Since no one wants to fight, maybe we can love.

[Trash]

January 4th, 1997. Trash was traveling on a train through Idaho, looking at the potato fields and his mind traveled back to a scene in a diner that he happened to visit before boarding the speeding monster of a train he was on.

"Hello there," said a sharply dressed woman as she slapped the egg and cheese dish on the Sanity Assassin's dirty table. Trash looked up to her and for some reason she looked familiar.

Maybe it was from that time when Trash and Timmy the War Clown fought in the schoolyard back in 1988. Or perhaps it was during the week before, when Trash finally finished writing his epic poem which he was hoping to publish soon, a poem titled "The hungry bluejay",

Perhaps this waitress...



NO!

Hey you guys, gotta get used to that style of e-fedding if no one feels like showing up to have an actual match. Back to the basics, we go to Trash in the ring as Wrath opens up. The Sanity Assassin is standing there again and pointing at the clock on the raven vision up on the stage, a clock that counts down the days, hours, minutes, seconds and even miliseconds until Real Extreme Wrestling shuts down.

And with that, an entire style of entertainment goes to Valhalla with it.

Trash : BigHomie, I've accepted your challenge but I believe it would be a bit more challenging for me if you actually happened to make it to the ring. Since you're not there yet, and I've given you what? A week? to do so, then I'm going to get to the next order of business.

White Widow, I accept your challenge as well. You want to take The Sanity Assassin, a man who's never so much as touched a woman's hand to go on a date with you?

You got it. But it probably won't be fun or entertaining.

Since I'm all out of ideas, I'll let you pick up the slack and decide where we go.
Take your time...it's not like anybody will interrupt us...

(TBC by : hint! hint! )

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[whitewidow]

Take my time, he says? Oh, but this opportunity is too good to wait for. I reach out and grab Trash's hand, diving back toward the curtain and hauling him out of the arena. The crowd is left with an image that would probably be metaphorical and allegorical and deeply appropriate for the state of REW: an empty ring. But we won't linger on that too long, because who cares about wrestling rings and ropes and turnbuckles and bells and belts and all those trappings of some sort of competitive martial sport federation when there's creative writing afoot?

I take Trash to my locker-room, which was once a drab beige dripping down the cinderblock walls but now has been freshly coated - what else? - black. Black as the night, black as the total absence of light, black as the heart of a hedge-fund manager. And there, lying on the bench in this little but well decorated locker-room is my faithful spaniel/arguably the most dominant for in e-wrestling history, John Muttley White.[/i]

JMW: Wuff! What's he doing here?

White Widow: We're going on a date. First, though, shower time.

I reach to my neck, sliding the zip down my back as I march towards the locker's showers.[/i]

Trash: Um...

JMW: Don't even think about following.

White Widow: Oh settle down. I won't be long, and then we can go somewhere nice.

JMW: Nice? With Trash?! His idea of a date is reading Tolstoy in a dumpster behind an abandoned art gallery. High brow but low rent.

I wave my hand, dismissing the mutt's complaints. In I go, washing off what might be the last public appearance I ever do before the crowd here in REW. The StarMaker arena burned to the ground in dramatic fashion, and that was not enough to extinguish life here. So sad to see that so soon after its resurrection, it might just well turn into an abandoned building because people stop showing up. A ghost town, a derelict, a drifting ship whose crew abandoned her long ago. Now there's so few of us left, and no recruits who seem to have their sea legs at all.

Ok, metaphor over, I dash out of the shower room with a pretty black dress and my hair made nice by the magic of television. Not a moment too soon, either, because Trash is in the middle of an argument with my dog.[/i]

JMW: Balderdash! The original My Little Pony was a classic, this new abomination is nothing but saccharine schmaltz trading on Internet memes.

Trash: Think of the deep and universal themes of friendship, cooperation, love! It's a modern day Dickensian epic!

White Widow: Oh, brother...

Trash was right. In a locker-room where a former REW champion who has been resurrected into the body of his own pet dog, an argument has broken out not over the fact that Trash actually murdered him once upon a time, but a frickin' cartoon.[/i]

White Widow: That's it, we're getting out of here. Everybody follow me, I have a picnic planned.

And with that I dash out of the door, ducking into a stairwell that goes up... and up... and up.[/i]

TBC on the roof.

[Trash]

Fast forward a few hours and White Widow and Trash are sitting in theater, watching a concert.
Up for their enjoyment is none other than a picnic, or rather, the Picnic.



The Russian language music flows through the air and Widow shouts over it to Trash.

White Widow : "This isn't what I had in mind..."

Trash : "Oh...?"

Withdrawn as usual, Trash lets himself get lost in the music.

Worst date ever? I'll let White Widow handle it, it was her idea.




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[whitewidow]

After enjoying the musical stylings of the Picnic, I grab Trash's hand and drag him out the fire exit, into the alley behind the concert hall these magnificent musicians were playing this evening. As it happens this concert hall was also the Starmaker arena, since it was rebuilt after the last time it was burned down I guess somebody felt they might as well put it to use. That wrestling company run out of there sure isn't doing anything with the place. I push Trash against the wall, hands on his shoulders, breathing heavy, warm air down the neck of his upturned collar on a grubby old overcoat. I wonder if he ever read The Overcoat by Gogol, and I wonder if anybody but the two of us has a prayer of understanding what I'm talking about. Then I remember that it truly is just the two of us, alone in the night. No other ringers behind a curtain, ready to rush in and beat us up and make us swear with uncharacteristic frequency. No crowd in the shadows, screaming for action, baying for blood. No army of administrators to slap a coat of paint on the crumbling, graffiti stained wall I have Trash held up against, as they hope an off-hand image tweak will undo the damage of years worth of decay.

I look into his eyes and, though his stubborn social awkwardness fights it, he looks back into mine.

I lean in close, lips parted...[/i]

White Widow: Follow me.

With that I push off him, hop onto a dumpster, and with the grace of a cat scale a fire escape high onto the roof. Trash chases, eager, excited, possibly surprised at himself as he follows a light-footed young lady onto the top of the Starmaker arena. I stand at the other edge, looking down into the traffic-strewn street, and he locks his arms around my waist.

If only e-wrestling were not dead, I could grab him with a snapmare or spin out into a German suplex. But this is the way of things now, a mixture of teen angst and clumsy romance befitting Twilight fanfiction. I sway my hips in his grip, turn to face him, and in a second we are locked in a deep, enchanting kiss.

Well, I guess it's more romantic than some drunken thug in a wifebeater opening every vignette in bed with a veritable octopussy of beautiful, expensive and unlikely to exist young ladies. This is romance, this is real. Lightning might not be striking the stage but it crackles in the metaphorical space between our lips. I say metaphorical because Trash and I are macking away like dying fish, revolving on the spot as we cling and grope and hold each other tight.

Then I let go, look him in the eye. He looks back, shy but proud, a sly smile on his rarely raised cheek. I smile back, flaunting that devilish grin that runs in the family.[/i]

White Widow: My name is Andrea Jezebel White. You killed my brother. Prepare to die.

So I shove him off the roof. Trash plummets like Facebook stock, and I, alone and unobserved, walk away.[/i]

[Sung Ho]

Just by his luck since Sung Ho was suspended from REW for a week, Sung Ho took a job driving a dump truck. Trash fall into the truck fall of garbage which Sung Ho parks in front of thee arena.

White runs out to see her work but is shocked to see this big dump truck.

White : U gotta be shittin me, u mean I did all of this just to send trash....into trash? who the fuck brought this truck here...

Suddenly White hears laughter.

Sung Ho : "Guess who...BITCH!"

The fans at home laugh as Sung Ho hops out of the truck hes wearing a military camo baseball hat and camo pants and jacket. Laughing Sung Ho runs up to White.

White : Your suppose to be suspended!

Sung Ho : Guess what, I'm not!


Sung Ho hits the stunner on White! He then gets into the truck and dumps ALL of the garbage and trash onto Widow. Now both of they are in garbage and Sung Ho just stands there laughing. He crotch chops them to tease them and then grabs a mic.

Sung Ho : REW fans...MERRY CHRISTMAS! HO HO HO!

All the fans around the world cheer Ho! Ho! Ho!




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