>Camera cuts to the stands—mass panic. Children shrieking, parents climbing over railings. The air is thick with a smell no words can capture.
“THE FANS ARE FLEEING! CHILDREN ARE TRAUMATIZED! THE FIRE MARSHAL JUST PASSED OUT FROM THE STENCH! THIS ISN’T A WRESTLING MATCH—THIS IS A BIOHAZARD INCIDENT!”
>J-Tard begins humping the corner turnbuckle while whispering in a wheezing voice, “You like that, don’t you, little shota... you’re getting hard, I can tell you're having a sexual awakening...” — to absolutely no one.
“HE’S TALKING TO GHOSTS! DELUSIONAL! DERANGED! TRYING TO SEDUCE INVISIBLE CHILDREN WHO NEVER EXISTED! HE THINKS HE’S WINNING—HE THINKS HE’S BASED—BUT HE’S JUST OOZING FUNGUS AND SHAME ALL OVER A 20x20 WRESTLING RING!”
>He reaches into his pants—pulls out the legendary plug, coated in wet shit and black rot. Holds it high. The lights flicker.
“NO NO NO! DON’T YOU DARE—OH GAWD HE THREW IT! HE THREW IT INTO THE CROWD! THIS IS A PUBLIC HEALTH CRISIS! SOMEONE CALL THE CDC! SHUT DOWN THE BUILDING!”
>The camera man vomits. The referee blows his own brains out. EMTs refuse to enter the building.
“I CAN’T WATCH THIS. HE’S FIGHTING HIMSELF, HE’S MOCKING THE CROWD, HE’S REPLYING TO HIS OWN POSTS—THIS IS A PSYCHOTIC FEEDBACK LOOP OF DEGENERATION AND DECAY. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FEED ON LIES AND MOLD.”
>J-Tard collapses mid-ring. Twitches. Smiles. Whispers “I win.”
“He thinks he’s victorious. He’s bathing in his own defeat and calling it glory. Folks… I don’t know who lost this match worse—him… or all of us.”
