Frank and company pull out some bills and toss them onto the bar. Lippy takes a break from pouring to quickly scoop up the money, not bothering to count it or give any change back to the five outsiders. They head towards the door thinking that their account is settled and they can get back on the road.

Skunk moves to block the door and is joined by two more bikers, Razor and Spike according to their name patches. Lemmy steps up to get right in Ricky’s face. Frank and Mike both move between them to protect Ricky.

Lemmy: I said a free round is good…as in a good start. But you ain’t paid your proper respect just yet. See, Lizzie over there. She still ain’t dancing. (Turns towards Lizzie.) Why aren’t you dancing bitch? Ain’t nothing you need to see here! (Turns back to Frank and Mike.) I like watching Lizzie dance. So do the rest of the Hogz.

Ricky: If you ask her nicely, maybe she would start dancing again?

No Ricky, wrong answer. It’s not about Lizzie’s dancing anymore. We aren’t getting out of here without a fight now.

Lemmy: Oh she’ll dance if we tell her to but you still don’t get it. Skunk is a true ladies man. He’s taken a liking to your redheaded friend. We want her to dance. It better be a real sexy lap dance too. Me first, then each and every one of us until Skunk goes last. I’m warning you girlie, Skunk can be a little hands on. Don’t disappoint him.

Becky: Not a chance in hell dirtbag.

And there it is. You stepped way over the line. Nobody touches Becky without her permission, not even me. So now we get to have a barroom brawl with a bunch of bikers. I hope they are all bark and no bite. First I have to get their attention away from Becky.

Frank: No deal Lemmy. If that’s your price then we aren’t paying.

Mike: That’s right. It’s not too late to drop it. Let us leave and nobody gets hurt.

Have to analyze the situation quick. Front door blocked. No back door visible. Enclosed space cluttered with furniture. Twelve to four odds; thirteen to five if you count Becky and Lizzie. Either way, not good. I don’t know how long Ricky and Jimmy can last. It will be up to me and Mike to fight our way out of here. That means don’t hold anything back. Go for the knockout blow. Eyes, balls, and throat as primary targets. Cheat if we have to. Grab a chair or pool cue.

Obvious battle lines are drawn inside The Rusty Nail. Skunk, Razor, and Spike block the door. Ricky and Becky are closest to the bikers at the door with Jimmy a little behind them. Frank and Mike are still closest to the bar in front of Lemmy. Behind Lemmy, the rest of the Road Hogz are gathered. Everybody is ready for a fight.

Skunk: Looks like we do this the hard way, eh Lemmy? I call dibs on the queer. (Skunk points at Jimmy, who has thus far tried to remain unnoticed.) I can smell your kind a mile away and you reek boy. We’re gonna see how you like it when I pound your ass.

That is the match that lights the fuse. It is a short fuse and the explosion that follows is both loud and destructive.

Jimmy: (who literally turns red with anger) Queer? QUEER! F*CK YOU!!!

Jimmy charges Skunk like a raging bull. He barrels into Skunk crashing him into the wall. Jimmy hits Skunk in the stomach with a powerful knee shot. Skunk doubles over. Jimmy is relentless, getting on top of Skunk and hitting his face over and over.

Jimmy: This is how I pound your ass!!! How do you like it assh*le!?!?

Skunk is unable to answer as Jimmy’s fists continue to batter his face. The shocking fury of Jimmy’s attack has everybody else stunned. Frank and Mike look at each other.

Frank: Party time?

Mike: Yep.

Frank: SUPERKICK PARTY!

Mike and Frank hit a double super kick to Lemmy’s face sending him flying back into the Hogz behind him. The Road Hogz not knocked down by Lemmy charge Frank and Mike.

Frank: Mike, rocket launcher!

Mike easily hefts Frank up in a gorilla press and throws him into the charging bikers. Bodies fall like bowling pins after a perfect strike. Mike glances behind him to see what Razor and Spike were up to.

Jimmy was now behind Skunk squeezing him in a rear naked choke. Ricky was being held by Spike while Razor punched him in the stomach. There was blood dripping from Ricky’s nose and mouth. Becky grabbed Razor by the balls (TESTICULAR CLAW!) and dragged him away from Ricky. Mike called out for Becky to duck, then got a running start and hit Razor with flying dropkick that sent him crashing over the bar and into Lippy.

Mike: Can you help Ricky? Frank needs me!

Becky: Go! We got this! If anybody hurts Frank they answer to me!

Mike: Not going to happen!

Thanks to his wrestling experience, Frank knew how to fall and land on his feet so after being tossed by Mike he bowled over four of the Hogz and found himself standing on the wrong side of the room, separated from his friends by the rest of the Hogz and two tables. He took a quick look at his position and made a plan. Before the Hogz could stand up, he leapt over the pool table hitting a forearm smash to the temple of another biker as he flew over it. Now he had his back to the wall and a pool table between him and a half dozen mad bikers.

Mike was on the opposite side of the bikers poised to strike while their backs were turned. He grabbed one by their hair, spinning him around. Mike dropped his hands to the bikers’ neck and pulled his head down into a knee strike to his face. The biker staggered back and Mike landed a lethal right hook sending the biker to the floor. Another biker turned to face Mike holding a piece of a chair as a weapon. He swung at Mike who ducked while sweeping the bikers legs out from under him. As the biker fell to the floor, Mike leapt up and came down on top of him with a knee strike to his chest followed by a few hard jabs to his face.

Two Road Hogz down.

Frank was temporarily safe but several bikers spread out and circled the pool table to come at him from both sides simultaneously. Frank ducked a punch from his right turning the move into a pele kick to the closest biker on his left. Frank avoided a low kick from the right and jumped onto the pool table. He kicked out at the man on the right catching him on the side of his head sending him sprawling to the floor. A third biker grabbed the pool cue and swung it wildly at Frank’s legs. Frank leaped over the pool cue with the skill that comes from years of jumping rope as part of his training. The biker tired quickly allowing Frank to reach down and grab several pool balls. He threw them at the biker, missing twice but the third time hitting him right between the eyes.

Four Road Hogz down.

Frank jumped off the table back to the center of the room so that he was back to back with Mike Jette. Lemmy and the remaining four Hogz surrounded them.

Frank: Are we having fun yet?

Mike: More than they are but we’re still outnumbered.

Frank: Let’s fix that. High low switch!

Frank and Mike turn to face each other instead of the Road Hogz. Frank puts his hands on Mike’s shoulders and leapfrogs over him to hit the SPAZ ATTACK to the nearest biker. Mike goes low grabbing a biker by the legs and knocking him to the floor. He keeps hold of the bikers legs and starts to spin him around knocking over two more of the bikers before the others back out of range. Mike keeps spinning the biker building momentum. While spinning, Mike steps sideways a few feet and slams the biker into the bar knocking him out.

Five Road Hogz down.

Skunk is turning a shade of reddish purple and almost passes out but he makes desperate move and slams Jimmy into a wall. Jimmy releases his choke hold. Skunk viciously kicks him in the head. Jimmy slumps to the floor, half conscious and no longer able to fight.

One Thunderbird Down.

Ricky and the Road Hogz member named Spike had been fighting over by the bathroom door. Compared to the rest of the fight, it was almost civilized. They circled each other and waited for an opening to throw one or two punches, then back off to circle each other some more.

Becky was dealing with Razor. He was much larger than her but she was proving to be a better, or at least dirtier, fighter. His balls would be aching for weeks after all the times she had grabbed them, punched them, and kicked them. Razor was making yet another attempt to grab Becky when she feinted a kick at his junk. Razor reflexively covered up his crotch leaving his face open. Becky swung a roundhouse right and connected with his jaw. She followed up with a bicycle kick that sent him to the floor.

Six Road Hogz down.

Becky turned her attention to Spike and Jimmy. She tapped Spike on his shoulder. The idiot actually turned around to see who was trying to get his attention giving Ricky an opening. Ricky grabbed Spike from behind, spun him around, and picked him up for a classic powerslam. Ricky sent Spike crashing through the bathroom door where he stayed, down for the count.

Seven Road Hogz down.

Lizzie decided to get involved. She came up from behind Frank with a bottle in her hand. Becky saw what Lizzie had in mind and wasn’t going to let it happen. She grabbed a chair and smashed it over Lizzie’s back.

Becky: That’s my man you skanky bitch! Hands off!

Frank hears Becky screaming at Lizzie. It both scares him and turns him on. Becky was one hell of a woman! He checks his surroundings again. He is now backed up against the bar with Lemmy and two other Hogz coming at him. Mike is behind them smashing another bikers head into the pool table until he collapses to the floor.

Eight Road Hogz down.

Lemmy and the other two bikers slowly approach Frank. Frank points behind them. They check behind them to see Mike Jette ready to join Frank and finish the fight. A Mexican standoff forms: Frank Lynn…three Road Hogz…Mike Jette…all standing and staring waiting for someone to make the next move.

Lemmy: You two are lot tougher than you look but there are still more of us than you. Give up and we’ll only beat you bad enough that you have to crawl away.

Frank: Tough talk. That’s all it is. I see a lot of Road Hogz taking naps right now. You’ll be joining them soon.

Mike: Sweet dreams boys.

While the standoff continues, Becky and Ricky try to wake up Jimmy and move him towards the front door. The path is clear for them to leave if they can but it is obvious Frank and Mike aren’t going anywhere until every single one of the Road Dogz is beaten. Nobody notices Skunk who is skulking in the shadows.

Skunk makes his move, charging at Ricky. There is no time for Ricky to react so Skunk hits him full force sending both men flying through the door in an explosion of wood and glass. They roll around in front of the Rusty Nail punching and kicking at each other. Skunk is getting the advantage on Ricky when Jimmy stands up and starts to walk slowly and deliberately towards Skunk. Becky tries to stop him, but he shrugs her off.

Jimmy: I AM NOT DONE WITH YOU, YOU STUPID MOTHERF*CKER!!!

Jimmy slowly makes his way towards Skunk, who can’t believe this guy won’t give up. He gets off Ricky and faces towards Jimmy. The look on Jimmy’s face says there will be no mercy. He is out for blood…Skunk’s blood. Skunk steps back, not sure whether he does so out of fear or to get a better position to defend against this rabid animal stalking him.

Everyone inside the bar is watching this play out. What started as a barroom brawl was in danger of become something far more serious. In a fight anger is vented, punches thrown, furniture smashed, and a few bruises dished out but everyone gets to walk away without serious injury or the threat of jail time. This was escalating to the next level. Even the rowdy bikers seemed to realize that and held back, possibly because of outstanding warrants or maybe they were not as badass as they acted.

The Road Hogz still standing inside the Rusty Nail cautiously made their way out to the parking lot, followed at a safe distance by Frank and Mike. The standoff continued outside as everyone waited to see what would happen between Skunk and Jimmy.

Jimmy gets within a few steps of Skunk and stops. They stare at each other like two gunfighters waiting to see who would draw first.

Skunk: Gotta’ admit it, you have balls. Won’t help you much because mine are bigger. I’m going to enjoy hurting you.

Jimmy: Shut the hell up! You’re too stupid to talk.

The stare down continues. Jimmy simmers letting his anger slowly build until the moment is just right. Skunk waits, preferring to counter Jimmy’s inevitable attack rather than lead off with one of his own.

Frank and Mike want to step in before someone gets seriously hurt but Lemmy and his friends are in the way. A few other bikers have recovered enough to stagger outside increasing the odds against Frank and Mike, who don’t dare turn their back on them. Jimmy is on his own against Skunk.

Lemmy: Skunk! These punks are tougher than we thought. Maybe you should drop it.

Frank: Jimmy! You made your point. You don’t have anything else to prove.

Both Skunk and Jimmy turn towards the crowd. They don’t need to speak to let everyone know they aren’t anywhere near done and they won’t let anyone stop them. They turn back towards each other.

Finally, Jimmy reaches his breaking point and jumps on Skunk throwing punches and kicks. Then he bites Skunk’s ear. The two roll around on the concrete parking lot purposely and viciously trying to poke an eye or get a tight grip around a neck to choke the other man. There are no sounds other than the two of them fighting. That is suddenly interrupted by the SUV’s horn.

BEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEP!

Now all eyes shift to the SUV, including Jimmy and Skunk who stop fighting long enough to stand up and face off again obviously not happy with the interruption. Ricky is sitting in the driver’s seat with his head out the window.

Ricky: Listen up! While you were all trying to bash each others brains out, I tied all of your motorcycles to the back of this SUV. Stop fighting now or I see how fast I can go from zero to sixty while dragging a dozen motorcycles!

Ricky isn’t bluffing either. He used the climbing ropes to run a loop through the front wheels of every motorcycle and tied the rope to the trailer hitch. It might not hold for long, but it would be long enough to do substantial damage to the Road Hogz' choppers.

Lemmy: Sh*t! My old lady will kill me if something happens to my Harley.

Ricky: You have to the count of 5 before I hit the gas! 1…

Lemmy throws his hands in the air and so do the other Road Hogz. Their motorcycles are too important to risk being damaged or destroyed. Frank and Mike hold up their hands, palms open to indicate they are done with the fight too. It all comes down to the two men who have developed an instant hatred for each other: Jimmy and Skunk.

Lemmy: Skunk! Stop! They win!

Ricky: 2…

Skunk: Bullsh*t! No way this fa…

Jimmy kicks Skunk in the balls and Skunk drops to his knees. Jimmy grabs him by the hair and holds his head up. He cocks his other hand into a fist and readies to punch Skunk.

Jimmy: Keep talking…give me a reason.

Ricky: 3…

Lemmy: Skunk!!! I am the president of the Road Hogz and I am ordering you…STAND DOWN!!! (turns to Frank) Please, get your friend to stop. This is over. I swear on it.

Frank: Jimmy! You made your point. He won’t be bashing gay people for a long time. Let it go.

Ricky: 4…I’m not kidding. THIS ENDS NOW!

Skunk: yeah…it’s over…I’m sorry you’re a lame ass fa…

Jimmy yanks hard on Skunk’s hair stopping him from finishing the offensive word.

Jimmy: If that’s supposed to be an apology then it sucks. F*ck you.

Jimmy swings at Skunk connecting hard with his jaw knocking him to the ground. He spits on Skunk. Skunk spits out several teeth.

Jimmy: Stay down dumbass. Now it’s over.

Skunk rolls onto his back and looks up at Jimmy but makes no attempt to get up. He looks towards the other Road Hogz for support but gets none. He is forced to admit defeat.

Frank: You did it Ricky. Fight’s over. Turn off the engine.

Ricky does as Frank asks, but stays in the drivers’ seat to keep the peace. Jimmy stands tall over Skunk for a second, then turns and walks towards Frank, Mike, and Becky with the most gangster limp they have ever seen. Lemmy orders the conscious Road Hogz to try and wake up the unconscious Road Hogz. Lemmy approaches Frank and friends.

Lemmy: Just who the hell are you people? I’ve never seen anybody fight like that except in kung fu movies.

Mike: We’re the Thunderbirds, the best tag team in the WFWF. I’m Mike Jette.

Frank: I’m Frank Lynn. I was an MMA fighter before pro wrestler. You f*cked up when you started a fight with us.

Nobody’s tone is very friendly but neither is it overtly hostile. The Road Hogz know they lost and as long as Jimmy can drag their bikes away they have to act civil. Frank and Mike are relieved that there won’t be any more fighting.

Lemmy: Guess so. Couldn’t tell from looking at you. You hit like a Mack truck. (Lemmy rubs his jaw to emphasize the point.) Hell if you joined the Hogz thats what we’d call you: Mack. And you would be Rooster on account of that red streak in your hair.

Mike: Rooster? No way. I go by Rooster and my career is over. I’m the Fireman.

Lemmy: You’d be Rooster to us. She would be the Red Fox, beautiful but deadly. The guy in the SUV would be Tricky Ricky because of that trick he pulled with our bikes. And you. (looks at Jimmy with both fear and respect) I guess you’d be Animal because once you get riled up you are an animal. I personally don’t have anything against homosexuals so I’m sorry about Skunk. He’s been in prison so he’s more hardcore than the rest of us.

Jimmy: Not that hardcore anymore. In the future, you should put a gag on him when in public.

Point made Jimmy, time to let it go or we’ll be back to throwing punches. I don’t think I have another brawl left in me and I’d rather not find out.

Frank: Not that I want to be your friend, but what did you mean when you said your wife would kill you if something happened to your motorcycle? I can’t picture the president of the Road Hogz being afraid of his wife.

Lemmy: I don’t know if I should tell you but you might kick my ass again if I don’t. See, we aren’t a real biker gang. The Road Hogz are a bunch of suburban dads who get together every other weekend to ride our hogs. I have another year of payments on that cycle until it is mine and not the banks. Same for most of us.

Lemmy takes a moment to point at each Road Hogz member and give a quick bio.

Lemmy: Razor…actually Randall the accountant. Spike…Steven the computer technician. Lizzie…Elisabeth the librarian. Skunk…George the landscaper. There is a mailman, a college professor, and a physical therapist too. We’re going to need Phil for some physical therapy after this. We’re all normal upstanding citizens during the week with jobs and families.

Frank: What the hell? Why put on a show if you're just a bunch of suburbanites on a weekend escapade?

Lemmy: Its a role play thing. We get into the part. Sometimes we get carried away when people buy into our act. You’d be surprised what people will do to avoid a fight. You were the first people who had the nerve to fight us.

Mike: I’m happy we did. You shouldn’t do that to anyone. Its just wrong.

Lemmy: Well, you taught us a lesson. We’ll think twice before we try it again.

While they were talking, one of the downed Road Hogz recovered enough to stumble over to Lemmy. It is Razor. He makes sure to stay well away from Becky.

Razor: Did I hear you say that you’re the Thunderbirds? My kid loves you. He says you are sure to beat the champs. Can I get an autograph for him?

Frank & Mike: No!

Frank: Don’t be a dick the next time we meet, if there is a next time, and we may reconsider.

Lemmy: I don’t envy anybody who has to fight you two.

Frank: I don’t either. We are the best. We just proved it.

Mike: Remember that. We are the best. Don’t mess with us ever again. We won’t be so nice next time.

On that note, Frank, Mike, Becky, and Jimmy say a chilly goodbye to the Road Hogz, get into the SUV (no longer tied to the motorcycles), and drive away leaving the Road Hogz to clean up the mess left behind at The Rusty Nail. Most of the bikers were inside helping Lippy clean up the mess but Lemmy and Skunk remained outside watching the Thunderbirds and friends drive away.

Skunk: Think they bought it, that we’re a bunch of lame ass suburban dads going through a mid-life crisis?

Lemmy: I hope so. If word got out to the other chapters that we got our asses kicked by a bunch of civilians, they would revoke our charter.

Meanwhile, in the SUV:

Ricky: Do you really think they were just weekend warriors?

Frank: Not for a second. Did you see the tats on Skunk, Razor, and Lemmy? And how about Spike’s scars? He’s been on the losing end of a few serious fights. I think they were a real biker gang trying to save face after getting their butts kicked by us.

Mike: I have to ask you Frank, did you plan that as another of your training exercises for the weekend?

Frank: Nope. It was pure luck, you decide whether good or bad. I really did have to piss. You can trust me on that.

Mike makes an odd expression. Something about the way Frank said it did not assure Mike that this fight wasn’t something more than a case of wrong place wrong time.

Mike: Well, at least we know we can handle large numbers coming after us. We definitely have a chance against Dean, Drakz, and all of their thugs.

Frank: Yes we do. We are the Thunderbirds! We are ready for anything!

At that moment, the radio station chose to play Born to Be Wild. Ricky turns the car stereo all the way up and everyone sings along.


Notes:

I knew if I was going to compete with Drakz and JDFranchise I would need a talking dog. That was the single idea I had as I started to write this piece. The rest is 50 pages of meaningless filler to set up the talking dog spot (heh heh, I made a pun).

All kidding aside, going into a match against those two is very daunting challenge for my third RP ever. I tried to make this a bit more focused than my previous RP. I don’t know how well it worked out but I really did try. I freely admit that the bar fight was a guilty pleasure I would have shoehorned into whatever RP I wrote. It was nice that it actually fit into the themes of teamwork and how to deal with superior numbers that crops up throughout the piece.

Apologies to anybody who is a rock climber. I took some liberties to get my point across. I’m not getting paid to write this so I didn’t do any research beyond what I’ve learned from watching Everest and some National Geographic shows.

Comicazi is a real comic and collectibles store in Davis Square that I visited once a week when I lived in Boston for my comic book fix. If you are ever in the area and into comics, I suggest you drop by. They are some very nice people.

I hope you enjoy this piece. I hope I put up a good fight. I look forward to reading your comments.