The scene opened to the driveway of the Thomas’ home. Jalie’s rusted black El Camino was parked haphazardly, halfway across the driveway and halfway across the entrance to the small courtyard. She was sprawled out on a tarp in the back of the car, fast asleep. Three bottles of Cuervo littered the back, as well as a few broken beer bottles and the shattered remnants of a bong. There was also a large birthday cake shoved in the corner. It read “Happy Birthday Muhammad” in neon orange icing. Hobo Nick came wandering out into the courtyard. He was dressed in his usual tightie whities and a knee-length brown trench coat, despite it being well into the nineties. He pulled a switchblade from the pocket of his coat and clicked it open. Jalie jerked into consciousness at the sound. Nick leaned into the back to cut himself a slice of the birthday cake.

“Should I even bother asking where you’ve been?” Nick questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Jalie paused to think but this seemed to cause her immediate, intense pain somewhere in her frontal lobe.

“Was I not here?” She asked.

Nick shook his head and crammed a fistful of cake into his mouth. Jalie took a moment to look at her surroundings.

“How long have I been gone?”

“Ain’t sheenya shinsh Shunday.” Nick mumbled around a mouthful of cake. There was a sharp cracking noise. He pulled a sliver of glass out of his mouth that matched the bong broken at Jalie’s feet.

“Shit. The last really clear thing I remember is Barnes following me up the ramp after that fucking disaster of a match.”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah, he was like a fucking puppy. It was almost cute. I know Seth was laughing his ass off when he watched the footage.”

Jalie shook her head. “It might have looked like adoration from the audiences’ point of view, but actually he was screaming something about sinking his teeth into my ass. I managed to lose him backstage when I ducked into a broom closet and ran into who I think was Danny Legend.

“So you run from one Legend to another.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Anyway,” Jalie sighed, “I imagine at some point Barnes is going to develop a new fascination. Or maybe get laid by someone he didn’t have to bribe, blackmail, or build. Although, the violence aspect of all of this is kind of hot. There’s nothing wrong with a few bumps and bruises or bloodshed in the sack.”

Nick dropped the remaining cake from his hand and glared at her. “You disgust me.”

“Back at you, filth wizard.” Jalie muttered. She lazily climbed over the side of the El Camino and trudged into the house. Cody Carson was lounging on one of the sofas in the living room, watching some MMA contest.

“God damnit. When did you get here?” Jalie asked.

“Yesterday. Your sister kicked me out. I’m crashing here until her fucking hormones re-balance.” Carson stated.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Jalie informed him.

“Why not? I thought we were homies, dude?”

“Because one: you watch UFC. Two: you have no concept of personal space. Three: you sing in the shower. Four: you sing to Lady Gaga in the shower. Five: LADY-FUCKING-GAGA!”

“Alright! Jesus. What the hell do you have against Lady Gaga anyway?” Cody asked.

“I like to know where I stand on other people’s genders. I don’t like guessing games. I don’t like Alexander King. Andrew Barnes may be a jackass, but I’m pretty sure he has a dick.”

“So you’d be a fan of Lady Gaga if you knew for sure she had a dick? That has to be some sort of prejudice.” Carson protested.

“You’re a dick. Get off my couch. You can sit on the floor until you stop being prepubescent.”

“Bitch.”

“Cock mongler.” Jalie shot back.

Seth came into the living room from the backyard. He took one look at Carson and pointed to the front door.

“She just said I could crash on the floor!” Cody whined. “Come on, dude. I’m your brother-in-law.”

Seth gave a low, anguished cry. Jalie rushed over to him and put an arm around him, stroking his back in soothing circles. She glared at Carson.

“Don’t remind him of that.” She hissed.

Cody thrust his lower lip out in a pout and grabbed a pillow off the couch. He curled up on the floor and turned his attention back to the television.

Jalie was sitting in her living room later that evening. Carson had taken off to pick up dinner along with Hobo Nick. Seth walked in holding a cordless phone and looking annoyed. He tossed the phone onto the couch beside Jalie.

“I just had an interesting conversation.” He began.

Jalie stared up at him. Her eyes were heavy lidded and a slow smile crept up her face. Seth looked from the bottle of clear liquid at her feet to the handkerchief clutched in her right hand.

“What are you… Is that ether?” Seth demanded.

“Ha!” Jalie snorted. “…Probably.” She added.

Seth picked up the bottle and held his hand out for the cloth. Jalie handed it to him reluctantly. Seth headed for the kitchen, clutching the cloth to his face and inhaling deeply.

“Hypocrite.” Jalie muttered.

Seth tossed the handkerchief in the sink and stuck the bottle on top of the fridge. He stood there for a moment before re-thinking the decision and bringing both items back to the couch. He sat down next to his wife and doused the cloth again.

“So what do you think the odds are of you walking away with the universal title at Epidemic?” Seth asked.

“Pfft. I will be content with walking away from Epidemic, period. I’ll have to get past the drunks, commies, Nigel, and Clemmens, among others.”

“Fuckin’ Clemmens…” Seth muttered.

“Different Clemmens. Still sore about that one, hm?” Jalie asked, smirking.

Seth and Jalie had what some would call a rocky relationship, mostly due to Jalie being a flake and Seth being mentally disturbed. Their first break-up saw Jalie wind up with Shawn Walsh, and eventually beating the living hell out of Seth with a cattle prod. After a long period of hospitalizing each other they got back together. At one point, Jalie decided Shane Clemmens was an interesting figure and decided to throw in her lot with him. While most people would have discussed this with their partner, Jalie instead took the opportunity to sabotage Seth and surprise him with the news. She then quit working altogether in order to tour South America, and make one feeble attempt at becoming a drug kingpin. Naturally, Seth was a bit cautious when it came to trusting his wife. She loved him, and would kill for him, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t set his car on fire to watch it burn. So why is he still with her? Because the sex is fucking amazing.

Seth and Jalie spent a few more minutes slowly handing the cloth back and forth. When Seth realized the room was sideways he threw the handkerchief across the room. Jalie leaned her head back against the couch, then shifted her body to look at him. When that proved uncomfortable she let herself slide into his lap and stared at him upside down.

“You… Are so… Tall. It’s like you’re made of neck.” Jalie said, her voice full of wonder.

“I wish you were made of tits. That would be… Wonderful.” Seth said with a sigh.

“Yeah, fuckin’… Tits, man.” Jalie agreed.

The front door opened and Cody Carson walked in, followed by Hobo Nick and Jay Dumas. Each of them were carrying bags and buckets from KFC.

“Honey, I’m home!” Cody called.

“Tits!” Seth replied.

Cody dropped the food on the counter and began unloading the bags.

“I grabbed a bunch of those double-down sandwiches.” He explained.

Jalie made an exaggerated retching sound.

“Fucking American food, I swear…” Seth muttered. “Gee, Cody, can I have mine with extra cholesterol? Or does that come standard? What the fuck is wrong with you guys?”

“Hey, fuck you bud-day. At least we don’t put gravy on everything.” Jay snapped.

“We don’t put gravy on everything. Just fries. You have no room to talk, anyway. You come from a culture with only three ingredients. Beans, rice, tortilla. So shut the fuck up, soup nazi.” Seth shot back.

Jalie was laughing uncontrollably.

“You know, speaking as a guy who has eaten all of the mentioned foods out of a dumpster, I think we should just agree that it’s nice to not be fighting stray cats for dinner.” Nick stated.

Jay stared at him, disgust showing on his face. “You ate stray cats for dinner?” He asked, shocked.

Nick stared at him in a very disappointed way. Jalie had finally stopped laughing.

“Heh, pussy.” Seth giggled.

Jalie’s laughing resumed.

If I had a nickel for every time someone has threatened me with rape, I’d have… Well, I don’t know how much I’d have. The fact is, Barnes, you wouldn’t know where to begin, buddy. You say you’d want me kept in your bedroom as a sex toy and a punching bag, but what happens when I hit you back? What if I get a little too rough with you? If we did go down that road, who’s to say I’d let YOU out of the bedroom? Maybe I’d keep you in there for when I get bored. Step inside, smack you around a bit, let you return the favor, then demand a sandwich. You and I are too much alike to settle into your old-world idea of domestic bliss. I understand that you’re horny. I can also understand the trials and tribulations you must go through just getting out of bed every day.

I’m aware that you find me attractive. I’m flattered, really. But you find pretty much anything with the female chromosome attractive. So why the fixation on me? You, sir, are desperate for a fuck. It doesn’t have to come from me. I’m sure there are plenty of RWA groupies that might believe you were another Lukas. It’s a sure thing, dude.

Not to mention, you can score a willing chick to do all the shit you’re looking for with very little hassle. She’ll cook, clean, and fuck. And if you slap her hard enough, she may even pretend to like it. Russia has plenty of these little beauties, as does Iran. And if she’s not a beauty, well, America has doctors who specialize in that kind of thing. Chances are she won’t even speak or write English. All she’ll do is mutter unintelligibly and write in her little terrorist squiggle language. Take it under consideration, Andrew. I still think you and I could have a hell of a time trashing a hotel room and skipping out on the bill, and I still think you’d make a damn fine drinking buddy, but you won’t be getting into my pants any time soon. So consider a russkie bride, eh? Miranda Reizeger isn’t bad looking, and you do like the exotic.

Although, I don’t think Miranda would make a suitable companion for anyone unless they were wearing protective gear and armed for grizzlies. She kind of reminds me of myself a few years ago before I discovered the therapeutic effects of amyls and Jim Beam. She’s pretty focused on fucking up Annika, which is fine by me. So long as that impotent rage isn’t pointed in my direction I’m a happy camper, considering I’m still getting the hang of things and I’m kind of fucking slow right now. Although, Miranda should bear in mind that winning doesn’t mean much to me. I’m here to amuse myself and collect a paycheck. So if she gets too heavy, well, it’s not beyond me to plant a crowbar in the base of her skull to get her to calm the fuck down. Life is too short to spend it trying to kill a sibling. Why do you think Cody Carson still breathes?

I suppose I should take into consideration the unlikely event of me passing into the main event at Epidemic. That match is going to be one big, happy, clusterfuck. The only title on the line here I haven’t held is the universal title – one which I’ve never had any interest in pursuing. It comes with such responsibility. And press. And Walsh breathing down your neck. So while I may not have any tremendous interest in the championships themselves, I still wouldn’t mind passing on into the match simply for the fun of it. Seth and I both came into this business with a fondness for ladders. If by chance I do wind up throwing my name in with the several others in the main event, then there’s a good chance a lot of people are going to get hurt. I’ll almost certainly be one of them, but I’ll be taking as many of you fuckers out with me as I can.