(The following takes place on New Year’s Eve. That’s 12/31/21, which is the exact opposite of 12/13/21… the day Dex Joy threw down his gauntlet. It's all about symmetry!) 

Sitting on a steel chair in the locker room of some unknown location, presumably hosting a wrestling event, is DEFIANCE Wrestling’s PURE Wrestler and 2021’s TRUE Upcoming Superstar. Or, ya know, whatever the fuck you want to call the shitty rookie superlative that the fans are too indignant to award him.

Sweating from head to toe after delivering yet another 7-Star match that every self-anointed wrestling expert would shit on, covered in blood (not his), is one Arthur Pleasant. Sunglasses. Swoosh. Deal with it.

Arthur Pleasant:
One month ago … I could have left my issues with Dex Joy behind and earned my spot in the main event of DEFIANCE Road. Why? Because I had beaten that fat piece of shit like the wind-sucking, titty-jiggling, walking-talking living off of every carbohydrate known to man type of idiot that he is. In a wrestling match. Let me say that again in case you didn’t hear me the first time.

I beat Dex Joy in a wrestling match.

Pleasant makes a jerking off motion and throws the invisible gob of semen at the camera like that funny little guy with the little LaCroix-dick in the Hangover movies. 

Arthur Pleasant:
I could have gone on to the main event and maimed and murdered right through Gag Blarghwood just like I did with… uh… whoever that was for the DEFIANCE Wrestling Pure Wrestling Championship of the World Championship. That’s right. TWO Championships in there to express how much championship shines with that belt.

A belt that no longer exists due to Dexual Assault’s jealousy. I have beaten the best of the best in DEFIANCE Wrestling. From the jobber to the stars like Lindsay Troy and Rick Dickulous, all the way to the main eventers like Scourge’s own Aaron King and that guy with the exclamation point at the end of his name. It was my chance to be at the top, see. Good ol’ Artie Baby, Number THREE in the hearts of PURE wrestling fans everywhere … but number ZERO, Dexit Stage Left, took that from me and now I’m stuck in a never-ending cycle of fending off idiots and armchair athletes that make Camp Tardicaca look like Foxcatcher Farms. That’s right, looking at you Tillingfats.

Pleasant stands up from the chair and cracks his knuckles. 

Arthur Pleasant:
So here’s what I’m going to do. Dexcite Bike wants to lay down the challenge to face me in a rematch?

Hmm. I have this sudden urge to tell you to get in line, boy. But, I have this addiction to ruining people’s hopes and dreams. 

You got the worst referee in all of professional wrestling her job back by cheating me out of a fair contest. HOW do you even sleep at night? With a piece of PRIME beef nestled between your second and third sets of thunder thighs, I know, but it’s more of a CLASSIC case of… you’re not as good as everyone thinks you are.

Oh, and by the way? There is nothing, I repeat again, NOTHING, “alleged” about me, The Dexorcist II: The Heartburn. You sit there in an empty arena not for some kind of teenage-manifested metaphor, but because nobody comes to see you blabber on or slow down the intensity inside a building during a wrestling show because of how awful this "King of Heart Disease Style" style is. They come to see ME tell the truth about every motherfucker here in DEFIANCE Wrestling… putting the EM-OH-TEE-EN is the fucking cum cherry on top!

But, I’ll tell you this much Microsoft Dexcel… you’re right about one thing. Only one thing, though. Sorry.

You ARE on the outside of the FIST because of Arthur Pleasant.

And after DEFIANCE Road? 

It’s gonna stay that way.

So bring all the Metformin, Glipizide, and insulin you can to the show before the show of shows: 'cause I accept your challenge.

Under one… little… condition.  

His jagged teeth show as he's about to reveal the caveat of all caveats.

Arthur Pleasant:
It’s under "PURE Wrestling Rules". That means, in order for Arthur Pleasant to ensure you don’t cheat like you did with my match against Whorela, only I can use weapons without being disqualified. Not you.

Only I can use fire to melt the grease off of your low-draping double-awning back if I want to.   

Only I can beat up a fan, make him or her shit themselves, scoop up the poop, toss it on a hot dog, and shove the defecated wiener up your fucking ass where the sun hasn't shined since you discovered your first Snickers bar. 

Pleasant pauses and cracks a smile. Giving Monsieur Joyless a double-shot of Dexpresso, he continues on. Yes, the puns are boundless.

Arthur Pleasant:
People voted for you last year because they saw someone that they could identify with. Someone they could feel sorry for. And this year? The pity fucking has stopped and nobody wants to shoulder your morbid obesity to even the top 1,000.

But enough about a list that everyone is jealous of but too lazy to do a goddamn thing about to get on. You can believe in all the bullshit Dexistentialism you want, fuck wagon. Shock jock or rocket cock sprocket docket, I’m the motherfucker everyone talks about. I’m the motherfucker everyone tunes in to listen to. I’m the motherfucker that made this place interesting again after the unending insufferatudes of 24K and… hell, I don’t even know if insufferatudes is even a word but it makes a lot of fucking sense to me.

Point is, you think there’s been a DEF Radio listened to or downloaded as much as the one that I was on? Think again. You think everyone in the world didn’t come to together out of PURE jealousy to make sure that The Provocateur didn’t receive the DEFIANT of the Year award that he deserves? Think again. You think Lindsay Troy didn’t take on this newfound attitude and reformed wrestling wisdom because I didn’t chase her out of one of the three wrestling companies I’m making millions of dollars in? Think. A-Fucking-Gain.

Swiping at some of the blood dripping down into his belly button, he plays with it for a moment. Swirling it around a bit he moistens his Pillsbury Dough Button with crimson with a snarling intensity. 

Arthur Pleasant:
Now we can certainly forget all of the shitty nicknames you thought of for yourself and go with the ones I’ve given you here because… I’m a giver, DM Junk. I give, give, give until I can’t possibly fucking give anymore. So enjoy the litany of merchandising ideas I’ve bestowed upon you, friendo. Because while you’re marveling in my monetized brilliance? I’m reminding The Fickle that my birth name is Arthur Van Warren, my wrestling name is Arthur Pleasant, and my Hall of Fame name is The Greatest Pure Wrestler That Has Ever Lived.

And no matter which one I allow you to call me by… in 2022?

You’ll be calling me the FIST of DEFIANCE. 

So accept my answer to your challenge… or don’t, Dexcruciating One. It’s my final gift to you. But know this before you make you decision: before I accomplish what is as inevitable as rain in the spring and snow in the winter, I will repeat my victory lap from MAXIMUM DEFIANCE and humiliate you so badly that the other 492 places that I’m NOT currently wrestling in will suddenly look as appetizing to you as a New Year’s Goddamn Ham. 

Pleasant starts to walk away but then comes right back.

But then he walks away again? No wait, he’s coming back.

He stops. He goes back.

He comes back and stops.

He starts to go back and stop before he goes again.

Just stop.

Arthur Pleasant:
Like someone who shamefully sharted in the public pool, never to be seen swimming again, prepare to be Dexcommunicated from DEFIANCE Wrestling. Once and for all you sorry ass sack of taint sweat and pink McNugget slime.

Pleasant hocks a huge one and spits it at the camera. He draws a smiley in the center of the phlegm before the camera fades to a message about positivity.

"EAT YOUR FUCKING VEGGIES OR YOU'LL GROW TITTIES LIKE DEX."

"ASK LINDSAY TROY. SHE LOVES HER VEGGIES."

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