Happy XMas (WCF is Over)
Dec 27, 2020 20:46:35 GMT -5
“The RevolutiDaddy” Wesley, Jared Holmes, and 2 more like this
Post by Jared Holmes on Dec 27, 2020 20:46:35 GMT -5
The fireplace crackled as the camera slowly panned into the den. The walls were lined with bookshelves, wreathes and boughs of holly hanging from every nook and cranny. In a plush armchair, wrapped in his favorite cord-knit sweater, Wade Moor peered through a pair of reading spectacles at the leather-bound volume in his lap. Looking up at the camera, he removed his glasses as he smiled sheepishly.
Wade Moor: Oh, hello! I didn’t see you there! You know – this time of year, the weather outside gets so terrible. Makes ol’ Swagrid here wanna kick up his feet, get the fire roaring, pour himself a big ol’ cup of hot cocoa, and snuggle up with a good book. My favorite books for this time of year are the classics, stories with a sense and spirit of the season.
Wade paused, putting the book down and picking up his mug of cocoa. Mini-marshmallows floated on the top.
Wade Moor: In fact, thinking of the season it’s only a few days away from Christmas when the 6ix God throws his festive holiday party. But not every party has gone without a hitch. Feels like every year some fuccboi or another tries to crash it. A few times the #BeachKrew even had to end a few limping careers…
Narrator: T’was the night before Christmas and not a creature stirred…
Jared Holmes: Wade, if you keep this gimmick up I’ll say the gamer word.
Wade looked up from the book. The door to the den was open and Jared’s head was poking through.
Jared Holmes: Seriously dude, the ice luge just arrived and we’re doing Rumpleminz shots. Stop reading like a fucking nerd and be festive.
Wade looked from Jared back to the camera.
Wade Moor: I’mma keep it real with you guys, nobody likes these themed promos and it was only just gonna be a set-up to featuring Steven Singh as Ben Shapiro’s head on Herbie the Elf’s body like this:
So we’re gonna leave that here and kick that old school #BeachKrew shit.
Twas the week before Clash when Jared staggered from his front door like a bat out of Hell, his bathrobe billowing in the wind behind him with the letter opener clutched white-knuckle as his eyes focused on the mailbox.
Jared Holmes: Letitbehereletitbehereletitbehereletitbehere
As he wrenched the flap open, his hand rummaged around inside, a large golden envelope torn free (Note to Tort and Digger: this is canonically how AW sends mail. You need to accept this). As the blade slid under the flap, Jared was at half-mast.
Jared Holmes: GivemeWALTERIwantWALTERsohelpmegodI’mgoingtoburythatfatretardlikeatimecapsule
With the flap open, Jared pulled out the contents of the envelope. His enthusiasm drained immediately.
Jared Holmes: Who the fuck is Steven Singh?
Wade stepped out from the front door of Chateaux Holmes, his feet glad in his reindeer onesie as they crunched along the gravel drive.
Wade Moor: Did you get the booking?
Jared looked up from the letter at Wade.
Jared Holmes: Do you know who Steven Singh is?
Wade Moor: Sounds familiar. He had the whole obsession with Andy Capp’s Hot Fries, right?
Jared Holmes: That was Johnny Fly.
Andre Aquarius: Nah, man, he was in the Pride.
Jared Holmes: When did you get here?
Andre Aquarius: I came out with Wade, bruh, the racist-ass Narrator couldn’t spare a few words of description for a yung black man.
Jared’s eyes darted between the two of them. His face increasingly soured.
Jared Holmes: Why are you both here? Do you guys just live here? Did we do sus shit last night?
Andre Aquarius: Nah, we just gotta pack as many of us into this as possible so first timers get a sense of the group and its dynamics, ya feel me?
Wade Moor: Good for word count, too.
Jared Holmes: I still don’t know who Steven Singh is, and this is starting to feel masturbatory.
Wade put a comforting arm around Jared, slapping him on the shoulder.
Wade Moor: You can’t get any more masturbatory than the Howard Black Retirement Tour that no one asked for. I think Rabid knows Singh.
Jared Holmes: That means I gotta call Rabid.
Andre Aquarius: Wasn’t he comin’ to the Hannukah Party tonight?
Jared Holmes: Does he have to?
Wade Moor: You always talked about how we’d have been a much better stable with way more mileage if there wasn’t all the dissension.
Jared sighed. He turned and started back towards the manor.
Jared Holmes: Okay, fine. But if he ruins things like he did my wedding by telling someone I brainwashed them or trying to exsanguinate some thottie, I’m making you pay for the maid service.
He paused, his eyes trailing up towards the sky. A look of understanding and joy crossed his face as he wheeled on his heel.
Jared Holmes: I remembered who Steven Singh was!
Jared’s eyes narrowed and mouth twisted up with malevolent glee.
Jared Holmes: And I remember who his stablemate was…
Yeah, that’s as much effort as you’re getting out of me on this one, buddy. At first I was pretty stoked on the whole idea of me finally beating the ever-living dog shit out of you on what would be a rare special appearance for you – there’s always been this kinda unwarranted comparison between us (you’re clearly another Joey Flash knock-off, while the infinitely more talented Ethan King was the Jared Holmes facsimile), so it would be really funny to embarrass you and show just how large the gulf in talent between us is. Then as I started actually prepping for the match, I remembered why I never worked ONE; you just can’t expect someone to have the whole heart in it during the holidays. So congratulations in advance on still getting owned by my anemic effort, you fucking pussy lmao.
Thing is, I never put much stock in this wrestling crap. If you’ve been around since WCF (by “you” I mean the viewer, and I assume the answer is “yes” because tbh who actually gives a shit about Final ONE), you’d know that I really only started this to hang out with my friends and piss off my dad. Now I just don’t really talk to my dad, and I get to hang out with my friends all the time since we retired from this stupid sport, so I’m not sure why I accepted this booking.
So what am I doing here? Well, I’mma keep it real – when Wavedigger hit me up about this, he mentioned me getting the chance to embarrass and humiliate the one person I’d always wanted. Naturally, I thought he meant that dumpy fat lunch lady WALTER; who wouldn’t want to spend a week picking on a retarded virgin that everyone’s afraid of and then beat him up in a legalized fight? Do you know how much muff I’d put down in 24 hours with that kind of work?
But that’s not who I’m getting, is it Steve? This is what happens when the smarks leave the stands (or announce table) and getting their hands on the booking sheet – they start thinking of their “dream matches” and ruin my holiday by making me have to go through a storage unit for my boots so I can beat up some ethnic valor thief who changed his last name so he could get into University of Wisconsin and a WCF locker room on phony Affirmative Action grounds. Thanks a fuckin’ lot.
I remember when WCF was actually kinda fun and interesting. You had Pantheon – you had that time we murdered Scarecrow on pay-per-view – you had that fat redneck and his cadre of rejects – you had that time Gemini Battle snuffed his own baby in the crib to see if he could be as good as Joey Flash – you even had those juggalos we got to beat up. What a great time WCF was back then, when the actually talented wrestlers sat at the top of the card and the dumbshit rejects teamed with Captain WCF in gimmicky lower-card storylines. What happened?
Well, I’ll take fault for that. It’s hard to feel the desire to carry a company on your back when you just obliterated FPV for the millionth time in your career and next up is Dion Necurat. And for that, I’d like to do what has been a long time coming and apologize:
You represent the (period) worst (period) period (period) of WCF. When people look back fondly during Final ONE – when they’re playing the little clip show of WCF’s best moments before its send-off – they’re gonna feature Mad Dogg, Torture, Odin, Corey, Johnny Fly, #BeachKrew, Dune, the Poondock Saints, and maybe a cursory nod to idk Thomas Bates or something. But know who they’re not gonna have? Noble Savage, Mikey Xtreme, or Steven Singh. God what a wretched time.
I can picture it now:
Seth hunched over his desk like the rat-faced goblin he is and you trembling in the cheap polyester arm chair he has across his desk. “Steven!” he barks with bacchanal madness in his eyes, “I need another generically good looking, smooth talking wunderkind villain to head my show! Give me the King boy in your stable!”
“B-b-but Mister Lerch,” you respond with tears in your eyes, “I can be that guy! I even have the con artist bit you like so much down! Please reconsider!”
Seth leans forward, his beady eyes narrowing to even beadier slits.
“Start a cult.”
Fuck, that is the bleakest image I’ve had in a while. I’m gonna need a few stiff drinks to scrub that from my long-term memory retention. I’ll even name the following day’s hangover “the Steven Singh title reign.”
Anyway, I guess that’s it. I really can’t be bothered to give you any more thought this holiday season. I’m only doing this because there’s a chick I’m trying to smash who wants a #fuccboi’s head on a plate like John the Baptist, and you’re the closest option. I’m probably just gonna kick you in the balls or something then Wade and I will pull you in half like a holiday popper. God, you suck. Fuck off forever, and tell Erica I could actually make her cum. Let’s wrap this up with another little Christmas song.
Perched atop his throne, Jared Claus finished his list and checked it twice:
Wade Moor – Nice, get him a new fedora
Andre Aquarius – Nice, share your drugs with him
Thursday
Teddy Blaze – Naughty, coal
Joey Flash – Naughty, I can’t believe I simped a dude who got retired by an alcoholic munchkin, doesn’t even deserve coal
Spencer Adams – Naughty, but he probably has a whole make-up drawer full of coal at this point
John Rabid – Idk I guess we’re fine but I just don’t really want to get him anything? I was gonna lie and say it hadn’t shown up from Amazon yet?
Olive Adler – VERY NICE, slide in her DMs again
Kyle Kemp – Nice, send him a fruit basket (maybe 2?) to share with his weird hippie commune
FPV – Naughty, coal
Satisfied, he rolled the great sheaf of paper and slid it into the ceremonial wooden sheath. With this holiest of rituals complete, the decidedly COVID-unfriendly party exploded in thunderous cheers. The speakers boomed as the Christmas Punch (provided courtesy of a new investment venture) flowed into glasses. The time for wasseling had come.
Wading through the sea of bodies, the jingle bells that lined the fur trim of Jared’s Santa hat clinked. A few thots reached for desperate attempts to caress the passing Peacock King, but his mind was on far more pressing matters. At the far end of the room, Andre Aquarius was passing a gingerbread blunt with Dustin Beaver.
Jared Holmes: Happy Kwanza.
Andre Aquarius: Happy Hannukah.
The two exchanged a dap before Jared turned to Dustin and exchanged the same.
Jared Holmes: Haven’t seen you in a hot second, man, glad to have you.
Dustin Beaver: Glad to be here, man.
Jared Holmes: Wade still in the den thinking he’s narrating a Claymation holiday special?
Andre Aquarius: Nah, bruh, I ain’t seen him in a second.
Dustin Beaver: He had a lot of punch.
Jared nodded.
Jared Holmes: Keep an eye out for him. Have Prancer and Vixen showed yet?
Andre Aquarius: Foyer. Just arrived.
The Peacock King turned, his gaze turning to the grand hall. A familiar face stuck out through the crowd, and he moved toward it with purpose. As he cut past a dancing couple, a hand-off was made – now, briefcase in hand, Jared grinned and raised his arms invitingly.
Jared Holmes: Glad you guys could make it!
Carter Shaw’s eyes darted around the opulence surrounding him, the sheer sensory overload of the #XMasRager giving him pause.
Carter Shaw: This is… wow.
Jared Holmes: You keep Christmas in your way, and I’ll keep it in mine.
Jared offered the briefcase; with no hesitation, Shaw took it from his hand.
Carter Shaw: This is everything?
Jared Holmes: Everything.
Shaw nodded, his eyes locked on the grinning shark before him.
Carter Shaw: I hope it doesn’t bother you if I don’t stick around. Didn’t have the best time at my last party.
Shaw turned to the person behind him.
Carter Shaw: But I’m sure you’ll have fun.
As he clapped her on the shoulder and walked away, Oliver Adler was left in the great stone hall with the party’s host.
Oliver Adler: This is pathetic.
Jared Holmes: And this is the most attention you’ve received all year, even with that Munchausen sling, so who are we to judge?
Oliver Adler: You only noticed it because you’ve been staring at my chest this whole time.
Jared Holmes: And your Hannukah sweater, thank you.
Olive glanced down; it was a white sweater covered with blue Stars of David.
Olive Adler: Nah, just the only thing that felt appropriate to wear while watching Wonder Woman 1984.
Her eyes glanced down at his attire, her lips curling into a frown.
Olive Adler: I guess yours is… unique?
Jared glanced down at himself. The words “XMASTentacion” were in a bold, Nordic-style stitch as the eponymous dead rapper’s face leered on a snowman’s body.
Jared Holmes: Is this not the season for reflection and remembrance?
She scoffed. It got quiet between them.
Jared Holmes: D’ya want a glass of punch?
Olive Adler: You do know what’s in that punch, right?
As the words left her lips, the door to the front door of the manor burst open. From the cold, Wade trundled in with wild eyes and icicles hanging from his beard. He grabbed Jared by the collar, pulling him in close to whisper in his ear.
Wade Moor: I turned myself into a pickle, Jared. I’m Pickle Wade.
Releasing him, Wade staggered back into the sea of people. Jared turned back to Olive.
Jared Holmes: Do you want to deal with it sober?
He offered a hand. A small, sly smile crept along her lips as she accepted it.
Olive Adler: Get me a double, and I’ll think about it.
Jared Holmes: Has anyone called you "Olive the Other Reindeer" yet?
Olive Adler: No. Don't be the first.
Cee-Lo Green's cover of “What Christmas Means to Me” was blaring. The Peacock Queen lead her into the crowd as the camera slowly panned up and out in the most contrived way possible.
*Dedicated to the brave Mujaheddin fighters of Afghanistan
Wade Moor: Oh, hello! I didn’t see you there! You know – this time of year, the weather outside gets so terrible. Makes ol’ Swagrid here wanna kick up his feet, get the fire roaring, pour himself a big ol’ cup of hot cocoa, and snuggle up with a good book. My favorite books for this time of year are the classics, stories with a sense and spirit of the season.
Wade paused, putting the book down and picking up his mug of cocoa. Mini-marshmallows floated on the top.
Wade Moor: In fact, thinking of the season it’s only a few days away from Christmas when the 6ix God throws his festive holiday party. But not every party has gone without a hitch. Feels like every year some fuccboi or another tries to crash it. A few times the #BeachKrew even had to end a few limping careers…
🎶You know Scarecrow and Richards…
…Omega and Obi…
…Teo del Sol and Joseph Malignaggi…
…But do you recall…
…the lamest fuccboi of all? 🎶
Narrator: T’was the night before Christmas and not a creature stirred…
Jared Holmes: Wade, if you keep this gimmick up I’ll say the gamer word.
Wade looked up from the book. The door to the den was open and Jared’s head was poking through.
Jared Holmes: Seriously dude, the ice luge just arrived and we’re doing Rumpleminz shots. Stop reading like a fucking nerd and be festive.
Wade looked from Jared back to the camera.
Wade Moor: I’mma keep it real with you guys, nobody likes these themed promos and it was only just gonna be a set-up to featuring Steven Singh as Ben Shapiro’s head on Herbie the Elf’s body like this:
So we’re gonna leave that here and kick that old school #BeachKrew shit.
~*~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~*~
THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST
Twas the week before Clash when Jared staggered from his front door like a bat out of Hell, his bathrobe billowing in the wind behind him with the letter opener clutched white-knuckle as his eyes focused on the mailbox.
Jared Holmes: Letitbehereletitbehereletitbehereletitbehere
As he wrenched the flap open, his hand rummaged around inside, a large golden envelope torn free (Note to Tort and Digger: this is canonically how AW sends mail. You need to accept this). As the blade slid under the flap, Jared was at half-mast.
Jared Holmes: GivemeWALTERIwantWALTERsohelpmegodI’mgoingtoburythatfatretardlikeatimecapsule
With the flap open, Jared pulled out the contents of the envelope. His enthusiasm drained immediately.
Jared Holmes: Who the fuck is Steven Singh?
Wade stepped out from the front door of Chateaux Holmes, his feet glad in his reindeer onesie as they crunched along the gravel drive.
Wade Moor: Did you get the booking?
Jared looked up from the letter at Wade.
Jared Holmes: Do you know who Steven Singh is?
Wade Moor: Sounds familiar. He had the whole obsession with Andy Capp’s Hot Fries, right?
Jared Holmes: That was Johnny Fly.
Andre Aquarius: Nah, man, he was in the Pride.
Jared Holmes: When did you get here?
Andre Aquarius: I came out with Wade, bruh, the racist-ass Narrator couldn’t spare a few words of description for a yung black man.
Jared’s eyes darted between the two of them. His face increasingly soured.
Jared Holmes: Why are you both here? Do you guys just live here? Did we do sus shit last night?
Andre Aquarius: Nah, we just gotta pack as many of us into this as possible so first timers get a sense of the group and its dynamics, ya feel me?
Wade Moor: Good for word count, too.
Jared Holmes: I still don’t know who Steven Singh is, and this is starting to feel masturbatory.
Wade put a comforting arm around Jared, slapping him on the shoulder.
Wade Moor: You can’t get any more masturbatory than the Howard Black Retirement Tour that no one asked for. I think Rabid knows Singh.
Jared Holmes: That means I gotta call Rabid.
Andre Aquarius: Wasn’t he comin’ to the Hannukah Party tonight?
Jared Holmes: Does he have to?
Wade Moor: You always talked about how we’d have been a much better stable with way more mileage if there wasn’t all the dissension.
Jared sighed. He turned and started back towards the manor.
Jared Holmes: Okay, fine. But if he ruins things like he did my wedding by telling someone I brainwashed them or trying to exsanguinate some thottie, I’m making you pay for the maid service.
He paused, his eyes trailing up towards the sky. A look of understanding and joy crossed his face as he wheeled on his heel.
Jared Holmes: I remembered who Steven Singh was!
Jared’s eyes narrowed and mouth twisted up with malevolent glee.
Jared Holmes: And I remember who his stablemate was…
~*~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~*~
You better watch out, he’s suckin’ off guys
He’s taking it all regardless of size
Steven Singh is coming to town
Yeah, that’s as much effort as you’re getting out of me on this one, buddy. At first I was pretty stoked on the whole idea of me finally beating the ever-living dog shit out of you on what would be a rare special appearance for you – there’s always been this kinda unwarranted comparison between us (you’re clearly another Joey Flash knock-off, while the infinitely more talented Ethan King was the Jared Holmes facsimile), so it would be really funny to embarrass you and show just how large the gulf in talent between us is. Then as I started actually prepping for the match, I remembered why I never worked ONE; you just can’t expect someone to have the whole heart in it during the holidays. So congratulations in advance on still getting owned by my anemic effort, you fucking pussy lmao.
Thing is, I never put much stock in this wrestling crap. If you’ve been around since WCF (by “you” I mean the viewer, and I assume the answer is “yes” because tbh who actually gives a shit about Final ONE), you’d know that I really only started this to hang out with my friends and piss off my dad. Now I just don’t really talk to my dad, and I get to hang out with my friends all the time since we retired from this stupid sport, so I’m not sure why I accepted this booking.
- Do I need the money? No, god no. Don’t be absurd.
- Do I need the relevance? Lol do I look like Steven Singh or Teo Blaze? Imagine wasting your career on this stupid company or in Teo’s case go out as WCF Champion and find yourself in the Cruiserweight Division again. God you fucking suck, Teo lmao.
- Do I need the fear/respect? Not particularly. I’m not someone like that mongloid Dave who is going to stop existing if people forget my name.
So what am I doing here? Well, I’mma keep it real – when Wavedigger hit me up about this, he mentioned me getting the chance to embarrass and humiliate the one person I’d always wanted. Naturally, I thought he meant that dumpy fat lunch lady WALTER; who wouldn’t want to spend a week picking on a retarded virgin that everyone’s afraid of and then beat him up in a legalized fight? Do you know how much muff I’d put down in 24 hours with that kind of work?
But that’s not who I’m getting, is it Steve? This is what happens when the smarks leave the stands (or announce table) and getting their hands on the booking sheet – they start thinking of their “dream matches” and ruin my holiday by making me have to go through a storage unit for my boots so I can beat up some ethnic valor thief who changed his last name so he could get into University of Wisconsin and a WCF locker room on phony Affirmative Action grounds. Thanks a fuckin’ lot.
I remember when WCF was actually kinda fun and interesting. You had Pantheon – you had that time we murdered Scarecrow on pay-per-view – you had that fat redneck and his cadre of rejects – you had that time Gemini Battle snuffed his own baby in the crib to see if he could be as good as Joey Flash – you even had those juggalos we got to beat up. What a great time WCF was back then, when the actually talented wrestlers sat at the top of the card and the dumbshit rejects teamed with Captain WCF in gimmicky lower-card storylines. What happened?
Well, I’ll take fault for that. It’s hard to feel the desire to carry a company on your back when you just obliterated FPV for the millionth time in your career and next up is Dion Necurat. And for that, I’d like to do what has been a long time coming and apologize:
I’m sorry WCF fans for abandoning you all when everyone already had
I’m sorry Wade for simping Joey Flash when we would’ve been an infinitely more interesting feud.
I’m sorry Dion for not putting you in your place and giving you the false impression you’re a main event talent.
I’m sorry John Rabid for allowing you to force yourself into anything higher than the Supporting Actor role you deserve.
I’m sorry entire world for subjecting you to Steven Singh ever being at the top of the company.
You represent the (period) worst (period) period (period) of WCF. When people look back fondly during Final ONE – when they’re playing the little clip show of WCF’s best moments before its send-off – they’re gonna feature Mad Dogg, Torture, Odin, Corey, Johnny Fly, #BeachKrew, Dune, the Poondock Saints, and maybe a cursory nod to idk Thomas Bates or something. But know who they’re not gonna have? Noble Savage, Mikey Xtreme, or Steven Singh. God what a wretched time.
I can picture it now:
Seth hunched over his desk like the rat-faced goblin he is and you trembling in the cheap polyester arm chair he has across his desk. “Steven!” he barks with bacchanal madness in his eyes, “I need another generically good looking, smooth talking wunderkind villain to head my show! Give me the King boy in your stable!”
“B-b-but Mister Lerch,” you respond with tears in your eyes, “I can be that guy! I even have the con artist bit you like so much down! Please reconsider!”
Seth leans forward, his beady eyes narrowing to even beadier slits.
“Start a cult.”
Fuck, that is the bleakest image I’ve had in a while. I’m gonna need a few stiff drinks to scrub that from my long-term memory retention. I’ll even name the following day’s hangover “the Steven Singh title reign.”
Anyway, I guess that’s it. I really can’t be bothered to give you any more thought this holiday season. I’m only doing this because there’s a chick I’m trying to smash who wants a #fuccboi’s head on a plate like John the Baptist, and you’re the closest option. I’m probably just gonna kick you in the balls or something then Wade and I will pull you in half like a holiday popper. God, you suck. Fuck off forever, and tell Erica I could actually make her cum. Let’s wrap this up with another little Christmas song.
Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Steven came to say
Jared with your nose so bright, won’t you please come fuck my wife
~*~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~*~
THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT
Wade Moor – Nice, get him a new fedora
Andre Aquarius – Nice, share your drugs with him
Teddy Blaze – Naughty, coal
Joey Flash – Naughty, I can’t believe I simped a dude who got retired by an alcoholic munchkin, doesn’t even deserve coal
Spencer Adams – Naughty, but he probably has a whole make-up drawer full of coal at this point
John Rabid – Idk I guess we’re fine but I just don’t really want to get him anything? I was gonna lie and say it hadn’t shown up from Amazon yet?
Kyle Kemp – Nice, send him a fruit basket (maybe 2?) to share with his weird hippie commune
FPV – Naughty, coal
Wading through the sea of bodies, the jingle bells that lined the fur trim of Jared’s Santa hat clinked. A few thots reached for desperate attempts to caress the passing Peacock King, but his mind was on far more pressing matters. At the far end of the room, Andre Aquarius was passing a gingerbread blunt with Dustin Beaver.
Jared Holmes: Happy Kwanza.
Andre Aquarius: Happy Hannukah.
The two exchanged a dap before Jared turned to Dustin and exchanged the same.
Jared Holmes: Haven’t seen you in a hot second, man, glad to have you.
Dustin Beaver: Glad to be here, man.
Jared Holmes: Wade still in the den thinking he’s narrating a Claymation holiday special?
Andre Aquarius: Nah, bruh, I ain’t seen him in a second.
Dustin Beaver: He had a lot of punch.
Jared nodded.
Jared Holmes: Keep an eye out for him. Have Prancer and Vixen showed yet?
Andre Aquarius: Foyer. Just arrived.
The Peacock King turned, his gaze turning to the grand hall. A familiar face stuck out through the crowd, and he moved toward it with purpose. As he cut past a dancing couple, a hand-off was made – now, briefcase in hand, Jared grinned and raised his arms invitingly.
Jared Holmes: Glad you guys could make it!
Carter Shaw’s eyes darted around the opulence surrounding him, the sheer sensory overload of the #XMasRager giving him pause.
Carter Shaw: This is… wow.
Jared Holmes: You keep Christmas in your way, and I’ll keep it in mine.
Jared offered the briefcase; with no hesitation, Shaw took it from his hand.
Carter Shaw: This is everything?
Jared Holmes: Everything.
Shaw nodded, his eyes locked on the grinning shark before him.
Carter Shaw: I hope it doesn’t bother you if I don’t stick around. Didn’t have the best time at my last party.
Shaw turned to the person behind him.
Carter Shaw: But I’m sure you’ll have fun.
As he clapped her on the shoulder and walked away, Oliver Adler was left in the great stone hall with the party’s host.
Oliver Adler: This is pathetic.
Jared Holmes: And this is the most attention you’ve received all year, even with that Munchausen sling, so who are we to judge?
Oliver Adler: You only noticed it because you’ve been staring at my chest this whole time.
Jared Holmes: And your Hannukah sweater, thank you.
Olive glanced down; it was a white sweater covered with blue Stars of David.
Olive Adler: Nah, just the only thing that felt appropriate to wear while watching Wonder Woman 1984.
Her eyes glanced down at his attire, her lips curling into a frown.
Olive Adler: I guess yours is… unique?
Jared glanced down at himself. The words “XMASTentacion” were in a bold, Nordic-style stitch as the eponymous dead rapper’s face leered on a snowman’s body.
Jared Holmes: Is this not the season for reflection and remembrance?
She scoffed. It got quiet between them.
Jared Holmes: D’ya want a glass of punch?
Olive Adler: You do know what’s in that punch, right?
As the words left her lips, the door to the front door of the manor burst open. From the cold, Wade trundled in with wild eyes and icicles hanging from his beard. He grabbed Jared by the collar, pulling him in close to whisper in his ear.
Wade Moor: I turned myself into a pickle, Jared. I’m Pickle Wade.
Releasing him, Wade staggered back into the sea of people. Jared turned back to Olive.
Jared Holmes: Do you want to deal with it sober?
He offered a hand. A small, sly smile crept along her lips as she accepted it.
Olive Adler: Get me a double, and I’ll think about it.
Jared Holmes: Has anyone called you "Olive the Other Reindeer" yet?
Olive Adler: No. Don't be the first.
Cee-Lo Green's cover of “What Christmas Means to Me” was blaring. The Peacock Queen lead her into the crowd as the camera slowly panned up and out in the most contrived way possible.
THE END.
*The Ghost of Christmas Future wasn’t invited because he was deemed a killjoy*Dedicated to the brave Mujaheddin fighters of Afghanistan